A Kiss in the Night (25 page)

"I know. 'Tis just that the first impression is the most important, I think."

Clair clicked her tongue. "Well, what if he does remember you? How could he explain the transformation from a simple girl to the Lady Belinda de Chamberlain? 'Twould be impossible; I daresay he would dismiss it as coincidence."

She closed her eyes. "I pray this is so."

Morgan opened the door. Linness turned and stood up. "Well." He rubbed his hands together as he stepped in the room. "Are we ready—" He stopped midsentence, staring with great shock. She wore face color. She looked so changed! "What is this?" he demanded.

Linness felt inexplicably embarrassed, "I just thought…I...well…" she looked helplessly to Clair.

"A little change." Clair forced a smile.

"Why?" he asked with innocent shock.

"To look pretty."

"Pretty?" He drew a deep breath, and licked his lips uncertainly. Without his realizing it, the face paint reminded him of his trouble with Amber and he scowled suddenly. The foolish woman wouldn't leave him be! He had paid handsomely for her bed, but somehow she thought he was still lusting over her like a sick hound with the scent of a seasoned bitch. Just today, Giraud, the town butcher, secretly confided the woman was telling the townspeople that he would name her bastard after John.

It enraged him every time he thought about it.

Linness swallowed nervously, repelled by the way he stared at her.

Yet just as quickly his gaze narrowed, and he shook his head. "I do not like it. You are as beautiful as an angel. I do not want you to—"He motioned with his finger. “—do that. Remove it. I will wait outside."

The door shut.

Confused, Linness sat down heavily on the seat. A shiver raced down her spine and she stared distantly into space as Clair wrung a facecloth in the dressing water. "Clair," she whispered mysteriously, "I just know something terrible will happen tonight."

This statement gave Clair pause. She knew not to doubt Linness's premonitions, but on the other hand, that pompous old bishop had given the girl a goodly case of the jitters. She was probably just anxious.

"Ah, ye are just scared of that old goat. Come, let's wipe the paint from ye face and pray this Bishop Luce doesn't have a mind or a memory for women. Half the priests do not—everyone knows a whole lot of 'em be mollycoddled pansies, if ye know what I mean."

"Mollycoddled pansies? I'm quite sure I don't,'' Linness said as she wiped the moist cloth over her face.

"Queer as a purple lime," Clair explained.

Clair's lewd comments worked like magic, A wicked smile tugged at the corners of Linness's mouth and she released her fears in a sigh. "Thank goodness no one else hears your black tongue, for otherwise 'twould not be me who need fear the flames."

Once done, she genuflected for luck as she rose and gathered her skirts. Clair opened the door and Linness met Morgan in the hall. He smiled as his gaze came to her rosy face, scrubbed vigorously and looking squeaky clean. "Ah, that's more like my wife. Shall we?" he said, and he offered his arm.

You must learn to hide your fear.

Paxton's words echoed in her mind and she tilted her head up and smiled brightly, creating an air of regal grace as she and Morgan descended the ancient stairs, passed through the corridor and into the great hall.

The fires blazed, warming the room. Festive torches lit the space. The freshest linen decorated the tables. Vivian had constructed artful centerpieces made of fruit and flowers, which Linness had helped her with earlier. The best pewter dishes and goblets sat neatly atop the table along with bowls of fruit and cheese and the special basins and cloths for the feast washing.

The most prominent citizens of Gaillard, dressed in their finest clothes, stood along the lower tables. Knights and priests sat at another table, the priests on one side, the knights on the other. From the corner of her gaze she noticed Simon was not there.

Paxton noticed the change at once as Morgan escorted Linness to the main table on the dais, stopping every few steps as Linness greeted friends and clasped hands with others. She was playing the part of the beautiful and well-loved lady of the manor, and playing this well. Relief washed over him in force; laughter edged his grin.

He looked to Bishop Luce, startled when he saw the man watching him watch Linness. Paxton's brow rose inquiringly. Bishop Luce turned back to Linness as John, acting as steward, introduced her. And as he always did in formal situations, especially with members of the church, he repeated her Christian name. "May I present the Lady Belinda de Beaumaris Chamberlain? And, milady, may I present Bishop Peter Luce?"

Linness gathered her pretty skirts in hand and gracefully swooped into a curtsy. He held out his hand for her supplication. Trying not to remember the last time this happened, Linness lightly touched her lips to the ring of Christ.

"How do you do?" she asked softly as she dared a look into his eyes. A tingling alarm shot up her spine. He stared at her with unmasked confusion.

The bishop was stunned by how familiar she looked. Where had he seen her before? He could not but stare at her. And something told him to beware of the pull this woman had on men.

The bishop continued to eye her even as John called the names of the rest of the members of the bishop's party. Her curtsies solicited bows from each of the priests. The party gathered in their assigned seats and took their places. The butlers, in charge of drinks, rushed to fill glasses, and still she felt the unnerving scrutiny of the bishop across the way.

"Milady," he finally said, "I am baffled. I have the queerest sense of having met you before. You seem...somehow familiar..."

She suffered an anxious moment's pause, but this disappeared as she took a deep breath, which she released in a smile. "Do you?" she asked in a perfect pitch of politeness. "Perhaps you know my parents? The baron and baroness de Beaumaris of Montegrel? Have you journeyed there before?"

"I have not," he replied. "Have you traveled elsewhere?"

"My wife's travels have been limited," Morgan answered for her. "She is content to stay close to home and hearth."

"Content?" She tossed a light and teasing gaze to Morgan. "Oh no, my husband, I am in bliss to stay at our home."

Morgan's pleasure at this answer showed in a smile and an affectionate squeeze of her hand.

Paxton realized, too late, the price of this intrigue; he stared stonily at Morgan before forcing his gaze away.

The servants carefully began serving the two distinct meals. Bishop Luce and his brothers maintained the restricted diet demanded by the rule of Saint Benedict. This forbade the meat of quadrupeds. Shortly after his arrival, the bishop had appeared in the kitchen to discuss the requirements he demanded for meal preparation, of which, to Vivian and Bonet's dismay, there had been many. Vivian made the mistake of mentioning that Father Gayly had never even mentioned this obscure rule. Bishop Luce seized this chance to express his opinion—expressed it as a fact—that this laxity on Father Gayly's part was what brought down the divine retribution that killed him,

Vivian was still upset about it.

Paxton was reminded of the man's ridiculous zealotry as the special plates of Lenten stew and sundry fish were set before the priests. "So, Bishop Luce," he inquired, "I suppose the German monk, Luther, and his attack on the church's practice of issuing indulgences is well known. I have not heard the church's formal defense of the practice. Do you know it?"

The bishop's brow lifted, Linness forgotten as he replied, "Since when does the holy Roman church need to answer to a German monk of no distinction or repute?"

"Since his words captured the passion and inflamed the ideas of the faithful," replied Paxton.

From across the way, a guard called for Michaels, who rushed around the table and through the doors.

Linness knew at once what Paxton referred to; they all did. Priests accepted money for passing out "indulgences," an absolution for a sin not yet committed. For instance, a man who desired to have an affair with a woman who was not his wife could buy an absolution from a priest and then commit adultery with a clean conscience, supposedly guaranteed God's forgiveness—on the off chance he died while committing the sin. Father Gayly had refused to issue these licenses for sins, though most other priests' pockets were full to bursting from the collection of coins for indulgences; thus all manner of sins—adultery, thefts, deceits—were being wiped away for a pretty price.

"My dear man, are you now questioning church law? Do I really have to explain its holy purpose? Indulgences are absolutely necessary to lift people from purgatory; all the world knows this; certainly the faithful know it." His tone managed to imply that Paxton was not likely among this group. "If a person dies without benefit of absolution, he is condemned to purgatory. Indulgences have saved countless souls from that unpleasant state. Their purpose is holy and noble."

"Really?" Paxton responded. "And I thought their purpose had to do with the pope's effort to rebuild Saint Peter's."

Morgan and a number of the other men laughed openly at this frank assessment, while Linness hid her smile in a hasty gulp of water. Even Bishop Luce smiled and yet he asked, "You would not question the church's right to spend these coins for the glory of God?"

Another priest rushed to point out the profound effect of the church's greatest architecture on the masses. Chartres and Notre Dame, these glorious buildings, dropped common folks to their knees in awe and supplication, no easy feat to do to sinners. But as fine dishes were being set before them, few listened to the man's rather undistinguished and long-winded speech.

Michaels rushed back into the hall and straight for Morgan. He came directly behind him and whispered into his ear, "Milord, a...a woman is outside the doors, insisting on speaking to you now."

Michaels did not attach a name to this person; he didn't have to. Linness demurely wiped her mouth, pretending not to have overheard any of this. Yet, to her horror, the whispered words received Bishop Luce's full attention—causing all the priests to fall silent and observe what had caught their superior's attention.

Linness looked anxiously to Paxton.

Paxton rushed to fill this silence and save his brother this embarrassment. "Yet how do you reply to the German monk—"

Too late. Morgan's face had reddened, more as he slammed his fist to the table and shouted to Michaels, "Curse her. Send her away! How dare she interrupt me in my hall. How dare you bring her claim—"

Michaels, obviously frightened by this, hastened to lean over and explain, "She says she shall kill herself if—"

"Begone before I do it for her!"

Michaels drew back, stunned. Humiliated and upset, he rushed away.

Color came to Linness's face. She was not embarrassed for herself, but rather for Amber's pathetic attempts to engage Morgan's paternal interest in her child. Clair had gleaned from the local gossip that Amber had given birth last night. But Amber should not be out so soon, even though the birth had apparently been an easy one for her. She had not yet gone through the ceremony of ritual cleansing after childbirth, which would cause even more gossip.

Adultery was still a sin against the sacrament of marriage, and while this was hard to forgive in the best of circumstances, many of the townspeople might turn a cheek to Morgan's infidelities, if he conducted his affairs honorably. He did not. He flaunted these liaisons as if he were an unmarried merry prankster, deceiving the women and, unforgivably, abandoning his bastards. The other day one of his children was seen in the rain and mud without shoes, barefoot like a beggar. This was too much, and when this news reached her ears, Linness, that very day, sent the woman a bag of coins, foodstuffs, shoes for the child, and some warm woolen scarves and hats for the winter.

Of course, Amber was aware of Morgan's past abuses of peasant women. Somehow, Morgan always convinced these women that each was special, that he would love her all his days. Yet, even in her distress over Morgan's abandonment, Amber should have stayed in bed. If she knew Morgan at all, she would have realized that, as with so many men, one did not press forward when they turned the other way.

Angry, Morgan drained his goblet and held it out for more. Everyone knew to leave him alone until this storm passed. Paxton asked his question again and saved him from any of the bishop's inquiries. The bishop decided to ignore the obviously upsetting subject, whatever it was, and he replied to Paxton. Within minutes a furious debate raged at their table. The food was practically forgotten as Bishop Luce's unrelenting fundamentalism met Paxton's rational and logical challenge, which he cloaked in a considerable wit.

Linness remained silent, tearing off small bits of bread. Despite the animosity between the two men, or perhaps because of it, they seemed to relish the heated exchange. She might have enjoyed the exchange as well if she were not sensitive to Morgan's still-seething fury.

Which gradually diminished as the minutes passed.

She lifted a succulent slice of apple and a piece of cheese to her mouth but felt a sudden and sharp jolt seize her body. She gasped in a small, startled cry. Instantly all gazes came upon her and she saw Paxton rise in alarm. Her hands went numb, the food dropped to the table. A noisy scuffle sounded outside the door. The musicians stopped, turning to see what it was about.