Chapter 11

 

The scream spun Ronar around, his sword drawn ere he completed the turn. Rushing toward the sound, he shoved aside a branch, and came upon one of the castle knights on the ground, an arrow in his thigh. Before Ronar could lift his gaze to scan the foliage, another arrow sped past his ear and struck another knight, expertly aimed between the upper and lower armor shielding his arm.

The knight stumbled backward, plucked out the arrow, and uttered a curse.

Dashing for the nearest tree, Ronar flattened against the trunk, directing Jarin, Damien, and the others to do the same. More arrows rained on them from above. He craned his neck and scanned the canopy but could not spot Lady Falcon. Forsooth, it had to be her! Leaves rustled, a branch creaked, and he thought he saw a shadow leap from tree to tree before more leaves swallowed it up. Sword still drawn, he dashed in that direction just as wails of agony filled the air.

He circled a large boulder and saw two more knights pierced by arrows, three more darted for cover, and the head knight, Sir DeGay, swayed in place as he stared in puzzlement at the leaves above him. Grabbing his arm, Ronar yanked him out of the clearing and shoved him beside a tree.

“Have a care, Sir Knight, or you may be next.”

“Where, how? He attacked from nowhere.”

A cloud of alcohol enveloped Ronar. “She.” He sheathed his sword and withdrew a knife.

More knights burst into the clearing. A hailstorm of arrows shot from the sky—at least five of them in such quick succession, ’twas hard to believe they came from one bow. Two of the knights were hit. Before they even struck dirt, more arrows assailed them from the south.

Mayhap Lady Falcon did have help.

“We have to split up or she’ll shoot us all!” Ronar shouted. “Sir DeGay, assist your wounded out of danger, then divide your remaining knights in groups of three and send them in different directions. Tell them to keep low and fast. Jarin, Damien, with me.”

He didn’t wait to see if the besotted knight complied. The man’s incompetence was not Ronar’s problem. Though how his knights won so many battles was becoming more and more suspect. Mayhap this Spear of Destiny truly was close.

Wiping sweat from his forehead, Ronar took off in a sprint, keeping low to the underbrush—brush that was dense and verdant. As were the trees and shrubs. Even the moss covering trunks and rocks was the most beautiful shade of green he’d ever seen. Water dripped from leaves like diamonds. Patches of wild flowers sprouted here and there. Why had he not noticed how lush the forest was before?

Mayhap because the last time he had ventured within, Lady Falcon had shot him in the thigh.

Ducking from tree to tree, shrub to thicket, Ronar followed the screams of pain as the phantom archer wove a trail through the forest toward the north—back toward the village and castle. She was leading them away from someone or something.

Ronar would not play her game. He gestured to Jarin and Damien to make no sound, attempt no engagement, and follow the archer. Both men nodded their understanding, and all three proceeded forward, quiet as a summer breeze and eyes peeled to the canopy. More than once they lost her trail, halted and listened for the wails of her victims or any creak of branch or sudden flight of birds disturbed from their nests. Mist curled up from the ground, chilling the sweat on Ronar’s back as ever-increasing shadows made it difficult to spot anything in the trees above. Finally, after an hour, they had followed her north, northeast, and then south to west again. All grew still and quiet. Even the forest creatures hushed as if in reverence to this Falcon of the forest.

Ronar inched west toward the last sound he’d heard. Night approached, darkening the gray skies even further. The gurgling of water drifted past his ears… then a splash, ever so slight. He crept forward, held up his hand to halt his men, then knelt behind a thick hedge and moved aside the leaves. There. Lady Falcon in her breeches and leather doublet, quiver at her back and bow over her shoulder, leaned by a creek and cupped water to her mouth. A tumble of red hair spilled over her like a cloak of fire.

Ronar smiled. He gestured for Jarin to circle around the creek to her right and Damien to her left where they could trap her when he forced her forward. They nodded and as soon as Lady Falcon rose and started on her way, the three of them did the same.

Ronar kept at least ten yards behind her, training his eye on her every movement, her confident gait, the sway of her feminine hips, and the way she wove effortlessly around trees and bushes as if she were one of the forest creatures who inhabited this verdant paradise.

Two times she halted and turned. Both times, Ronar enjoyed the vision of her comely face searching the foliage. Both times she proceeded on her way.

Finally, the thunderous rush of water grew louder. The lady shoved through a thicket and disappeared. Kneeling, Ronar peered through the leaves. Water careened over a ledge of stone into a large pond. The lady strode directly to the falls as if she would dive into the powerful deluge. Instead, she halted, turned once more to scan her surroundings, then ducked beneath the water and disappeared.

He kept staring, expecting her to reappear, but after several minutes, there was no sign of her. He didn’t have time to ponder where she’d gone when Damien appeared beside him, stealth as ever. “I circled around and tracked her here. Where is she?” he whispered.

 

♥♥♥

 

Soaring on the wings of her victory over the knights, Alexia begged and begged the Friar to allow her to venture to the castle to determine how her sister fared. He finally agreed she could bring game to the village and seek news from her friends. But she was to go no farther. ’Twas something at least. She understood his fear. Sir Ronar LePeine knew her face and was surely seeking revenge for slipping the potion into his tea. God’s truth, the man was not one to cross. He may have already revealed her identity and alerted the castle guards to be on the lookout for her. Especially after she had won a victory over him and his men in the forest. In good sooth, he was most likely the one who had sent the knights after her in the first place.

Pride surged through her as she realized she’d routed over thirty warriors—including the infamous King’s Guard—away from the Spear and back to the castle, injuring over half. She did, indeed, feel a morsel of guilt over the latter. She took no pleasure in causing anyone pain, but her task was simple: Protect the Spear at all costs.

Why the knights had not since returned to the forest she couldn’t say. Mayhap they were plotting another way to trap the elusive Falcon.

The villagers welcomed her with happy smiles and grateful words as she delivered her load of deer and rabbits. After the game was taken away and hid, they begged her for a few verses from the Holy Scriptures. Regardless of the danger to herself, how could she deny those who were so starved for God’s Word? Hence, she perched on a bench outside Wimarc’s home, a mob of children at her feet, while their parents huddled behind them and recited Psalm Eighty-One from memory. The people soaked in the Words with rapt attention, oohs and ahhs, joyful smiles, and sighs. And Alexia grew even more angry that the Church kept such hope and comfort from the people who needed it the most.

Grendale, the village washer woman, darted up to her just as she was finishing. “Falcon, I have a message for you.” Her eyes shifted from the crowd back to Alexia, urgency firing from her face.

That message had sent Alexia sprinting home to don her kirtle, inform the friar, and retrieve a certain item. Her sister had grown ill again, this time far worse. And regardless of whether Sir LePeine had betrayed her secret and she walked into a trap, she could not leave her sister to die alone.

Now, as Alexia made her way through the village to the castle, she patted the pocket she’d sewn into her chemise. The touch of the Spear brought her comfort. And also a twinge of guilt that she hadn’t told the friar she’d brought it with her, for he would certainly protest. He’d protested well enough at her venture to the castle. But after the evil she’d sensed upon her last visit, and now with her sister fallen ill again and the great threat to Alexia, she needed its protection more than ever.

And so did her sister.

With the friar’s protests along with his prayers still sifting through her mind, Alexia slipped through the back gate into the courtyard, careful to keep the hood of her cloak over her head and her face down. Hard to do when the yard was full of knights, bow and arrows in hand, firing at targets strung along the stable walls.

“Fire!” Sir DeGay shouted, and ten knights released their arrows. Whish! They flew through the air… some hitting the target, others striking the wood, others flying over the walls. Eek! Alexia hoped they wouldn’t find a mark in human flesh.

Regardless, she suppressed a laugh. What she wouldn’t give to teach these knights how ’twas done, to grab a bow and split one of their well-placed arrows with hers. Wouldn’t that show them? Potz! There went her pride again.

“Imbeciles!” Sir DeGay shouted. “Again!”

All this for little ol’ her? Smiling, Alexia drew her cloak further over her head and moved along the outer edge toward the kitchen. The clank clank of metal caused her to peek beyond the archers where two men fought bare-chested with swords.

Ronar LePeine and one of his men.

She should look away. She should, she should, she should! Just continue on, slip unnoticed into the kitchen, not risk revealing herself. Instead, she froze, watching, admiring the graceful yet powerful way Ronar wielding his blade, his swift, elegant moves expertly aimed, the muscles rounding his arms, rolling across his back, and rippling down his firm belly.

Hot-blooded pigs’ feet! She should not be staring at him. Though ’twould seem she wasn’t the only one, as several kitchen maids and even the old washer woman had stopped to watch. Sir LePeine’s friend was equally skilled as their blades met and rang across the yard. Shoving Ronar’s sword back, he gave a mischievous grin and motioned Ronar forward. Ronar circled him, breath heavy, sweat moistening his hair.

He swooped down upon his opponent, the hiss of steel crackling the air. His friend met his blow, and the two struggled hilt to hilt, muscles flexing, faces grimacing. Ronar jerked his blade back and brought it swiftly to bear on his friend’s leg, but the man leapt out of the way and laughed tauntingly. “I know you too well, Ronar.”

“Not well enough,” Ronar replied. Jerking hair from his face, he circled his friend once again.

Alexia shrank further into her hood, peering out from the corner.

Ronar snapped his blade to the left, luring his opponent, then spun around and caught him from behind. “Do you surrender?” He taunted.

“Never,” his friend replied, though he was clearly beaten. Leaping aside, their blades clashed yet again.

She had promised the friar she’d avoid Sir LePeine, but here she was staring at him. One glance, and he would surely recognize her. Foolish woman! Tearing herself away, she ducked into her hood and made her way to the kitchen. If only she could use the secret tunnel, but the wardrobe was too heavy for her to move by herself. As it was, cooks and serving boys greeted her with their usual nonchalance. Good so far.

Overwhelmed by scents of venison, boiled wine, onions, and stewed pheasant for the noon meal, she hurried through the pantry and buttery, then made her way up the stairs, forcing a slow pace so as not to attract attention.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she finally slipped inside her sister’s chamber. Seraphina, ever the faithful companion, sat by Cristiana’s side, while a maid hurried out with chamber pot in hand. The foul stench of sickness wafted over Alexia as the woman passed and closed the door.

Seraphina glanced up. Shadows lingered beneath her eyes. A sudden chill rippled down Alexia, twisting her insides. Attempting to calm her spirit, she searched the room, seeking the source… peering beyond the natural.

Take a deep breath, Alexia. Seek the peace.

A slithering cloud of black emerged from the corner. An elongated mouth screamed silently at her from beneath two malevolent eyes. Other shadows flitted about the room.

“Out! In the name of my Lord Christ Jesus!” Alexia shouted with authority.

She could have sworn she heard the large creature growl before it and its friends instantly disappeared.

Alexia pressed a hand on her heart to still its mad thumping. She hadn’t been completely sure what the friar had told her to say would work. But he’d been right as usual. The name of the Son of God, along with the Spear, thwarted all evil. Yet—she forced down another burst of terror—what was it about her sister’s chamber that lured such beasts from the underworld?

Seraphina approached, following Alexia’s gaze above. “What just happened?” She hugged herself.

“Naught to worry about. How is she? You poor dear, you haven’t slept.” Alexia peered into Seraphina’s red, puffy eyes.

“Do not vex yourself over me. ’Tis Cristiana who suffers. She’s worse as you can see.”

“What happened? Last I heard, she was well again.”

“I know not. She was indeed recovering, supping in the great hall, conversing with her guests. And then within days, she took back to her bed. This time with night terrors and vomiting.”

Alexia sat at her sister’s side and took her hand in hers. Cold, moist, limp.

“Cristiana, ’tis me. Prithee wake up.”

Moaning, her sister pried open her eyes for a moment. A tiny smile flitted across her lips as she squeezed Alexia’s hand, but it soon faded.

“What has changed?” Alexia asked Seraphina. “Something she’s eaten? Did she have a new visitor?”

“Nay. She hasn’t been able to eat anything in two days. Before that ’twas the same food she’s always eaten—the same food served in the great hall to everyone.” Seraphina’s expression crumpled. “Only the apothecary and the physician and Sir LeGode have been to see her. Oh”—she gestured toward a bouquet of flowers sitting in a pot on the side table. “Sir Jarin the Just sent flowers and a note that wished her well.”

“The King’s Guard?”

“Aye, very handsome,” Seraphina said. “And quite taken with your sis—Lady D’Clere.”

Alexia couldn’t help but smile. “Who wouldn’t be? Cristiana has the biggest heart of anyone I know. What of her medicine?”

“LeGode ordered a different potion be administered, and the apothecary has been mixing it up and delivering it every day.”

“Does he say what it is?”

“To me? Nay. But Lady D’Clere has not drunk her full measure this day.” She gestured toward the table where a vial sat, half full.

Alexia picked it up and sniffed. The strong scent of nutmeg, rosemary, and something else not so pleasant, burned her nose, but brought her no alarm.

“When was her medicine changed? Before or after she grew ill again?”

“After.”

Alexia drew the vial to her mouth.

Seraphina reached for her. “Pray, my lady, what do you intend?”

“I’m going to drink it. If ’tis what causes my sister’s illness, we will soon find out. If not, it will do me no harm.”

Tipping the vial to her lips, Alexia gulped it down.