Love Thine Enemy (42 page)

Unable to look at Rochelle, Becket shifted his stance
to face Gaston, detesting the rattle of his fetters.  "How did Reynaurd
end up with DuBois?"

Gaston’s eyes brightened as if with heightened
self-regard.  "’Twas how I convinced him to betray his friend Alberre.  Of
course, Reynaurd had already betrayed Alberre and me by planting his seed
within your mother.  Thus, I included him as a recipient in my vendetta.  For
the heresy trial I persuaded both Reynaurd and Isabelle to testify, thus giving
me further power over each.  To entice your mother, I hinted of DuBois and
marriage to me, never intending to give her either pleasure.  Reynaurd would
only testify if I gave him DuBois.  I complied, with the understanding that
upon his death, the land became mine.  Greed is a sweet seductress.  I would
merely mention the bargain and he would succumb to whatever I demanded, until I
wearied of toying with him and shot him during the hunt.  By then, I had
accomplished my purpose. I had made his life--and death--hell."

During Gaston’s diatribe, he repeatedly turned the key
within his fingers; firelight flashed off the metal as if taunting Becket of
how near his deliverance, yet how unattainable.

"Note the parallels, Becket. 
Your
birth
began the ingeniously-plotted drama of my revenge. 
Rochelle’s
birth
began what I had believed was the final scene, because when I felt assured all
accepted her as Reynaurd’s, I summoned the Inquisition.  By the Ides of March,
Alberre was dead." 

Injustice burned within Becket’s chest.  "
Ma mère,
do not betray me for this Beelzebub.  Gaston just confessed his intricate
revenge, how he lied to you in the past so as to use you for his gain.  He but
continues, utilizing you and Rochelle as pawns in his sick game.  Rochelle is
beyond convincing, but you--"

"Isabelle knows her fate if she refuses." 
Gaston chuckled as he sauntered toward Becket’s mother.  "Do you really
expect her to choose a scarred, landless son over the perfection of DuBois, and
of me?" 

He brushed the key down her cheek and neck.  "Did
you know that after I set fire to the brush around Alberre, and then to Becket,
Reynaurd and I feasted within the great hall while Alberre burned?  His screams
provided the entertainment, a macabre minstrel, if you will, while I gorged on
cassoulet
and wine in celebration of my victory.  I thought Becket had died as well, but
he returned like Lazarus from the dead, only to burn again."  He let the
key drop to the end of the chain’s length.  "‘Tis only fitting, think you
not?  Your heretical husband and son, two scorched bookends bracketing your
treacherous life."

His mother remained motionless as if she had
surrendered to the bait.

Gaston shrugged.  "Two women of import in your
life, Becket, and both of them betrayed you for DuBois.  How excruciating for
you.  How exhilarating for me." 

As if fervent to proceed, Gaston pierced Becket with
his granite gaze.  "I will take you to Moreau where the dungeon is better
equipped for torture.  I have already summoned the Inquisition, poste haste, to
hold council there.  Lady Isabelle and Lady Rochelle will watch.  My daughter
is already aware of her compensations should she agree to testify.  After all,
she is my sole heir and eager to... How did she express it?"  He pressed
the key against his pursed lips, then inhaled as if with remembrance. 
"Ah, yes.  She is eager to have this over and done with."

His comment when he had first thought to bed her, then
hers when she had thought to take her own virginity.

Becket snapped his attention to Rochelle, who had
closed her eyes against him.  "So, my traitorous wife, from the beginning
you have plotted for this end.  Your deceit gains you naught, except my
understanding of who you are.  A serpent in a woman’s body.  A temptress with a
rotten soul.  How could I have loved you?  Why could I not have seen through
your deviousness?  Because of your beauty?  Because you had befriended Pierre? 
Because of your faked affections for me?"

Because you stole my heart?

Tears escaped her shut lids and wrenched his gut.  Even
knowing how vile her spirit, he loved her still.

Gaston’s sinister laugh drew Becket’s attention.

"Ah, my defiant captive, I anticipate your
stubbornness before you finally surrender and acknowledge your connection with
the devil.  The more obstinate you are, the more brutal the torture, the
greater my pleasure.  But confession or not, I have no doubt the Council will
accuse you of heresy.  You have contributed so many instances to the fact,
Bertrand and I won’t even have to lie."

Becket scoffed.  "I confess my heresy to you now. 
Why would I believe in a God who allows the wicked to prosper and the
Inquisition to torture the innocent?"

"How self-righteous a statement from a participant
in the
chevauchée
blood-bath.  However, I delay acceptance of your
confession.  You haven’t yet suffered.  You haven’t yet admitted my authority
over you.  Or, do you?" 

"You possess a deformed sense of humor, Gaston.  I
dub thee, jester."

"’Tis you who are the proud fool."  Gaston
plucked from the floor the end of the long heavy chain tethered to the metal
collar around Becket’s neck.  "The clergy preaches, ‘Pride goeth before a
fall.  Prepare for the plunge."

Moving to Rochelle’s side, Gaston pried her fingers
apart and pressed the end of the chain into her hands.  "Yank him to his
knees."

Becket steeled himself for the pull.  "Kneel
before you, Rochelle?  Never.  Unless you break my legs, a barbarity within
your capabilities.  Blood will tell, after all."

She blinked as if something stung her eyes.  Although
the chain rattled within her grasp, she merely stared at the links that seemed
a crude defilement against the porcelain of her flesh.  Becket wondered why she
made no move to achieve what should surely be a thrilling act of mastery over
him.

"I said, yank him to his knees.  As
reward..."  Gaston swung the key in front of her eyes.  "...you may
open the lock."

A pained expression marred her face, but she did
naught.  

Becket’s hatred deepened.  Even after seeing him
chained, she still loathed his release.  He had always known she would destroy
him.  He hadn’t realized how great the agony.

Gaston shrugged.  "My error, Rochelle.  Mayhap
someone else will free my prisoner."  Gaston glanced around the great
hall, settling his gaze upon the priest.  "I reword my offer, daughter. 
Do as I say and I will
not
reward
Père
Bertrand with the honor of
releasing him."

Rochelle gasped and tugged on the metal tether, but she
didn’t have the strength to budge Becket from his planted stance.

"I said, yank him to his knees!"  Gaston
grabbed the chain and jerked.

Becket jumped forward, landing on his feet.  He
grinned.

Rochelle’s eyes widened as if with surprise.

Appearing the enraged fisherman, Gaston reeled in the
linked metal, hand over fist.  Becket hopped like a rabbit to the dais, and to
his supreme satisfaction, he remained upright.

Rochelle covered her mouth with her hands as if to hide
a smile. 

"So, you think I look ridiculous, wife?  So be
it.  At least my hatred kept me unbowed before you."  

Her mirth faded as if he had doused the sun.  A lone
tear trickling down her cheek, she looked away from him and toward Pierre,
symbolically dismissing him from her life. 

Instead of the anticipated satisfaction, he felt
chilled, barren.  Even now, the vision of her made him ache inside.  No, he
despised her.  Loathed her.

"You think you’re clever, Becket, but I control
you!"

Becket’s head jerked around from Gaston’s unexpected
grip, and he realized he hadn't even seen Gaston leave the dais. 

"I have power over your very existence.  I am your
god.  Worship me.  Kneel, damn you."

"You may take my life, Gaston, but you’ll never
touch my soul."

"Every one has a pressure point, my arrogant
hostage.  I’ll show you yours.  By now, I doubt you would care what happens to
Rochelle, but..."

A chill of foreboding slithered across Becket’s
nape.   

Gaston tossed the key to the priest.  "At long
last, Bertrand, I give you Pierre.  Go purge him of his devil."

The key--and Pierre?  Fear stirred within Becket’s
malice.

"
Non
!"  Rochelle lunged to an awkward
angle, clutching a terrified Pierre like a she-wolf with an endangered cub. She
tilted her face to Gaston.  "You vile demon.  I did as you
commanded."

"I never promised you Pierre, Rochelle.  I just
dangled the hope until you served my purpose."

Truth clawed a hole in Becket’s hatred.  The key. 
To
unlock Pierre.
  Gaston had used Pierre to gain mastery over Rochelle.  He
had forced her to sign.  He forced her to his will.

Apparently unable to lean further, Rochelle stretched
forward, grappling for a crying Pierre who shoved at the priest.  Then Becket
saw the dark bands around Rochelle’s and Pierre’s wrists.  As if they had been
previously chained.

Consumed by the fury of hell, Becket yanked the cloth
from the table, platters and tankards smashing around him.  Then he saw beneath
the planks. 
Chained by their ankles.
  Rochelle to the table leg. 
Pierre to the chair.

"Curse you to perdition, Gaston!"

 "Your pressure point, Becket."   

Before Gaston blinked, Becket spun Gaston around,
hooking his wrist shackles over Gaston’s head and around his throat. 
"Your pressure point, Gaston."

Gaston struggled against the choke, sputtering for air.

"Rochelle, run!"

"I can’t get the key from
Père
Bertrand. 
And he already has Pierre."   Near hysteria, Rochelle grabbed the priest’s
robes as he dragged Becket’s brother past her. 

"Release me!" 
Père
Bertrand
back-handed her.  She slammed against the table.

Becket shoved Gaston to his knees.  "Kneel, damn
you."  Frantic, he reeled in the chain tethered to his neck collar.  Heavy
male footsteps neared from three sides, most likely guards.  Using the linked
metal like a whip, Becket swung the chain in circles above his head.  Air
whistled through the holes.  The footsteps stumbled, retreated.  Curses
darkened the air

"Rochelle, down!"

She knelt, tearing Pierre from the priest and throwing
her body over him.

Becket leapt forward, lashing the chain across
Bertrand’s forehead. The priest sank against the wall. 

Rochelle grabbed something from the rushes, Becket
hoped, the key.

Gaston stirred.  Becket didn’t have much time.  He
heard men moving at the outer limits of the chain.  Becket increased the speed
to a blurring fastness.  The men hung back, surely realizing Becket would
behead them if they dared come too close.

"Rochelle, hurry!"

He saw her hands shake as she tried to insert the key
into the padlock that secured her ankle. 

Gaston pushed to his knees, his hands massaging his
throat.  The he saw Rochelle beneath the table as she struggled with the leg
iron.  "Stop her!  Someone stop her!"  His command sounded strained. 
Becket scorned himself that he hadn’t crushed Gaston’s vocal cords.

Footsteps scuffled beyond Becket’s lethal weapon.  He
increased the rotation of his torso to widen the arc.  The footsteps ceased. 
Pierre’s wails blended with the whistle of the wind through the chain holes,
with Gaston’s vile oaths, with the guards' shouts, with
Père
Bertrand’s
groans as he roused.

Becket’s arms and torso burned from the strain. 
Perspiration stung his eyes.  The leg irons impeded his balance.  But he must
keep up the speed so as to deter anyone from blocking the chain. 

"Hurry, Rochelle!"  As he threw every fiber
of strength into whirling the chain, he knew he would love her until his dying
breath.  He would suffer an eternity wondering if she loved him in return.  But
for certain, she had not signed willingly.  Then another truth struck.  She had
balked at pulling Becket to knees even when Gaston had offered her Pierre’s
freedom.  Exhilaration surged through his veins.  ‘Twas a revelation worth
fighting for.  Dying for.

Gaston glared as Becket whirled the chain over Gaston’s
head preventing him from rising.  "I am your god, Becket.  You cannot defy
me."

Becket laughed.  "Then you haven’t been paying
attention."

Gaston lunged toward the table, grabbing for Rochelle. 
She screamed, kicking at Gaston’s hold. 

Still swinging his weapon, Becket leapt, stomping his
feet atop Gaston’s back.  Gaston cried out.  He rolled sideways.  Becket’s feet
went out from under him.  The chain faltered. He collided with the floor.  Pain
shot along his spine.

Becket watched Rochelle dart toward the back hallway,
Pierre in hand, absorbing the sight of them so as to comfort him while he
suffered hell.