A Kiss in the Night (15 page)

Only to return now.

He released her all at once, turning away in a desperate attempt to grasp this reality. He could not. A lifetime spent trying to understand this cruelest of fates would not be enough.

"Jean Luc?"

"Paxton…" She said his name in a plea.

He swung back around. His large hands fitted under her arms, as if he needed to hold her up now. "He's mine, is he not? Jean Luc is mine."

She had to be strong now. For Jean Luc. She stated the unalterable fact. "He is Morgan's by law."

Paxton's face blazed with sudden viciousness. "He is mine in
fact
!"

"It does not matter—"

"Say it, Linness. Jean Luc is mine!"

"Yes," she cried, and then in a whisper suffused with sadness, "Yes."

He just stared at her then, just stared, taking in the emotional pain in her eyes as she looked up at him; the flush spread across her cheeks, her whole manner, everything, pleading with him for understanding.

He suddenly realized that it was not his understanding she wanted but rather his acceptance. Acceptance that she was his brother's wife. She held perfectly still as his eyes changed and his gaze fell to the gold chain around her neck. He lifted it and turned it in the firelight until he made out the small engraving of his initials.

Morgan had never noticed this, it would seem.

He dropped the jeweled token and found her eyes. For a long moment he just stared down at her. She didn't know what he was thinking until she heard his words. "God forgive me, but I still want you."

She was not prepared for his kiss. Nothing on heaven or earth could have prepared her for this kiss. As his lips came over hers and her head fell back, white-hot lightning exploded through her as he took her mouth with unrestrained force. There was no end to it. Her desperation, their warring emotions, and all that fueled these vanished in the wild ravishment of this kiss.

In the space of it she died a thousand times.

Only to be reborn a thousand more.

A mindless desire surged through him, so swift, so strong, it obliterated the dark reality of the world beyond the touch of their lips. He slipped his hands inside the robe to draw the slim shape against him, needing to feel all of her and all at once...and still there was no end to this kiss until—

Reality stabbed a warning jolt through her and she tore her mouth from his. She backed up, nearly falling over in her desperation to escape this, him, and what that one kiss unleashed. "Oh no ..." She shook her head, her mind and soul focused on Jean Luc and Morgan, and the disaster ignited by this kiss. "It is too late for us!"

In a fierce whisper he said, "Nay!'

She didn't hear. She spun around as the door opened and her heart leaped in terror. "Clair!"

Clair looked from Linness's face to the open window where a shadow disappeared. Though she never saw him, she knew. "Lord Paxton?"

"Aye!"

A gentle breeze blew through the opened window, swirling through the room and making the candles leap and flicker. Linness rushed to the open window and shut the panes, closing the latch to secure them before she collapsed like a paper doll to the floor.

"Merciful heavens!" Clair whispered, "'Tis madness for him to come here. What did he want?"

"Everything," she cried. "He has my soul, but 'tis not enough. He wants everything Morgan has..."

Paxton stood as still and unmoving as a lion on the ledge outside her window. The blackest night surrounded him; a rage filled him. Rage against his brother. Rage against the woman who had long-ago claimed his heart, then married his brother, stealing from him his only living son. Rage against this binding fate in the darkest hell…

That night Linness did not dream of Paxton.

That night she found herself walking in a darkened church. She was staring up at the marble statue of Mary. Mary's hands were clasped in prayer, and her marble eyes were not empty or cold. `Her eyes were filled with sadness. Sadness for her…

Linness tried to see what caused Mary's grief. She knew it was somewhere in the church. Frantically she searched the pews. She suddenly noticed the chickens there. Chickens everywhere. Clucking and screeching, they leaped about her feet, pecking at her skirts. She covered her ears to escape the screeching, growing louder and louder as she climbed on a pew to escape their sharp pecks.

Suddenly Bonet, Gaillard's poultry cook, appeared with an ax. The tall man began hacking off chickens' heads. Blood spilled onto the pews. Father Gayly emerged from the darkness. He looked over the carnage, well pleased, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of a feast.

Something was terribly wrong. A sense of doom permeated the dreamscape. Linness looked to Mary for help. A tear fell from her marble eyes, sliding down the stone. She looked back to Bonet. She screamed as the familiar face turned into a long-ago demon from her past.

'Twas Bishop Peter Luce and he held a torch as he came toward her. He held the hand of another. The veiled woman in black. They were coming toward her...

Linness woke with a start. She sat up dazedly and surveyed the empty room. Nothing and no one stirred. Her eyes came to a lump in her bed. Jean Luc.

He must have had a nightmare, too.

She gently drew back the covers to see his sleeping face and lovingly caressed his cheek. He did not stir.

She lay back against the pillows. The strange dream tried to warn her of something; 'twas the only thing she knew. Yet it had been years since she had thought of Bishop Luce, the man who had chased her from the comfort and security of the convent so long ago. Why would she suffer nightmares of him now? Now when the very beat of her heart had been altered by Paxton's arrival?

Jean Luc snuggled against the warmth of his mother's form. His blue eyes opened as he felt her arms come around him. They greeted each other with smiles. He laughed sheepishly and asked with innocent surprise, "How did I get here?"

"I would pose that question to you! I only just woke to find this lump in my bed. I almost screamed, I thought 'twas one of your father's hounds."

The idea made him laugh. They fell into a fit of laughter and tickles, and as their laughter quieted, and some boyhood dream stole his thoughts, she twirled an errant curl in her fingers. 'Twas almost blond, his hair. He looked so much like Paxton, it seemed a wonder no one guessed the secret of his paternity.

As she lay there, staring at Jean Luc and loving him so much, the blessing of that one night washed over her with force. How much love had come from the ecstasy in Paxton's arms…

"Mother..." he beckoned uncertainly, "will I leave Gaillard on my seventh birthday? In one year?"

The question gave her pause, Jean Luc had never spoken of it to her before, though Morgan and John often spoke of it—the passage to squire that young boys had to take. Jean Luc knew how much the subject grieved her; she wondered if he had ever overheard one of her arguments with Morgan about it. 'Twas the only thing Morgan said he would refuse her.

She would have to give him up in a year. When he turned the tender age of seven, he would be taken from the comfort and security of their home to go to another where he would be taught by another man. No matter that the child was usually placed with a relative, this time-honored custom of the nobility struck her peasant soul with fear. It seemed a hateful and stupid practice of no good purpose, devastating to both mother and child.

"Mother," he began, carefully watching her expression. "I heard my uncle tell my father he would be honored to take me as squire." He did not want to say the rest, that the idea of living in his uncle's household excited him. He would ride his uncle's warhorses all day. "Father says I must go, that it will make me strong and…well, if I must go, I do not think I would mind so much if I went with my uncle."

She lovingly touched her lips to his forehead, closing her eyes to savor the tenderness filling her heart. The idea had never occurred to her before—that Jean Luc might go with Paxton. Of course, it was meant to be; Mary had arranged the whole thing. He needed Paxton. Paxton would love and cherish him as no one else could. Yet it still did not mitigate the pain of giving her son up for all the years of his growing.

Mary, why could I not have had a girl?

For Jean Luc had always been her comfort and solace for losing Paxton. A comfort she needed now more than ever. She could not bear the thought of losing them both, of not having either.

She remembered the flame of Paxton's kiss last night-

Jean Luc did not see the tears appear in his mother's beautiful eyes. "Mother, shall we watch the sunset tonight?"

'Twas their habit to watch the sunset together from the battlements. No matter what they were doing in the day, if it was at all possible, they met in the same spot on the battlements and watched the sunset together. It was their quiet time for sharing thoughts and adventures and stories; a daily ritual that was more sacred to her than vespers.

"Aye." She smiled.

He spotted Maid Belle, his mother's favorite cat, sitting in the window of the alcove. The morning sunlight streamed across her shiny black coat Jean Luc leaped out of bed and, knowing not to frighten the skittish creature, he slowly approached the spot. The cat did not seem to mind. He gently reached to pet her and, after a few strokes, he felt over her midsection. "Mother, I can feel her tiny kittens inside. You were right!" With hardly a pause of wonder, he looked down to the courtyard "There's my uncle and father! They're going to the stables!"

The boy bolted out the door.

There was nothing she could do but pretend it was a normal day, and pray her emotions would not betray her every time she beheld him. She rose to go about dressing. She was just lifting her hair as Clair stepped into the room, her hands behind her back.

She saw the distressed look on Linness's face and said, "All ye troubles came out in ye dreams, am I right?""Aye." She nodded, turning to her friend with brows crossed in perplexity, "Strange dreams. I felt as if Mary was trying to warn me of something.'

"Ye cannot wonder what?!"

"Nay, 'twas about Father Gayly and…chickens."

"Chickens? Ah," Clair dismissed this, "the stuff of madness and nonsense. Look what just arrived," she said, holding out the sealed envelope.

"Another letter? So soon?"

This did not bode well.

After all these years and the continuous exchange of letters, and Clair's amusing anecdotes of the Lord and Lady de Beaumaris, Linness felt she knew them. A deep affection had sprung in her heart; she understood her vision of Belinda. At the time, she had imagined the vision's reference was to Mary, but no, 'twas to the Lady de Beaumaris. One of her deepest regrets was that she would never meet this great lady.

She quickly tore the letter open and, recognizing the familiar script, she read the contents:

My dearest daughter Belinda,

I dispense with all formality as the news my letter bears is urgent. I deeply regret to inform you that your father's illness has taken a turn for the worst. His hours left are numbered. As I wrote last time, we have solicited the help of Vienna's finest surgeon, Monsieur Niccolo Spinelli, but to no avail. Neither the leeches, the bloodletting, nor the many vile potions poured down his throat has alleviated his pain. God is calling to him, and I anxiously await the trauma of his departure.

He begged me to convey his growing affection and love for you, a love that, as you know, has blossomed like a summer rose since you left us. It is so strange, he thinks, that this should be so. Like a seed carried far away from home and dropped on fertile foreign soil, you have grown from a selfish, complaining girl into a woman of virtue, generosity, and piety. How marriage and childbirth have rewarded you! How God has blessed us!

So now, in your father's last hours, his only regret is that he never had the opportunity to view his grandson, Jean Luc, or to embrace the shining creature his daughter has become. I fear that by the time you read this, he shall have left us and this world for another, as he seems only to be waiting for our seal to be on this letter. With all my heartfelt affection—

Linness passed the letter to Clair. Clair read it once, then twice again. "So," she said slowly. "The old jackdaw is leaving us…"

By now Linness had grown accustomed to Clair's blunt and unsentimental view of the world. "Shining creature, generous, virtuous...oh, Clair, how the sweetened prose doth stick in my throat! Sometimes I feel so...so deceitful."

"Little wonder. The stunt ye pulled was the grandest deceit my ears ever heard."

"And you were the next most elemental player in this grand deceit. Do you not feel bad about it, as well?"

A comical expression crossed Clair's face; she appeared aghast at the idea. "Why should I? 'Twas, after all, me who gave them the daughter they deserved, instead of the death they didn't. I made 'em as happy as pigs in a cabbage field. They truly love you! And now he's going to die thinking of his own flesh as good and angelic and…what was it?"

"Pious," Linness supplied.