A Kiss in the Night (20 page)

Yet he stopped and spent a long moment trying to focus on their unlikely shapes. A look of confusion crossed his reddened face. ''Milady, what has happened?"

No words issued from her throat.

"A mouse," Paxton said suddenly. "I was in the kitchen, fixing a late night meal, when it happened. She spotted a mouse in the kitchen and fainted."

With trembling hand she clutched tightly at her gown, while she reached over with her other hand and pulled out a comb, sending the long hair tumbling over her chest.

Morgan's mind turned in lethargic circles, but he abruptly caught the words. "A mouse!" He threw his head back, laughing with masculine amusement. "She has always been frightened of the little beasties." He shook his head and the movement made him sway. Righting himself, he added, "’Tis why she has such a fondness for cats. God's teeth, but every time I open a cupboard, 1 see another mother cat and kittens. Here, let me carry milady…"

He made a movement towards Paxton. Paxton stepped quickly back. "You appear unsteady on your feet, brother. Best I carry the lady," he said as he stepped past Morgan and started up the stairs.

"Oh, aye, 'tis a woozy state I'm in," he said, slapping Paxton's back and laughing at his inebriated state as he followed behind his brother. Morgan's chamber sat to the right of Linness's, and he found his door first. "A good night to ye all!"

He disappeared through the door. The door shut. Paxton cursed softly, viciously, beneath his breath as Linness buried her face against the soft material of his tunic, the long string of cursing ending with "The drunken fool of an ox!"

Morgan apparently harbored no suspicions. It seemed as if his brother considered him above seducing his wife—

Nay,
Paxton realized, suddenly staring down at Linness.

It had little to do with him. It had everything to do with Linness, the way he saw her as a saint, rather than a flesh-and-blood woman. Infidelity was quite beyond her; an impossible idea like purple horses or sweet lemons. And that was Morgan's shining mistake. He carried Linness swiftly to her room, shutting the door behind them. As soon as he set her to her feet, she collapsed into a trembling heap on the floor, her gray skirts a pretty circle around her "Linness," he whispered as he reached down to lift her back up. "Linness...”

There was no passion in her eyes now, only a dread where moments before fire uncurled.

"Mary sent him. 'Twas a warning."

"Mary?" he questioned before realizing she meant the blessed Mary. He was familiar with her mystical thinking; in fact, it often amused him, though until now, ne had not known how far it went. Incredulously he asked, "Think you Mary sends Morgan about on tasks in the dark middle of the night?"

A hand covered her mouth, a measure of the emotions coursing through her. "I know Mary sent him," she whispered. "To warn us."

To say he was in no mind to discuss the philosophical or religious ideology underlying her ridiculous beliefs was an understatement. He had no thoughts above the hot blood still coursing through him; he was full to bursting with wanting her. The sound of her name alone could produce a hardening of his loins; holding and touching her had enlarged that effect dramatically. He only wanted to pull her back to his arms and taste the flesh beneath her mouth, feel her desire licking through him until he was driven mad.

He wanted the salvation only she could give him, and he reached to draw her back into his arms.

"Nay, I can't, I can't. 'Twill destroy us! Please, Paxton, leave me! I beg you, I beg you."

With a tender hand he brushed against her face in sympathy. At first she didn't understand the look in his eyes, but then she saw it was pity. "You are so frightened, love. Aye," he whispered, "I will leave you. For now. But there will be a time when I can't leave you. There will be a time when you won't want me to leave you."

She closed her eyes to absorb this message. His hand came under her chin. Exerting an exquisite pressure, he tilted her face up as he lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss breathed a tremulous spark of warm life back into her cold and trembling form and brought the knowledge, far more certain than any other, that his words of prophecy would come true.

"If I could let you go, I would.”

With that, he was gone.

The strange, magical dream visited her again in the darkness of the night. Of the lady dressed in black. The room surrounding her was as gloomy as her gown, her dark hair was lifted over her head. A black veil, transparent and mysterious, covered her face like the time before. Linness struggled to see her eyes, compelled, without knowing why.

Time seemed to stop as she felt the lady's stare. Slowly small hands reached up to lift the veil. To answer her wish. Finally Linness stared at the flawless olive complexion, the mild dark eyes. She was young and beautiful and tragic somehow. Kindness shined from the dark eyes, or perhaps sympathy for her rival.

And they were rivals, Linness knew this. A raging jealousy was sweeping through her. She did not know why. She felt as if the woman was everything she ever wanted to be, all that she had ever desired, and this made no sense! She did not even know who she was!

Who are you? Who are you?

Dreams have no words and the lady had no answer...

She struggled to wake. The dream receded, just as it had every night; it was banished into the furthest reaches of memory.

Linness woke to the gray light of dawn. The woman had vanished. Only a lingering sense of foreboding surrounded the quiet of dawn. She searched her room and thought of Paxton, of longing and desire mixed fatefully with the threatening darkness of the future.

* * * *

Peace was the sound of rain falling and children playing by the fireside. Linness sat by the open window in the small alcove of her room, staring out at the rain. She could see the terraced garden on the far side of the courtyard wall, a small stone path that wound its way through bursting beds of violets, heliotrope, and poppy. Her herb garden was hidden behind this. The vineyards, too, needed their enormous thirst quenched, and as much as she did not care to be confined indoors, she, like all the people of Gaillard, welcomed the spring storm She felt a tug on the yarn that she idly wound around her hands and she looked down to smile at her Maid Belle.

She thought again of Paxton and felt the longing in her heart. In absence, he seemed to grow larger in her heart.

Is this what you warned me of?

She carefully avoided contact as much as possible, as even the briefest encounter had disastrous effects. And the nights were the worst: Sleep found her in dreams spun with erotic yearnings.

Her hand reached to the windowpane, as if to touch his face, and his words echoed in her mind.

How privation doth sweeten the pleasure
…Aye and aye again. He would be here for a year. One year of agony. If she only could survive this year.

She forced her thoughts away from Paxton and tried to concentrate on the happy sounds Jean Luc and Pierre were making as they played with wooden knights by the fireside. The boys' voices were lively and animated as they took on the parts of the small cast of characters on a quest to slay the evil magician and free the princess.

She looked down into the courtyard and the smile left her face. A horse and rider were splashing through the mud toward the steps of the entrance hall, the wet horse wearing the livery colors of the Vatican.

The rider would be bearing news of Father Gayly's replacement, and also bishop of Gaillard. Neither Father Gayly nor any of Gaillard's three other priests had been considered for bishop. Men had to travel through the endless political morass of the Vatican to reach that lofty place. The church had reviewed the position upon Father Gayly's death, and had weighed into the equation Gaillard's growth and burgeoning trade of the township. Already there were seven guilds, and each guild's membership grew all the time.

The church decided Gaillard now offered a large enough diocese to support a bishop, rather than just its three simple priests. This new bishop would have four fathers and one scribe under him. Upon learning of this, Morgan was thrilled, until Paxton pointed out how much it would cost him. Poor Morgan had been in a foul mood for days.

Wanting to hear the names of the priests who would be arriving at Gaillard, she rose to meet the messenger. She flew down the stairs, stopping at the bottom just as Michaels showed the messenger inside. He removed his wet cloak to reveal the black and red vestments of the Jesuits, the Vatican's famous soldier priests.

The priest looked up and stopped, just to stare at the beautiful lady. In a burst of color against the gray and wet day, she appeared in a dark burgundy-colored gown. It was trimmed in rich ermine along the bodice and had long satin sleeves that gathered in three places along her arms. A gold chatelaine wrapped three times about her small waist. A matching circlet held back her long hair. Yet 'twas her eyes that captured his, large, gray eyes that revealed the shadow of a secret anxiety or pain.

Michaels introduced her as the Lady de Chamberlain. "Milady," the priest said, smiling as he took her pale hand and kissed it lightly. He introduced himself as Father Thomas.

Sometimes when she first met a person, her sight washed a wave of emotion over her, an emotion that was attached to the person like a physical feature. This man sent her a wave of blackness, not his, she sensed, but someone close to him. It passed so quickly, she hardly had time to register it before it was gone.

"You bring news of Gaillard's new bishop, Father Thomas?"

"Indeed. I have ridden from the holy see of Cardinal Duprat in faraway Notre Dame."

The most powerful cardinal in France, this man was arguably as powerful as the king, harnessing the power of the church in France. Duprat, a pragmatist and pluralist, was far more a political creature than a religious one. It was rumored he kept more mistresses than even the king.

The priest's smile revealed stained teeth and a missing front one. A scar crossed his cheek in a streak. Yet his voice sounded soft and his eyes were fine and dark. He reached into a velvet-lined pocket in his cloak and withdrew a sealed envelope.

"And who shall we be welcoming at Gaillard?”

He smiled at the lady's eagerness. "Should I not present the news to your husband as well, milady?"

"Oh, of course. Michaels?"

"In the hall, milady."

She led the man through the corridor to the hall.

Fires blazed in the hearths and the room bustled with activity. Servants rushed about, pouring ale and setting down fruit and cheese trays that signaled the end of the midday feast. Paxton sat at a table with his two architects, who had arrived from Alsace just yesterday to review certain features of Gaillard's chateau that Paxton wanted incorporated in his new home. Morgan and John were listening to a group of master craftsmen from Lyons, who were trying to explain why the wine prices were falling there.

She moved quickly to the head of the table, "Milord." She beckoned with a slight curtsy. Morgan looked up. The wine master stopped midsentence. Silence descended as people looked from the lady to the messenger waiting behind her.

Paxton's gaze found her and his breath caught. She looked more beautiful than a summer dawn at sea. And yet she was changed. Over the last few weeks he had used every ounce of will to resist coming to her. He had wanted to teach her the cost of denial, a cost that escalated and grew until it finally crested with the understanding that they had no choice.

And seeing the pale pallor to her skin, and the dark circles under her eyes, all accenting her struggle, he knew his wait was over. He would end it tonight.

With difficulty he forced his gaze from her.

"Father Thomas is here to announce the appointment of the new bishop to Gaillard."

"Ah,” Morgan said, rising to display his fine
chamarre
, a formal loose gown made of a rich brown material, heavily decorated with gold braids and buttons. Linness stepped back as the introductions were made all round before Father Thomas presented the envelope. Morgan ripped it open and read the formal announcement. The names meant nothing to him. Yet his brows crossed as he read the expensive requirements this bishop demanded for his arrival. With a reddened face he immediately passed the letter to Paxton, and Morgan's furious brown eyes found the priest in demand for an explanation.

Linness looked from one to the other in confusion.

"I see you are displeased, milord," observed Father Thomas, as he tilted his head slightly and, with hands behind his back, stood tall, his gaze narrowing. The bishop had told him to expect this reaction, that it was all too common in these pending days before the Armageddon.

"This is preposterous!" Paxton stated the fact bluntly as he quickly handed the letter to John, watching his uncle read it quickly and his face change with shock. "My brother can ill afford new plows this year, let alone afford the fortune necessary to build this monument to some bishop's grandiose ambition!"

"What is it?" Linness asked.

Morgan did not look at her as he answered, 'The church wants me to build this fine bishop not just a church but a monastery as well! For thirty monks, no less. And he wants a huge land grant to go with this monastery. 'Twould cost me my next ten years to pay for such a scheme—"