Claire Delacroix (17 page)

I thought he would argue with me, but he simply glanced down at me, his gaze steady. “I am not accustomed to sharing my secrets,
chère
,” he confessed and I saw a hesitancy in him which I had never witnessed before. “I have not your talent for speaking with clarity and passion of matters that have long been hidden.” Merlyn frowned. “And I am spared of your conviction that my choices have been the best ones.”

There was sincerity in his manner. Though I was uncertain whether to trust it, I touched his sleeve. “I cannot aid you, Merlyn, not unless you share with me what details you know.”

He parted his lips, then sealed them again, frustration creasing his brow. His silence told me that Merlyn knew little of trust.

It had never occurred to me that I possessed anything that Merlyn Lammergeier might lack. I had never imagined that my poor family had given me something that his affluent one had not granted him. A mere week ago, I would have laughed if any soul had insisted that I had anything of merit to share with Merlyn.

But I knew how to trust, and Merlyn did not. I knew how to protect what was mine by virtue of love’s bonds, what I protected for the sake of love alone. Merlyn protected what was his by sovereignty, by purchase and by trade, because it was his legal right and duty to do so.

His uneasiness, his doubt and his silence told me much. The tide turned for me then, for I knew that if he did mean to change his ways, the course would not be an easy one for him.

I decided to encourage him.

I reached up and framed his face in my hands, a gesture that startled him into meeting my gaze. “Trust cannot be wagered or bought, Merlyn.” I reached up and pushed the hair from his brow, my fingers tangling in the thick waves of it. “I am not so harsh a listener as you fear.”

He smiled at me, his expression wry. “You think not? You demand solely the truth,
chère
, no more than utter honesty. And you have the audacity to insist that it is not a heavy burden.”

“It is not,” I whispered. “Not when the burden is shared.” I stretched up and brushed my lips across his.

Merlyn caught his breath and became very still.

“You can tell me of it, Merlyn, and I shall listen, and once you have begun, it will not be so difficult as you fear.” I stared into his eyes, willing him to believe me this time, then I kissed him in silent demand.

I had never before initiated a kiss with him, or indeed with any man, and I was clumsy in approaching him. But Merlyn did not seem to find fault.

Indeed, I heard him moan softly, then he caught me close. He let me lead, but responded with an enthusiasm that could not have been feigned. Our kiss blazed with that familiar heat and I wound my fingers into his hair, arching against him like a wanton. I kissed him with a hunger I had never yet shared and he responded in kind.

Then he pulled away, looking more disheveled and uncertain than ever I have seen him. He smiled down at me, resolve dawning in his eyes. “You shall have your desire in this,
chère
,” he whispered, “though you may well regret it.”

* * *

Merlyn paced the solar like a caged beast, his footsteps relentless. He was not comfortable with his choice and I knew it well, so I let him linger over the beginning. He was so restless that I knew he intended to do as he had pledged.

I was fascinated, shocked and thrilled. I had never expected that Merlyn might surrender one of his secrets to me.

He must have greater need of my aid than I had imagined.

I waited, content to let him take his time. The chamber brightened as the sun rose, the sky turned to a burnished silver then was tinged with blue, a ray of sunlight touched the wall of the solar.

Finally, Merlyn spoke. “The root of this matter lies in both my father’s trade in relics and events long past.” He sighed and perched on the side of the mattress. “When I was a child, I thought my father was a powerful sorcerer, for he seemed to conjure rare marvels at the most opportune times.”

I snorted. I could not help myself.

Merlyn spared me a glance. “Imagine how magical it appeared to a child, especially one inclined to think his father marvelous. We would visit an acquaintance and, at some point, usually after a fine meal, our host would tell of his endowment of a local church or monastery, then would express a desire for a fine relic to give the crowning glory to his gift.

“It would have to be a prestigious relic, of course, one fitting of the lord’s stature. One that would bring pilgrims to the chapel, one that would ensure that his endowment would have financial security for all time, one that would ensure his gift, and his grace, was eternal.”

“Of course.”

“Our host might rhapsodize about the perfect relic for this place. Typically, he had already reflected long about the matter and sought only an audience to hear of his dream.”

I hugged my knees, sitting forward, intrigued by Merlyn’s tale and the music of his voice. “And your father listened.”

“He was always a most gracious guest.” We smiled at each other for a heart stopping moment, then Merlyn frowned. “And I listened as well.” He shook his head and fell silent again.

I prompted him without a thought. “What kind of relics would these hosts desire?”

Merlyn shrugged. “Perhaps a finger bone of a saint who had been born locally before rising to great repute; perhaps a lock of hair of a great saint with a tenuous link to the foundation itself. Perhaps the skull of an apostle rumored to have visited the locale in his travels.” His lips twisted. “The majesty of the desired relic tended to reflect the host’s view of his importance.”

“And the fatness of his purse.”

Merlyn nodded, his gaze slipping over the tapestries and rich appointments of the chamber. I supposed they had been acquired by his father, with coin gained by this traffic, and looked about myself with newly assessing eyes. Indeed, this entire keep must have been built with the earnings from such sources. I had not previously thought about the roots running so very deep.

“Our host would then look to my father, who was known to travel extensively, hoping for news that such a relic could be had.”

“And he would produce it from his trunk?”

“Never so vulgar as that,
chère
!” Merlyn clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. “No, my father would sigh and shake his head. He would confess that he had heard nothing of such a precious token, for surely one would hear tell of an invaluable relic being translated or acquired.”

“He delayed to make the prize seem more rare.”

He spared me an incisive glance. “You are skeptical,
chère
.”

“I have seen much of men in my days.”

Merlyn held my gaze, his own expression inscrutable as the silence stretched long between us. I did not tear my gaze away. “Yes,” he mused. “I expect you have.”

He cleared his throat, frowned and continued. “They would then discuss other known relics of this particular saint and the location of those relics, expressing admiration and awe of each in accordance with the miracles attributed to it. Finally, my father would assure our host that he would listen keenly for any news in his travels that might be of interest.”

Merlyn pursed his lips. “It was the most curious thing, for inevitably, usually within a year or so, he not only heard a rumor of such a relic, but he managed to acquire it, at not inconsiderable expense, as a favor to his great friend.”

I laughed without humor.

“Yes, it is so obvious now what he did.” Merlyn shrugged. “The friend, of course, would be so overjoyed that he would not only compensate my father for his cost of acquisition but add a stipend for my father’s loyalty and trouble. The entire matter would be conducted very quietly, to protect the purchaser from vandals.”

“But in reality to ensure that your father remained above suspicion.”

“Indeed. So, the relics simply appeared, “found” in the lord’s family treasury, “lost and retrieved” from dear cousin George’s crusade or some such tale.”

“But where did the relic come from? Did your father counterfeit them?”

“No, at least not initially. My father worked every snippet of information loose from his host in their initial conversation, as the host invariably had done much of the research of what was available and where it was located.”

“Then he stole it?”

“Again, I do not think this was his original strategy, though it definitely was part of the trade later. I suspect he began innocently enough. My family had long traded in textiles, and had a particular specialty in silks -” he met my gaze, his own bright and compelling “- I told you no lie in this. My father travelled often to the East, at least thrice a year, and had a considerable trade in such fine cloths. And we have all been known for finding the occasional interesting trinket.

“I have no doubt that he truly did oft purchase a thumb bone or femur in Damascus or in Tripoli - perhaps he believed they were genuine, perhaps he was told a tall tale, perhaps he knew them to be false but guessed they would please an acquaintance.”

“But why take the trouble?”

Merlyn shrugged. “Who can know? Perhaps he found it interesting. Perhaps he began this was a means of securing alliances useful to his main trade and even supplementing it. Relics do not take much room to ship and they please noblemen. The nobility, after all, are the primary purchasers of silken cloth.”

Merlyn’s brows drew together. “But I can surmise that at some point, my father must have looked at the sorry array of fingernail clippings for which he had just paid an exorbitant fee and concluded that he could do better.”

“And fetch a better price,” I muttered.

“As one might expect from a man in his trade, my father was much concerned with the appearance of things. My first task in this endeavor was creating new boxes for the relics before they were taken to the nobleman desirous of them. He said a gift should be presented in the splendor it deserved. I showed an early talent with woodworking, so he apprenticed me at nine to a craftsman he knew, a Christian man in Cairo who wrought exquisite boxes of fine woods and inlaid their lids.”

I looked immediately at the fine box which held Merlyn’s deeds and seals. “Did you make this box?”

“No. I never mastered the art of inlay - I doubt that my father ever intended for me to learn a trade so well as that.”

“Then why...”

“It behooves a trader to be able to recognize the caliber of workmanship,” Merlyn said stiffly, his fingers sliding once again over the box as his voice softened. “Joseph wrought this for me, as a parting gift when I left his household.” He fell silent for a moment. “They were good people, and good to me.”

I understood that they had passed away and said nothing to shorten his moment of mourning. It touched me though, and several moments passed before I considered the possibility that he courted my sympathy on purpose.

Meanwhile Merlyn continued. “But I could make a plain box well enough, and if the wood is sufficiently fine, the grain is all the ornament it needs. My father purchased exotic woods in his travels and brought them home to me. I made boxes for the relics he acquired and my mother lined the boxes artfully in silk.” Merlyn shook his head. “I remember my pride the first time we had completed such a box. My father took it, nodded approval, then dropped it onto the stone floor.”

I gasped but Merlyn’s tone was hard. “It was no accident. He then stained the silk lining with ash from the fireplace. He scarred the outside of the box, he buried it in the garden for a month, then confessed himself pleased with the results. He said that it was important to the client to believe that all of what he purchased was ancient.”

“The silk would have rotted in a lifetime or less,” I felt obliged to observe.

Merlyn’s eyes twinkled. “While in contact with a holy relic? Tsk tsk,
chère
, I thought your faith more resolute than that.”

“My faith is resolute. It is the quality of the relics in which you trade that I question.”

“Ah, but the clients seldom did.” Merlyn sobered. “It is true,
chère
, that people will believe what they most wish to believe. In every deception, there are two willing parties - the one who deceives and the one who permits himself to be deceived.”

Did he allude to our relationship? I dared not guess.

“Surely you do not suggest that your father’s clients deserved to be tricked?”

Merlyn shook his head. “No. I suggest only that if they had kept their wits about them - if they had questioned the survival of the silk, for example - then they likely would not have been deceived.”

I could see the merit of this argument, but it did not absolve Merlyn and his family in their trade, at least not for me. My expression must have showed as much, for Merlyn abandoned the point. “My father’s willful aging of the box troubled me, for it seemed a deception even though he insisted it was an innocent one. For a long time, I thought, or perhaps I hoped, that the false aging of the box was the worst of it.”

“Then you discovered differently.”

Merlyn frowned. “I was twelve or thirteen years of age and was travelling with my father more frequently to learn the family trade. It was why I had been compelled to leave Joseph and his family - my father had need of my assistance. There was too much labor for one man and he meant to initiate me that I could assume responsibility for some portion of the trade. It was not long before I began to question the extraordinary correlation between the noblemen’s desires and my father’s sudden discoveries. I dared to say nothing at first, of course.”

“Of course? Why?”

“Matters were troubled in our family and tensions rode high.” Merlyn sighed. “My parents had always argued, but there was new heat to their antagonism and they argued less furtively than once they had. It has been said,
chère
, that not all desires can be sated with coin. Our visible wealth had grown considerably since I was a child - we lived in a finer house and with extraordinarily fine goods. My mother had five servants in the house where once she had had one, but lines of misery etched deeper in her brow with every year.”