A Kiss in the Night (29 page)

If the letters were penned by a scribe. Perhaps that serving woman! The lady would never guess...

Well, he would send for her at once.

The bishop felt his heart pound with the revelation of how he would make everyone see the true nature of this pretender, and reveal the murder of the real Lady Beaumaris, God rest her soul. He would insist the dowager Lady Beaumaris come for a visit, not giving an explanation other than that the journey should commence at once.

'Twould mean the death sentence of this Linness, one richly deserved; she would burn in the everlasting fires of hell. Morgan would be free. The boy Jean Luc would be known as the bastard he was And Lord Paxton, too, would at last be free of her evil bewitchment...

Feverish eyes, filled with the weight of his understanding, encountered Morgan's hulking form, apparently still waiting for him. He was surprised Lord Morgan had the necessary spine to confront him alone after all that had happened. For the man was a world apart from his arrogant, prideful brother.

Or so he thought.

He questioned, "Milord?"

Morgan struggled for a long moment, feeling wretched and embarrassed. He had to make the man comprehend, though; no matter what, Linness was innocent. The thought gave him courage. "I want you to accept fully that my brother and I are of a like mind. You are not to attack my wife in this matter. I will not abide it. Please to God, she alone is undeserving of the horrendous and horrific things you seem to be accusing her of."

The bishop did not smile. The poor cuckolded fool. Pathetic, he was. "Indeed?"

"She is innocent and as pure as an angel. She is even touched, methinks, by God Himself. Her sight, it is only good—"

"Milord, you are greatly deceived," he replied in a low and threatening voice. "God alone ordains and divines the future; He grants the gift of prophecy only to the saints and apostles. No other. Certainly not a—" His hand waved in scornful dismissal. "—a woman! Which leaves us with the diabolical forces of deception to account for her so-called gifts. I mean to root these evils out. To save her soul or damn her forever. For the good of all the faithful at Gaillard."

Until that moment Morgan had never grasped the deep and inexplicable hatred the man harbored for Linness, and it came as a shock now. He had neither the patience nor the inclination to evaluate supernatural claims—they made his head spin like a child's top—but that this man was threatening his wife was not to be tolerated. Ever. "I grant that I do not know about these things," he confessed, and yet his gaze narrowed with his own threat, "but hear me, Bishop. My wife is not to be subjected to accusations of witchery and whatnot, I will not abide it!"

Morgan started to turn away. The bishop stopped him. "Your brother has said he will protect the lady with his life. Why is that, do you think?"

Morgan turned around, his face darkening with emotion. "Because Fate has made him my brother! We are joined by blood, and by God, he would not be my brother if he did not swear to protect what is mine!"

"You are a fool, milord. It is because he is in love with your wife!"

The bishop fully expected the man to become enraged by this enlightenment, but this did not happen. He knew the extent of the lady's power of bewitchment when Morgan replied, "As is all of Gaillard! 'Tis as simple to comprehend as the changing seasons; to know the lady is to love her. All the world loves her." With a furious warning glance, he added "And my brother is not the only man who would die protecting the lady. Tread carefully into her life."

The bishop fully intended to. He would start by obtaining proof of the colossal scale of her deception—proof that the dowager Lady Beaumaris would provide—and this would open Lord Morgan's sadly deceived eyes. And that proof would be the condemning evidence.

* * * *

The women's fury fueled their pace as Linness and Clair swept through the Gaillard gates and into the courtyard. Chickens hawked and scattered, and Michaels, from high up atop the battlements, saw trouble fast approaching. "Milady," he called down. "Is something amiss?"

"It is indeed. I need to speak to my husband. Where is he?"

Morgan's head suddenly appeared alongside Michaels.

"I'll be right up," Linness called, and the two men watched her violet skirts and Clair's beige ones billow behind them as they rushed up the stairs.

She emerged on top and stopped. For her gaze came to Paxton. He looked so darkly handsome in black: a black doublet, leggings, and boots, a thick silver belt. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. He was turned sideways, telling the Gaillard merchants gathered around him that he had put four more men on night watch to catch the thieves who were robbing everyone. The thieves brought by the flood of people into the town for the Gaillard fair.

Her heart felt as if it suddenly stood still, as though it were a queer mechanism that stopped and started by the measure of his proximity. She understood now how it was impossible to stop loving him and nearly impossible in the dark dead of the night to stop herself from going to him.
When you are weak from the relentless pounding of your heart, the breathlessness no air can ease, when your body is soaked in nothing but longing and the sweetened scent of your desire…

Aye, Paxton, every night.

Morgan came to her side, asking what trouble she found, but she hardly heard him as Paxton had turned to look at her and she knew she must be going mad! For she could only be imagining that strange and compelling light in his eyes that said he was fully aware of her predicament.

She turned her confused gaze out over the battlements and drew in the breathtaking vista. Rooftops stretched in the distance, the vineyards and forest beyond, the sun slanting in a gold arch over the whole. The river carved through the forest-covered hills. People had come from miles and miles away, flooding into Gaillard for the festivities of the fair tomorrow. The streets were packed. Colorful tents, with bright banners, stretched for miles along the river. There would also be wild bear wrestling, merchants selling wares of all kinds, jugglers, acrobats, a singing choir, all manner of entertainments and amusements.

A larger, dark red tent had been erected on the outskirts of town. The traveling theater troupe was erecting a private box for the lord and his family. They had invited her up to examine the enclosed seats, lifted above the rest, and the uninhibited view of the stage this seclusion offered.

That was, if she could help the troupe.

When her silence stretched too long, Clair nudged her. She turned to Morgan, remembering the fury that brought her to him, and she demanded, "You must do something."

"About what?"

She brushed an errant curl from her face, pausing as Paxton dismissed the merchants and approached the place where she stood. "The traveling theater group. For tomorrow's performance. They accosted me as I was returning, some of them crying but most of them just plain angry." Her silver eyes narrowed. "They have just endured a visit from Bishop Luce, who has informed them that they cannot perform their play because he has not had the opportunity to review the material, and since it is not a Bible story, he is certain it will be scatological."

With exasperation she said, "You must tell Bishop Luce he cannot dictate what play will be performed; they have rehearsed for weeks. Besides, they assure me there is nothing in the play offensive to the church or indeed any Christian mind.”

Morgan rubbed his beard and cursed, "Blast the man. Hands into everything. This fair has been more trouble than it's worth." He looked to Paxton for help.

Paxton suggested, "Get the bishop the copy of the play. He can read it tonight if he's so concerned about protecting the good people from any scatological material—"

"That's just it," Linness said, “the actors produced it for him, but he told them he has neither the time nor the interest in reading it; he said they had to either produce a biblical story or keep their doors closed."

Paxton actually smiled at this. "Then we shall give him another chance." He turned to Michaels and ordered, "Michaels, get your hands on the copy of this play and present it to the bishop. Tell him that Morgan has decided if he doesn't have a meritorious and intelligent objection to truly offensive content after he reads it tonight, the play shall go on."

Morgan nodded in agreement, and Michaels raced off on his quest. Linness and Clair squeezed hands. They had looked forward to a modem play. The Three Wise Men or Noah's Ark became old after one saw it the twelfth time.

No one at first noticed Jean Luc waiting patiently for his parents' attention. Enormous fear filled his chest and threatened tears. But he would not cry, no matter what. His father said only cowards cry. He was not a coward. He braced against the pain. The more he braced, the more he felt its sting. But he would not cry for it.

Linness started to leave, but stopped, noticing her son. Something was wrong. A bright, hot wave of pain washed over her mind, leaving a sick dread in its wake. She stepped quickly before him and knelt down. "What's wrong? Did your schooling not go well today?"

Seeing his mother's love and concern made the threatening tears come forward. He tried to stop them, but 'twas too hard. He wanted to fall in her arms. He struggled not to, and in the end he had to look away.

The two men and Clair came up behind them. Linness knew something was terribly wrong. She reached her hand around his arms. With his own concern, Morgan reached a hand to his shoulder.

Jean Luc winced, shrinking away.

Alarmed, Linness stepped behind him. His neck was red, and she knew, somehow she knew. She ripped off his belt and lifted his tunic.

Angry red scratches covered his back.

She drew in a shocked breath. "Mercy—”

They beat him! Those wretched monsters beat him!

And Jean Luc was in her arms. His small frame leaned against her warmth. Her arms held him, carefully, without touching the angry red marks. He buried his face against her, feeling ashamed and not knowing why. He heard a vicious curse before his uncle demanded, "Who the devil did that to you?"

He heard his father say, "I'll kill him. I swear, I'll kill the bastard—"

The anger frightened him more; he clutched at his mother. "No, no, Jean Luc, not you. Not you, my love." She shot a warning look at Paxton and Morgan. "Who did this to you?"

"Father Aslam, He did not want to, but Bishop Luce said he must."

"Why did he do it, Jean Luc? Were you behaving badly?"

"I was," he said with his startling honesty. "I could not help it. I tried, but—"

"What did you do?"

"I made mistakes. I was thinking of the fair. Pierre ran off to see the bears." Tears filled his eyes as he said the worst part. "Father Aslam said I cannot go. That bad boys cannot go. I must stay and copy the lesson, over and over on my slate, until the fair has gone."

Linness looked up at Paxton and Morgan, both furious as Jean Luc gave in to his tears at last. "Jean Luc, darling," she said softly, "this was a terrible mistake. Father Aslam was very wrong to have beaten you."

A choked whisper asked, "He was?"

"Aye, your father and your uncle will straighten him out. They will explain that we do not beat our animals in that manner; that we most certainly will not ever abide the beating of you, who is most precious. Do you understand? He was wrong; he is to be brought up for it."

Clair guessed the real fear pumping in the young boy's heart. "Poor Father Aslam's all mixed up!" the older woman declared, hands on hips. "What can he be thinking saying ye are not going to the fair on the morrow, that you have to do lessons instead? Why, he must be daft!"

Jean Luc turned hopeful eyes up to his father. His father smiled and nodded. His mother hugged him again. He looked at her smile as she wiped his eyes. He drew a deep breath.

"Come," his mother said, "let us go to the kitchen and try to steal some of Vivian's honey cakes..."

She cast a meaningful look at the men, both of whom nodded back. Morgan slapped Paxton's back and said, "Shall we toss for who gets the bones of this Father Aslam.”

"And his superior rat, Bishop Luce," Paxton added.

* * * *

Torture often led to death, and fear of death often produced a heart seizure. Bishop Luce remained unconvinced of this common wisdom. As far as he was concerned, God ended the man's miserable life once he finished serving His purpose.

Tom Boswell's crimes were many and grievous; he was the devil's puppet, culminating in the impersonation of a priest, which, after suicide, was the gravest of all sins. He spent his life cheating people through the devil's games: The man had denied this to the end, but he knew. He knew it all, including that Tom Boswell had pledged an oath to Lord Paxton, who richly rewarded the reprobate for it. For he had found enough gold coins in Tom Boswell's pockets to last his lifetime.

Bishop Luce toyed with these coins in his vestment pockets as he stared down at the miserable leech, now covered hideously in blood. Apparently Boswell had brought Lord Paxton the news of Simon's death at the hands of robbers. This had apparently greatly alarmed Lord Paxton, filling his mind with suspicions and intrigues. He knew Lord Paxton had secretly sent yet another knight to deliver his letters to Cardinal Duprat and Francis. It was all part of her diabolical plot, he knew. Unfortunately Boswell had died before he could name the new messenger or the route he would take.