A Kiss in the Night (6 page)

The slain lady. She saw herself dragging her body into the river...

The slain girl emerged in her mind. She was bending over her trunk, opening it for her. There were no words, but she understood the lady was giving her the things in her trunk, and somehow this offering meant much to this lady.

The kindness overwhelmed Linness; tears sprang to her eyes, and as her heart opened with an outpouring of gratitude, there came a warning. Not a warning but an order, a demand of a favor in return for her trunk, and it was as clear as if she had spoken the words. "Be you kind to my mother as I never was; give that good woman the daughter she never had and take great care with her love…"

Linness awoke from this meditation and found she was staring into the forest. 'Twas so strange, these revelations! She was relieved the bodies would be properly buried. And she assumed the mother was Mary in heaven. She knew well to obey; the slain lady need not have warned her to take care with her love. For she loved Mary with all her heart. And Mary had once again answered her prayers and sent her the slain woman s trunk, along with a blessing.

She rose shakily to her feet. She turned toward the direction of the river, where the slain bodies lay. She genuflected and drew a deep breath. They were but flesh now; their souls had transcended. They would be buried soon.

She was offered the finery in the trunk.

A gift, she knew, that could save her from starving ...

She slowly made her way back.

The sun hung in the still afternoon sky. The barest whisper of a breeze blew through the trees. Her senses pricked, she was prepared for the gruesome sight as she stepped through the trees.

All was the same.

She tried hard not to let her gaze rest on the bodies as she neared the coach. She was conscious of the deep silence and stillness that surrounded the dead and of her own deep breaths, the soft steps of her bare feet, the rush of the river behind her.

Only the very wealthy had a coach. She approached it in wonder; she could not help it. She had never seen one up close before. The velvet curtains had been ripped and slashed. The door opened with a creak. Red velvet seats; the girl must have been a very wealthy noblewoman. The slain knights must have been her failed guards.

She carefully lifted up the seat to find a three foot hand-carved wooden trunk. It was beautiful. She spent several minutes attempting to pull the trunk out from the seat, without success. A metal lock kept it shut. She struggled in vain for several minutes before she realized the lady herself would have had the key on her person.

She turned slowly to the lady, her eyes searching.

A gold chain hung about the dead girl's neck.

She approached with great trepidation and a prayer in her mind. She gently lifted it from beneath her bodice to see a lovely diamond cross and the precious gold key. How strange that the madmen did not take it! As if the cross of Christ had been a bad omen for them, one they would not take even for its riches.

"God have mercy… " a tortured voice whispered.

Linness froze in her tracks. A chill raced up her spine. She turned slowly around, her wary gaze searching the area. A gentle breeze rattled the trees, blowing over her hot skin to make her shiver. A rustle came from behind her. She swung toward it. The sound came from the river. She stepped cautiously to the bank, holding perfectly still until she heard it again.

She found the knight lying by the muddy bank in the cattails and hidden by bulrushes. An aging knight, his helmet discarded, his eyes glazed. She knelt at his side.

"Sir, you are alive!"

He tried to focus on the voice but found it difficult. Slipping in and out of consciousness, he felt the lifeblood ebbing from his body. With some effort he perceived the dirty face of a young and comely girl. "Lady Belinda, my God, you’re still alive. ..."

“
Nay, I am not her. The lady was slain. I am Linness of Sauvage."

He tried to focus but found the effort taxing.

"Can I help you? Oh, please, where are you injured—"

She gasped as she perceived the blood soaking through his chain mail. He must have a sword wound in his back, for there was no visible opening in the front. He grimaced in pain. "Oh, my poor sir, you must have a back wound—"

"Aye," he said. "’Tis a bad one. I am not long for this world."

She felt a deep sadness upon witnessing his courage at the hands of death. "What can I do to ease thy discomfort?'

"A cask in my saddlebag hanging on Calihab there. See him? He ran away as soon as he unseated me and returned like a beaten dog when he saw it was safe. They never got him."

She nodded quickly and rose.

Linness slowly approached the horse. Calihab stopped his munching and leveled his small brown eyes on her. She stopped as odd black and white images rose in her mind. She saw the thirty or more horses stampeding toward the riverbank where this lady's small party had hid to escape the advancing army. She felt the poor beast's terror and confusion as his nostrils filled with the scent of blood. She heard the shouts to the Lady Belinda to run. She saw the knight reaching for his sword as two warring men descended on him with flying sabers. She felt the creature's pain and confusion as he watched his knight fall…

She had never got the sight from a creature before. She reached her hand out to stroke his long neck. Calihab nudged her, stomped his foot with a lingering trace of his agitation. "Oh, you poor beast. You were very scared, were you not? ‘Tis over now and sadly done."

She spoke softly to him as she reached in the saddlebag and found the cask. She told Calihab to stay until she returned. The horse, whether he understood or not, began again to munch on his feast of grass.

Linness slipped her arm beneath the old man and raised his head to pour the wine down his throat He lay back with a sigh and closed his eyes. His pain ebbed away like a slow tide; 'twas almost gone. He took another two drafts.

"What be thy name, good sir?"

He spoke haltingly and slow at first "I am Jean de Braille, of Nancy. We were escorting the Lady Belinda Saint de Beaumaris to her betrothed, Lord Morgan Chamberlain of Gaillard, when…when it happened."

"What befell ye, Sir Jean de Braille?"

He spoke with his eyes closed. "We first ran unto the peasants running from the army ahead. We could see the smoke fillin' the sky a couple of miles ahead. We had but six knights and two footmen and we decided to pull off the road and wait—" He grimaced with a sudden sharp pain.

Linness gasped, slipping her arm beneath him to lift his head again for another draft. He swallowed as much as he could. "Ye have a kind soul, girl."

"Not so very good, though," she answered. "I was going to rob your lady's trunk when I heard you cry."

To her astonishment, the man smiled at this confession, his chest heaving with silent laughter “God forgive my words, but the lady deserves no better. She was a mean-spirited and spoiled young lady. Nothin' but foul complaints the whole trip— indeed, her whole life. A dark temper. Ye know,” he said, smiling, "I do not believe I ever heard her voice level or sweet? Not once. 'Twas always a loud, shrill cackle, worse than a fishmonger's wife.” An amused smile lifted on his cracked lips. "We heard that her own good parents celebrated with crackers, cakes, and fireworks the day we left." His laughter died. "I felt sorry for Lord Morgan the moment word came he agreed to have her. We all thought someone ought to have warned him the misery his fine title had bought...I guess now it matters not..."

Linness's brow drew together as she listened to this. She cast her eyes to where the girl lay "She looked like she was pretty..."

"I've heard that said before, but I never saw it. ‘Tis said that a person's soul shines out through their skin. Hers was a too harsh glare that made a man squint." His fine eyes focused suddenly on his benefactress. "You, however... you look surrounded in soft candlelight, the kind that fools men into thinking they're starin' at the Virgin beauty And, why, ye speak like any lady I've known."

The pool of his blood touched the edge of her tunic.

Jean closed his tired eyes and felt himself sinking deep into the warm mud of the riverbank. The world grew dimmer, then suddenly brighter,

Linness tried to pull him back "Oh, Sir Jean, shall I remove your mail?"

"Nay, Linness of Sauvage. Go on. Take the poor lady's gowns and any jewels not cut from her fingers." As long as Linness lived, she would never forget the mystical smile that came over the old man's face. "Linness of Sauvage, with ye beautiful gray eyes, ye be more of a lady than Belinda could ever be. If ye are clever, ye could pretend to be her and go in her place."

Once said, the idea took sudden importance in his mind. He opened his eyes to see her more clearly. He chuckled, coughed even, as he reached for her hand and squeezed it. "Lord Morgan has never laid eyes on her before and while he has seen a portrait, you have enough of a liking to Belinda to pull it off. The same long, dark hair and even features. You look about the same size. God's teeth, it could work..." He was smiling, delighted by the idea. "No one, but no one, has ever traveled between here and Montegrel; least of all the girl's parents. Her father's sickly, ye know, what with his gout and all. They think they've seen the last of their daughter. And with your silver tongue, you could be a lady. You could be Belinda. You could land yourself inside the Chateau Gaillard married to its lord and master..."

Astonishment changed her face as she took in the fantastic suggestion. "Me?" she questioned in an awe-filled whisper. Yet he did not respond. She anxiously placed a finger over his mouth. Only to discover his last breath had already left his body.

Hands over her mouth, Linness backed up as her mind rushed over the incredible suggestion. To pretend to be a lady! 'Twas fantastic! Preposterous.

True, she was convent-bred and could pass as a lady with a little finery—she had the tongue and knew most of the manners, she supposed. She could read the Scriptures and write in French letters, but still, would not something give her away? She knew nothing about Montegrel or Nancy. She had never heard of these places before. Still, she often thought one place was very much like another...

What if he, this great Lord Morgan de Chamberlain of Gaillard, discovered her incredible deception? Her thin neck would be strung out over the gates, no doubt.

She glanced back over the scene of death, her gaze stopping on Lady Belinda, the vision coming back to her. Mary wanted her to send the lady’s body into the river. She had seen thus in a vision.

Merciful heavens.

She rushed to Belinda's side and stared down at the body. It was hard to see past the pale mask of death, but aye, when she managed to force herself to look, there was a resemblance. Nay, not a resemblance but a similarity. They were of an age; Belinda looked a bit shorter but mostly the same size and with even features of face. Her own hair was more russet, streaked by the sun and crinkled, but it was the same length as the lady's.

And really, what would it matter if no one had seen Belinda before?

Linness rushed to the riverbed and, sinking to her knees, she held herself as her mind raced over the whole. If she stripped Belinda and pulled her into the river, the water would carry the body away. No one would ever find more than bones; no one would ever know she died. A rich lady would have a scribe to write letters, and she could smear the signature or sign with a heart, and so she could probably correspond to the lady's parents. Yet, if she said the wrong words to them, or if someone ever traveled to Gaillard from Montegrel…doom!

But the good knight had sworn no one ever traveled between Gaillard and Montegrel. She would marry a lord. He would bed her as Paxton had. Her thoughts stopped here.

The idea was not pleasant.

She could close her eyes and pretend she was somewhere else.

Nor was she a virgin now, though she supposed this lord might never know that for sure. She had heard of many virgins who did not bleed on their wedding night, leaving their husbands with an unanswered question the whole of their lives. A man had no sure way of knowing. Thank God for that. Then, too, many men, she had been told, did not really care if the dowry was large enough.

And if she didn't become Lady Belinda, would she not starve anyway? Famine was rife in these times, and right now she had as little to her name as a beggar. How many deaths from want of food had she witnessed in her short life? Twenty, thirty, fifty? At least that many, and since the day she left the convent, she had known too many times how very close she was to suffering the same fate.

These were harsh times indeed for the poor folk. What if her circumstances sunk lower and 'twas not begging she was forced to do to get something to eat? That idea sent her thoughts tumbling dizzily as a memory rose in her mind.

It was the harshest winter. The village crops had been burned the year before and most of the livestock killed by way of necessity for food—leaving the village without milk and eggs from the goats and chickens. During these times she took to searching the forest for roots to boil and eat, anything really to fill an empty stomach. Sometimes she was lucky and managed to find certain rare herbs—pennyroyal, mugwort, camphor—which, if she could find a buyer, she could sometimes sell to get a loaf of bread and a slab of lard.