A Kiss in the Night (31 page)

A heathen celebration, absolutely godless.

Not absolutely, he saw. A small gold crucifix hung on her neck, over the modest gold bodice of her remarkable costume. Gold, flared pantaloons, gold slippers, and a white and gold bodice—all of it indecent. It was against church law for a woman to wear pantaloons, even at a fair.

Just as he was studying her, Linness was studying him. Middle-aged. Long, dark hair. Shrewd brown eyes. An unlined face marked by a childhood bout with the pox. She sensed the intensity of his thoughts; he was not here for a frivolous amusement, but perhaps in search of an answer to a specific question. He wore plain clothes, neither rich nor poor: a beige tunic and hose, no jewels or weapons, and brown boots. He was not from Gaillard. His appearance gave no clue to the secrets of his life.

She cast a meaningful look to Clair as her hand touched her forehead in a signal that she would fail with him, unless she managed to get him to speak. “Please have a seat, Monsieur…?"

The man lowered his tall frame with surprising grace and offered nothing more than his name. "Garret."

Not his real name either, she sensed. He stared back at her, and in his eyes she saw condemnation.

Her silver eyes narrowed suddenly as she felt a bright wave of hostility. "You do not want to be here," she first said. A tingling alarm shot up her spine, and she paused and looked away. The world went white before her eyes and then burst with images drawn from this man's life. "Garret is not your real name. Your real name begins with a C. Charles. No, 'tis been changed and now begins with a...I cannot see this as the change does not fit you."

She paused as more images piled into her mind "I see the world you grew up in," she said slowly in a voice much changed, weighted with a sadness that was rapidly overwhelming her. "’Tis a monastery far north of here. Snow fell endlessly, aye, 'twas a world of snow and darkness and many, many miles removed from a township. The warmth of the sun rarely shone there. Your nature was gregarious and loving as a boy. You were your mother's favorite child. I see how she fought your father over your placement at this monastery, but your father ripped you from her arms. Mother in heaven, how she missed you."

These words mixed movingly with her startling compassion, especially on a subject that was so close to her heart. This produced a curious effect on the man. He sat with his back ramrod-straight with absolutely no emotion showing on his face. Save for his eyes. There was a flash, a confused wave, a stir of something buried deep in his heart.

She continued after a moment. "There was little happiness in this place. You were so young." As young as Jean Luc, she saw. "The monks were usually in silence. This was very hard for you. You wanted to speak so badly, to ask a hundred questions, to discover the answers to them. I see…mercy, I see the beatings that took place here. They beat the joy out of you; frightened and scared and, dear Lord, ever so alone, you withdrew into yourself."

Clair realized Linness's vision was real. She stiffened and shot her gaze to the man when Linness paused. Anger and confusion shimmered in the man's startled gaze. Whatever reason brought him to this tent, he had not been expecting these revelations.

"A secret love touched you in this cold world when you were ten and four…or five—I cannot tell for sure. For the first time in ever so long, you were touched and loved by an, an—" Her silver eyes opened to look at him, but she did not voice his secret out loud. She didn't have to. He knew what she saw, for he had lived it.

Linness closed her eyes again. "Aye, you were happy for the first time since leaving your home. You knew joy with this person. And yet something happened, something..." She gasped with the next hideous image that came to her mind. "Heavens, you were punished for this by watching this person you loved—" Her lovely eyes filled with unspeakable anguish as she held her head to stop the echo of a long-ago scream.

Alarm shimmered in her eyes as she understood the full magnitude of what had happened to him. "They were wrong!" she told him. "They were wrong to do that! Can you not see thus? How cruel they were; the worst part of their cruelty was in making you feel as if his death was your fault! Your fault for finding a measure of human warmth and love—"

"Enough! Enough!" He stood up abruptly, his gazed filled with agony. "I will not hear any more—"

It was too late. Understanding dawned . "You have been sent by another, Mercy, 'tis Bishop Luce who sent you to spy on me! You are a priest. Yet you are filled with doubt. The German monk has thrown your faith into confusion. Like many others. I see you sharing these doubts with Father Thomas in secret. This monk has given a voice to your doubts about the church. You are still torn. You were sent to Bishop Luce to temper this struggle with your vows—"

The man refused to hear any more. Unwanted emotions trembled through him and he turned his back, rushing from the tent as if it were on fire.

Linness fell against the pillows as Clair whistled. "Well, now we are in trouble."

"Aye." She nodded. "That we are. He will not go back now, and Bishop Luce will blame me for his disappearance."

Hands on hips, Clair announced, "As if that weren't bad enough, the treacherous sod did not even pay ye fee."

Jean Luc stepped inside the tent, glancing back as the flap closed. "Mother, you made that man angry! He knocked a juggler out of the way. The man lost three balls and fell—" He noticed his mother's costume and then Clair's and he forgot the angry man in the next instance. "Mother! You look so beautiful!" And laughing, the boy fell into her arms.

* * * *

The magical story mesmerized Linness. 'Twas the story of a great nobleman who had three daughters. When he became aged and infirm, he thought to divide his wealth into three parts, one for each of his beloved daughters. Yet the youngest and most beautiful daughter's profession of love was not as honeyed as her sisters, though it sounded much truer. The old nobleman loved his youngest daughter the most, and so her words cut deep. In a rage he disinherited her, leaving none of his wealth to her when he died.

Now, as the first act concluded, the two remaining sisters turned on the younger one after their father's death and treated her cruelly.

Linness sat on the edge of her high seat. The stage was lit, though the curtain had fallen over the first act. The theater was dark. Hundreds of people paid the billet price and sat on the neat rows of benches below; it was so crowded. A wooden balcony had been erected for the Lords and Lady Chamberlain, high above the rest of the crowd. John sat beside her, only mildly interested in this story. Jean Luc sat on Clair's lap in a soft cushioned chair. The soothing darkness and the day's unceasing activity had sent them both into a soft slumber. Morgan was nowhere to be found.

Paxton stepped quietly up the stairs and pulled back the flap to step onto the balcony. His gaze spotted Jean Luc sound asleep on Clair's lap and he smiled. A smile that changed as he saw Linness beside his uncle.

In the semidarkness he leisurely examined her strange costume. Like a harem girl, she was. His gaze traveled up from the gold slippers with the tips curving ridiculously upward, to the billowing gold pantaloons which fit tightly over her backside. He released his breath in a silent growl. A white chemise appeared beneath a gold bodice, the skein of long hair dropped over the back.

He had to see the front.

He had to see all of her. After reading King Francis's order, he had to see her. He had a need to lay eyes upon her. To find solace in her proximity. And to force himself to face the full awful reality crashing all around them.

How paltry were the rich clothes of wealth, fame, and success! How pale even the greater bounty of health, wits, and strength! Pale when laid alongside the treasure seated before him. Linness.

He had long ago discarded the idea that his love was inflamed by the unalterable fact that she was his brother's wife. The burning had been there always. He wanted her now as then, with each breath he took, and for the long rest of his life, he would want her.

King, country, and family be damned, he would claim her again. And again until through death they would part. She fought against the same tide sweeping over their life, and those times he viewed her struggle from afar, he might confess it even amused him. She could not resist their passion, he knew, and only because he had fought the same battle, fought it armed with superior will, and still, he lost to the mystical pull between them.

He would show her again tonight.

John turned to see him in the darkness, and though not a word was said, an understanding passed between them. John returned his attention to the actors as Paxton stepped behind the place where Linness sat.

She turned with a start. “Paxton!"

She pretended mild surprise, no more, and this was an effort. He looked so tall and darkly handsome in his fine gray velvet doublet, black belt, and riding pants. His riding cape was draped over one arm; she wondered where he had been all day. She struggled to see his eyes in the darkness but couldn't.

"Milady." He bowed slightly, his expression wholly unreadable. "Uncle." He nodded.

Was there a coldness to his tone? Or was she imagining it? And yet her intuition produced the idea he was amused by her. Amused? By her struggle?

Aye,
she realized with a shiver of sudden nervousness.

John moved to the next chair, so Paxton could sit between them. "An old story," he said casually as Paxton assumed the seat. "A much-abused maid. Two cruel sisters. No doubt a familiar ending of mistaken identity, a prince, and, of course, the marriage ceremony..."

Linness took this in with surprise. She had not been anticipating this ending, but in the next instant she forgot the play entirely. Her senses heightened as Paxton lowered his impressive height into the chair alongside her. She felt a subtle shift in her fear. The effect was powerful. A familiar excitement uncurled in her stomach.

She closed her eyes for just a moment, her senses flooding with anticipation. In an attempt to maintain an air of indifference, she drew in a deep, uneven breath, which brought her the familiar masculine scent of him, soothing and stirring like a tonic. She felt his penetrating warmth, the brush of his arm against her.

She could not be near him...

"Are you enjoying the play, milady?"

She turned to him with confusion, her eyes questioning. What emotion sat behind his mild tone? "Aye. I never guessed this ending John predicts."

"Ah, the prowess of our local fortune-teller has at last begun to fade," Paxton said. His tone was light and teasing, and instead of being a comfort to her, it threw her into confusion.

"Really?" John questioned in a surprised whisper, his amusement plain. "I thought all ladies were raised with this tired old tale. Did your mother never sing it to you?"

"I don't remember such a story."

"Lucky for you, milady," he said, bemused by his boredom and her innocent interest. He knew it was time to leave. For Paxton. For Linness. Their days were numbered, their time together but an hourglass turned upside down. The sadness of it weighed heavily on his mind. True love was as rare and precious as a just and good king, and he had lived long enough to know the treasure of what Paxton and Linness shared. He would not let his presence steal a moment from their mercilessly short time together.

He stood up. "I was afraid I'd have to endure this story yet again. I find that, like Madame Clair and Jean Luc, I am fatigued. I will carry Jean Luc to his bed, if you do not mind, milady?"

She paused for a second, only to realize there was no way to keep John here. The idea of being alone with Paxton terrified her. She looked to the sleeping Clair. Almost alone. "Aye, if he's not too heavy."

John stepped to her sleeping boy and, leaning over, he lifted him to his arms. The movement awoke Clair, who, after a sleepy assessment of her situation, and either ignoring or not seeing Linness's sly shakes of head, decided to take leave as well.

Linness was alone with Paxton.

The curtain was drawn up again.

Linness turned back to the play and pretended to watch.

Paxton watched her for a moment before his gaze dropped to the front of her bodice. Modest. A row of neat gold buttons between the tempting swell of her breasts. It reminded him of her gray dress and their encounter in the cellar storeroom.

She felt his gaze upon her. Color slowly suffused her cheeks and she shifted in sudden discomfort. A tingling sensation shot up her spine and she lowered her eyes with a small audible sigh.

"One should learn to control one's breathing, milady."

She turned to the intensity of his gaze. "How do I do that, Paxton?"

Her beguiling honesty surprised him and he gave her a pitying smile. "Think of the play set before you."

She looked to the stage, seemingly so far away suddenly. She tried to concentrate on the heroine's speech, but this was impossible. Her nerves were drawn as taut as a harp's strings and she closed her eyes again, remembering his mouth on her breasts, the gentle draw and play, the shimmering pleasure. "You should not have come here."

"Indeed," he whispered as he leaned slightly toward her, his mouth dangerously close to her ear. She felt the teasing warmth of his breath. "Are your sentiments for me so painful as to render my presence unbearable?"