A Kiss in the Night (13 page)

So he knew how to reach her. The only question was when.

* * * *

Morgan knocked softly but did not wait for a response before swinging the door to his wife's room open. With a gust of cool spring air, he stepped inside, only to find Linness kneeling in prayer at her small, candlelit altar to Mary.

She turned to see him. "Morgan."

He came directly to the point. "Milady, the hall is full of our guests, and Clair tells me you do not intend to make an appearance tonight."

"Aye," she replied, turning back to the altar. “I believe she told you my reason. "

"A head pain, she said."

His hand came over his beard; he looked for a moment frustrated, always burdened when a command failed to exercise his will. Which seemed to only happen with her, the strange and beautiful woman who was his wife. He had never once heard her complain of a physical ailment. Not once. So, no doubt 'twas a bad head pain. On the other hand, she must make an appearance.

"And I am sorry to hear of it, milady," he said with genuine sympathy. "But can't you make a brief appearance at the table tonight?"

She paused, anxiously looking to the bright, warm light of the fire. She could not sit at the table with Paxton. Not yet. Probably not ever, but especially not before she somehow gained a measure of control, which seemed impossible. She kept praying he would announce an early departure to save them both. Until then, or until she found this miracle of control, she was not ready to face him. "Truly, I do not feel well, milord."

"Ah, but 'tis not often that a man sits with his brother after so long a separation. Confound it, milady," he said, "Can you not feel poorly at the table as well as cloistered in this room? I do not ask you much, but—"

He stopped as she swung around to face him, unable to veil her feelings on this.

"Nay," she replied with a hint of some long-suppressed anger in her voice. "You do not ask much of me, and yet, I have never once denied you anything.”

The words were suffused with meaning. She had never denied him anything. While he might have claimed a part of her heart, if only from her deep appreciation for all he had given her and Jean Luc, he did not want it. He had never wanted it. He preferred the low women of the township and the neighboring villages to his wife, which, admittedly, had always been a great relief to her after the mercifully few unpleasant experiences in their marriage bed. And if it were only that, she might find a measure of peace in their uncommon marriage. Nay, 'twas the shameful manner he conducted these liaisons that upset her. He always promised them riches and gifts which he never delivered, but far worse, he promised to care for the dependents got from these illicit matings as all decent men would. Yet this never happened; he would leave these women and children to the uncertain charity of the cruel world, sometimes in shocking poverty. There were three bastards so far. As soon as the woman quickened with child, he dismissed them from his attention as it they no longer existed. She herself had to see to their small needs in secret, usually through Clair.

Morgan had no inclination to ponder subtle allusions and hidden meanings; they were wasted on him. She always wondered if he was just dense or if he ignored it on purpose, and she suspected the latter. She was not surprised when her words produced no effect. He just stood there, heaving a sigh and rubbing his beard.

She returned to the point. "I only ask tor this one-night's respite for my suffering. I do not think it is too much."

"Oh, very well," he relented, vexed, always nettled by her quiet dignity. "But I order you to come down and bid everyone a fair night, 'tis all. Then you may take this respite. I'll send your woman up to help you dress."

She suffered a moment's shock, which he used to walk out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

He had never ordered her to do anything before.

She felt dizzy with apprehension. Nothing could happen in a crowded room, she told herself. Nothing. She would not even have to look in his eyes. That was, if she could resist the temptation. The temptation of beautiful dark blue eyes, soft and clear, as compelling as life's mystery, and just as deep. "Paxton, what have I done to us?"

* * * *

Paxton watched with interest as Morgan reappeared in the crowded hall. The servants, with their long napkins draped over their shoulders, proudly bustled about, serving the high table the first course of steaming goose-neck soup in warm bowls, trenchers made of hollowed-out shells of bread, French pies, and bountiful plates of early spring fruit. Three English musicians serenaded the gathering from the gallery above, competing with the loud and raucous noise below. He watched Morgan quickly find Clair in the lower tables, and after passing instructions to her, Morgan returned to take his seat in the middle of the table on the dais.

Barely listening to his uncle, Paxton drained his goblet and held it up as a servant rushed to fill it. Morgan probably had to force Linness to appear. He did not wonder at her agony, for he felt the same. He half wished she had refused Morgan's command.

Morgan was distracted with Edward, the sewer, who managed the wine tasting. Too young to sit at the table, Jean Luc appeared in the upper galley with two other young boys, spying on the proceedings below. Paxton caught sight of him and smiled at the boy. He turned to his uncle and interrupted with a question. "What of Morgan's wife, the Lady Linness?"

John's gaze softened in the instant, "Ah, the Lady Linness. You have met her?"

"Briefly."

"She is as fine a lady as I have ever known, loved by all for her kindness and charity." Of course, he would not mention the secret he had discovered a short month after her marriage, having inadvertently overheard an arresting conversation between Linness and Clair. He didn't know why he had kept it to himself, all the while spending endless hours dwelling on its ramifications, before at last he confronted her.

It was too late by then. He, like Morgan and indeed most all of Gaillard, had fallen under the spell of her wholly unique and wonderful charm, and to condemn her was impossible. It became unconscionable after Jean Luc was born and Morgan had a son. As the years went by, his gratitude for the wisdom of his silence grew, and it seemed to him it was all meant to be...

With an edge of exasperation, Paxton said, "Everyone seems to think she is a saint."

"She is! Why, her charity is famous—"

"Her charity?"

"Aye," John answered, "she has given a tidy fortune to the Saint Leonard de Noblat hospital for the sick and infirm over the years, and she has bestowed rich dowries on the poorest girls. Now everyone turns to her with their sad stories." He sighed with a smile. "How Morgan complains about her generosity! But he is helpless to stop her."

"And why is that?"

"Paxton," he chuckled, "you will find it hard to believe, but Morgan is that rare creature—a husband who is mad in love with his wife. He grants her every wish. The lady can do no wrong. She has no faults. She is nothing but virtue and shining goodness."

"That is difficult to believe," Paxton said, draining his goblet again.

"The lady deserves his affection," Father Gayly added, overhearing the conversation as he broke bread and passed the basket on. "She has a depth of character quite uncommon among her sex."

"Father Gayly and the lady are quite close," John added.

Paxton looked over at the middle-aged priest. Short-cropped dark hair covered the sides of his balding head. He wore the beige vestments common to those orders that took a vow of poverty, but this virtue was contradicted by his enormous girth. He recalled John writing to describe the new priest of Gaillard; his uncle had said the man revealed his religiosity only upon the intimate probe of an agile mind, otherwise he was far more likely to be found playing cards or chess, or drinking with the guards, than lighting the candles at the altar or kneeling at vespers.

"You are surprised, I see," he said to Paxton. "Well, the dear lady's enormous faith counsels me through each of my dark periods of doubt, doubt which my enormous cynicism subjects me to. I had once been in audience with the pope and any number of cardinals; indeed I have spent my whole life among the faithful, and yet...I have met no one whose faith is as strong a light as the Lady Linness's."

Then John continued, "Whenever Linness is missing, we initiate a search in the forest, where we inevitably find Father Gayly and Lady Linness deep in communion, sometimes lost in their wonderings, oblivious to night falling, oblivious to everything but the weight of their conversation."

"Do you?" Paxton questioned mildly.

Father Gayly nodded, smiling, first with fondness and then with uncertainty. Lord Morgan's brother seemed irritated or angry at the mention of the lady's name. He noticed how tightly the man held his knife. Why? Everybody loved the Lady.

"Paxton." John changed the subject. "Do tell us now—we have heard the story of the Florentine battle many times—"

"Aye." Morgan joined the conversation, adding eagerly, "'Twas the bloodiest battle since Agincourt! Imagine my pride when we received word that you were one of the last two knights left, with still over twenty-five Florentines to fight. Put the tale in your own words and let us hear it, brother."

The men within hearing range agreed with this and a hush fell over the lower tables. The musicians drew softly on their bows and lute, but Morgan's raised hand made them stop completely.

"There is little to tell." Paxton shook his head, and like most men who fought at Florentine, he felt loath to tell of it. "You can believe I find no pleasure in recounting that gruesome day."

"Milord's reluctance is a shield for his modesty,” Simon, his knight, said from a lower table. Paxton protested, but this was ignored as Simon launched into an exciting recounting of the last leg of the famous battle.

With mild surprise, Paxton saw that Morgan took enormous pride in his battle success, as if he were somehow responsible for it. The idea was both irritating and laughable, when it used to be that his smallest success usually sent Morgan into a rage of jealousy. Once his mother announced she had a craving for venison; it had been several months since the game master managed to produce any. In a desperate and futile attempt to please her, he had hunted through snow-covered forests for a week. He finally came across four deer and he felled the old buck.

He had left the prize only for an hour as he carefully set bags of grain out for the remaining creatures, a common practice to help the animals get through the winter and multiply. When he went back to retrieve his game, the buck was gone. Morgan and his page had followed him and carried off his prize. With boyish indignation, he accused Morgan of stealing it and tried to explain to his mother he had felled the creature for her, that Morgan had stolen it. His mother never believed him, of course...

All of Morgan's jealousy, all the rivalry, was gone now, taken away by time and circumstances, perhaps Paxton's very absence in his life. Now there seemed only a true brotherly affection left, and this was forcing an adjustment in his perception of Morgan.

Though many other things had not changed.

No one had ever considered Morgan a particularly thoughtful man. Quite the contrary, Morgan had always been bored with any subject he found tedious, and these subjects were many, ranging from astrology and theology to battle history. True, Morgan had a commanding air about him, the kind that arises from a lifetime of watching people jump at every command, but now he realized there was something different about his brother, as well.

Paxton watched his brother across the table, abruptly realizing Morgan was a bit of the buffoon. The thought startled him. After a lifetime spent competing with Morgan, he saw at last that the man had been undeserving of the attention.

Until now. Until he had married a woman named Linness.

He still could not reason how it had happened. The idea of a young maid somehow convincing the world she was a noble Lady seemed impossible.

He intended to find out...

The story of Paxton's heroism left everyone heavily laden with emotion as they broke into enthusiastic applause at the end of the telling. They turned their gazes to Paxton as if he would now make a speech. He did not. He was staring across the room. One by one, heads turned to behold the sight.

He had never seen Linness draped in finery, and while her beauty did not require any enhancement, the sight of her at this moment was startling. The blue velvet gown was edged with gold embroidery but otherwise remarkably simple. The low-cut bodice opened to a vee at the middle. A white silk chemise showed beneath, laced tightly over her bosom from her small waist, while its long, loose sleeves were gathered tightly at her wrists. Her hair, held back by a matching blue and gold band, had been plaited with gold ribbons into two loops on either side of her head.

He noticed the ring draped from her neck.

Linness forced herself to smile at the familiar faces turning to look at her, stopping to clasp hands as she made her way across the hall to the dais. The men rose as she assumed her seat at Morgan's side. Compliments flew about the table but finally settled as she inquired of John how his trip was, pretending normalcy, a pretense betrayed only as her gaze stopped at the man seated across from her.