She Walks in Power Read online

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Authors Note

  BioAmazonLinks

  Chapter 1

  England, the Middle Ages

  Alexia D’Clere slid an arrow from her quiver, nocked it in her bow, and drew back the bowstring. Wind whipped through the branches of the large maple tree above her, stirring a whirlwind of leaves and needles across the forest floor. But Alexia’s gaze followed three men atop horses, accompanying a coach down an access road through Emerald forest—the three men who had ventured off the main trail and dared to penetrate the Circle of the Spear. To what purpose? She would have dismissed them as pitchkettled dolts if not for their attire and the magnificent destriers they rode. Now, as they came closer, she narrowed her eyes like a falcon on its prey.

  Holding her breath, she tracked the first man with the tip of her arrow. Night was fast approaching as the sun withdrew its light through the maze of trees, making it hard to distinguish his features. She had no trouble, however, seeing the myriad weapons strapped to his hip—all manner of swords, knives, and axes. Not to mention the metal plates protecting his shoulders and arms. The armor of a knight. Oddly, he wore no protection on his chest, save a thick leather doublet. His chin was lightly bearded, his hair dark, and in place of a helmet, a hat sat atop his head, sporting a blue feather. His companions were similarly attired.

  In the distance, a gray-haired man exited the stationary coach, nearly tripping on the black robe falling to his ankles. He uttered a blathering gush of complaints, most of which Alexia couldn’t distinguish. Something about heat, hunger, disrespect, and incessant delays. She trained her gaze upon him, noting the gold-embroidered collar and blood-red stole draped around his neck. Potz! A bishop.

  She shifted her eyes back to the men on horseback, narrowing in on the crest engraved on their rerebraces. The Royal Crest. Her breath caught. These men must be members of the King’s Guard—elite warriors assigned to protect his majesty. What were they doing so far from court and with such a high-ranking member of the Church?

  She pulled the bow tighter. As the Protector, she could shoot them all ere they knew what struck them. She had the right. The hemp whined beneath the strain as the feathers on the end tickled her ears. Still, the men came.

  And still she did not release the arrow.

  “Prithee, turn away,” she whispered. “Or I shall make thee wish ye had.” One well-placed arrow would bring the leader down and scatter the others.

  The horses snorted. The leader sniffed the air as if sensing danger. She leveled the arrow at his unarmored leg.

  The friar’s words rose to stay her hand. “Concentrate, my dear. Hear the Spirit within. Let patience prevail.”

  A trickle of sweat slid down her forehead. The muscles in her arm ached.

  Seek the light in others.

  Willing her mind to settle, she closed her eyes and whispered a prayer. Two lights appeared where the leader and one of the men had been—barely flickers, but there, withal. The other man bore no flame. Two of these men knew the Father, one did not.

  She opened her eyes. The lights disappeared. The leader turned his horse down a narrow path to the left. Nay, not that way! Still holding her bowstring tight, she stepped from the tree. A twig snapped, the faintest of sounds, barely audible above the chatter of bird and patter of wildlife.

  The leader raised a hand. All three men stopped.

  “What is it now, Sir LePeine?” the bishop complained as he mopped his brow with a cloth.

  But the man made no reply. Instead, he turned and stared in her direction, his gaze weaving around trees, leaping over shrubs, speeding past boulders and fallen logs.

  And penetrating straight into her eyes.

  Alexia’s heart stopped. Surely, he cannot see me. Not at this distance, and not with her attire blending in with the colors of the forest.

  Still, he stared with those eyes as piercing as a wolf’s, silent, unmoving as if he could not only see her, but read her thoughts as well. The intensity of that stare made her wonder at this man, this king’s knight with the barest spark of light within his soul.

  The destriers snorted and pawed the ground. The shadows deepened. An owl gave an eerie hoot.

  One more step closer and she would be forced…

  The leader nudged his mount forward.

  Heart thumping, she drew the bowstring tighter, aimed at the man’s leg, closed her eyes, and released the arrow.

  It should have hit its mark. Alexia never missed. Yet when she opened her eyes, her arrow vibrated in the trunk of a tree, and the man was galloping in her direction. He pulled out his sword as he went, the chime echoing through the forest.

  Flinging her bow over her shoulder, Alexia took off like a deer.

  Horse hooves pounded behind her. Shouts echoed from the other men. An angry whine of “Don’t leave me here alone!” screeched from the bishop.

  Not looking back, Alexia darted right, then left, around trunks and hedges, deeper and deeper into the Emerald Forest where horses could not tread.

  A horse whinnied. More shouts and footsteps followed.

  She dashed around a moss-laden boulder as darkness flung a black cloak over the forest. No matter. Her boots were sure and firm, her confidence high, her strength unfailing. She knew these woods like a servant knew the halls of a vast castle. She knew every tree, flower, fern, and pond. Every hiding place, cave, and den.

  She knew—

  A battering ram struck her and knocked her to the ground.

  A breathing, warm battering ram who smelled of sweat and man. Alexia scrambled away on all fours, but he snagged her leg and pulled her back. Dirt filled her mouth. Flipping over, she kicked his shoulder. He released her with a groan, then leapt atop her. He was but a shadow—a dark, heavy shadow. More footsteps approached.

  Fear soured in her mouth. Unusual fear. She could not be caught. She would not be caught!

  She slugged him across the jaw. He shoved her shoulders to the ground, pressing her back against her quiver. An arrow bit her neck. She started to kick him, but he forced her legs down with his own.

  “Who are you and why did you wish me dead?” he asked. His voice was deep, his breath hot and smelling of spiced wine.

  His friends burst through the greenery. “In need of assistance?” one of them asked, his tone taunting.

  “I have the matter in hand. ’Tis but a lad from the feel of him.” The man atop her tightened his grip on her arms. Pain seared into her shoulders.

  “I asked you a question, lad.”

  A cloud moved above him. Wind stirred the branches of the canopy. And for the briefest of seconds, light from a full moon shone down upon the scene.

  Though she couldn’t see her assailant’s expression, she sensed his shock. Releasing his grip, he jerked from her and backed away. “’Tis a lady.”

  His two
friends chuckled.

  Alexia leapt to her feet, knowing it best to make a swift escape, but she couldn’t resist a clever retort.

  “Aye, ’tis a lady, ye clod. The Falcon of Emerald Forest at your service.” Retrieving her bow from the ground, she swept her arm out before her, not caring that her hood was askew and her red hair tumbled loose. “And you will leave these woods immediately or next time I shall aim for your heart.”

  “Forsooth!” The man chuckled. “Any better your aim and you would have hit London!”

  She kicked him, intending to strike his thigh but hit a softer part that caused him to double over with a cry of agony that made even her wince.

  Laughter from the man’s companions filled the air behind her as she fled into the night.

  ♥♥♥

  Alexia dove into the bramble, shoved aside the prickly branches, and emerged onto the edge of the pond. Moonlight dappled silver over gentle ripples that spread from the waterfall toward a barricade of trees and shrubs protecting the secret place. She never grew tired of its beauty—day or night.

  Drawing a deep breath of the sweet, musky air, she climbed atop the moist boulder to her right and slipped behind the curtain of water tumbling over the edge of a cliff above her. Droplets cooled her skin as she made her way to the narrow opening hidden behind the cleft of a rock. Dipping her head, she entered the tunnel. She required no light to guide her down the dark, winding path, for this had been her home for the past nine years. A turn to the right, then left, and a light in the distance led her the rest of the way.

  Pushing aside the wooden door, she entered the main hall of her abode. Not a cave, as one might expect, but a home built in stone, hidden beneath the ground. In fact, save for the odd way of entering and the lack of windows, one might think it a wealthy gentleman’s manor perched on a hill.

  Colorful tapestries decorated the stone walls, depicting scenes of courtly love and the life of Christ. High-backed wooden chairs boasting bright red cushions framed a hearth whose chimney led up to a hollowed-out tree above. A trestle table covered in white linen stood to the right, beyond which lay her sleeping pallet. To her left, shelves of books, all in disarray, lined the walls behind an equally disheveled desk. Candles flickered from iron spikes hung about the chamber, while above her a candelabra sent a golden glow over the room.

  Alexia took a step onto the silk-woven carpet that covered most of the floor and listened for the friar. He couldn’t be far. The candle on his desk still burned and his quill pen sat askew on the parchment as if its task was yet unfinished.

  Removing her leather gloves, she stepped toward the fire just as Friar Josef entered from the back room. “Child, where have you been? You’ve been gone”—his thick brows rose upon seeing her face—“What happened?”

  Alexia smiled. This man who had been like a father to her always knew when something was amiss. Flinging off her quiver, she set it and her bow down on a table and knelt before the crackling flames. “The King’s Guard have arrived. A bishop is with them. An important one from the appearance of his coach.”

  “Indeed?” The friar pursed his lips as he approached, his brown cowl dragging on the floor. “And what, pray tell, did you do to these men?”

  “Not what I wished, you can be sure of that.” She smiled and held her hands to the flames. “But the Guard? What are they doing here? They entered the Circle, hence I had no choice but to shoot one. Never fear”—she gave him a compliant smile—“’twas a warning only. I missed.”

  He chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You? Miss? Forsooth, I cannot believe it!”

  “Aye, and then he…oh, ’tis of no consequence.” There was no need to cause the friar worry. She slowly rose. “I must be away to Luxley.”

  He bowed his head and uttered a sigh. Firelight reflected off the large wooden cross dangling against his chest as he folded his hands across his rotund belly. “What need? You were there yesterday.”

  “Where else would the king’s emissaries be going?” Alexia started for the hallway that led to her dressing chamber.

  “You make me regret allowing you to acquire a position there,” he yelled after her.

  Halting, she faced him. “I am eighteen, and you have taught me well. You must trust God to watch over me, for I have His work to do now.”

  He snorted. “That is what worries me. That you ignore His work and follow your own heart.” Though his tone was incriminating, the love and care pouring from his eyes made her smile.

  “I cannot abandon her,” she said. “She has been unwell these past years.”

  “Should someone recognize you—”

  “Alas, no one has. If not yet, they never will.” Approaching him, she took his hands in hers. “I promise I shall be careful. I will but discover the mission of these men and return anon.” Releasing his hands, she grabbed her gloves. “God’s truth, they could be after the Spear.”

  He scratched the patch of gray hair atop his head. “Nay. What would have led them here?”

  “That is what I must discover, dear Friar.” Standing on her tip-toes, she kissed his cheek.

  And as always, he swatted her away, face reddening.

  In a small dressing chamber beside the main hall, she exchanged her shirt, tunic, and doublet for a plain wool kirtle tied around her waist with a rope. Removing her boots, she put on her leather slippers and strapped a knife inside a specially made slot in her garter. Next, she slipped on the leather wrist band that hid her mark, braided her hair, and then completed her ensemble with a plain circlet on her head that draped a netted veil down her back.

  Pleased with her appearance as naught but a servant, she entered the tiny chapel beside her chamber, dark, save for a single candle atop the altar. Above it, the crucifix of Christ hung against a golden tapestry that glittered in the light. Kneeling before the altar, she lifted the glass top and retrieved the Spear from its silk pillow. It wasn’t the entire spearhead, merely the tip which age had severed from the top. Still…to think of where it had been—of Whose blood it had touched. Holding it gently in her hands she bowed her head.

  “Holy Father, Almighty One. I pray your protection through the blood of Christ as I go forth this night. Give me thy wisdom, thy discernment. Grant me the wisdom to discover the treachery of these king’s men and to protect Cristiana from evil. I thank thee for thine answer and for thine presence through the blood of my Lord. Amen.”

  She kissed the Spear, longing to bring it with her to ensure God’s power and protection but ’twas too risky. God had ordained her as its Protector and she would never fail Him.

  Chapter 2

  Ronar LePeine adjusted his position in the saddle in the hopes of alleviating the pain still throbbing through his groin. Dastardly woman! He’d never seen the likes of such a lady, wearing men’s attire and traipsing through the forest shooting arrows at passersby! Tush! And at the king’s men! She was obviously mad, depraved, mayhap even demon possessed. He shuddered at the last thought and shifted again as they made their way to the walled entrance of Luxley village, past an empty gallows, and over a bridge leading to the main gate. Torches perched on either side provided light enough to see the brook sludging beneath them, while an indescribable stench caused Ronar to cough and hurry forward.

  A simple announcement of whom they were escorting quickly opened the gates. Children wearing more dirt than clothing emerged from the shadows shouting, “Sir, do you want a room, a bed? Sir, where are you from?” They reached to touch the horses, alarming the beasts, and Ronar had to rein in Penance to keep him from trampling them.

  “Nay, little ones. Begone. We are on the king’s business.” Ronar waved them away while Jarin flipped a few coins in the air, sending them fighting like chickens for a scrap of seed. Behind them, the little urchins crowded the bishop’s carriage, and Ronar turned to see the holy man drop the curtains to his windows with an annoyed groan.

  Beyond the beggars, lights from the town square lured them past a row of ho
uses and inns with steeply angled roofs and then past several merchant homes, their shops closed for the night. Citizens poked heads from windows to see what was astir, and Ronar could hear their gasps and whispers. No doubt they weren’t accustomed to receiving such an important visitor as Bishop Godfrey of Montruse.

  Ahead, lights from within the Church of the Holy Trinity lit the stained glass windows in a collage of dancing colors while the bell rang in the steeple and a town crier sang his mournful report in the distance. Pigs and chickens darted across the street. An old woman, carrying a bucket of water, froze at the sight of them and ducked into the shadows. Those citizens still out after dark stopped their tasks to stare at the newcomers. Others, upon spotting the insignia of the King, ducked into homes and alleyways, while still others bowed toward the bishop’s royal coach.

  The bishop seemed to perk up at the attention, lifting the curtain and waving his jeweled hand out the window toward the peasants. Ronar huffed. The man had done naught but complain since they’d left the palace in London three days prior. Word was he was out of favor with the king who had sent him on this quest—one at which he must succeed or face banishment. Or worse. Alas, the poor man had been forced to sleep on the ground with the rest of them and eat whate’er the forest provided like a mere commoner.

  And Ronar and his men had heard about the indignity—vehemently and relentlessly.

  Flaming torches lit their way past simple homes made of wattle and daub. Smoke puffed from chimneys as the smell of sour pottage joined other unsavory scents that stung Ronar’s nose.

  He didn’t much care for villages. Or for larger towns. Even in London, too much poverty and misery existed alongside wealth and excess. That excess now loomed above them from a hill in the distance. Luxley Castle—a dark, cruel master keeping an eye on its subjects.

  A sense of dread rolled over him, heavy and ominous. Why? This mission was not unlike many he and his men had performed for the king. Save on one point, he suddenly realized—one very important point that gave him pause.

  “Recovered from your joust with the wildcat?” Jarin, riding beside him, gave him a mocking grin.