A Kiss in the Night (22 page)

She wondered wildly if she could change it back to Belinda now. She needed to change her name in the terrible event that Paxton's letter was unable to prevent Bishop Peter Luce from coming here. Clair would go along with it and so would many others. Most everyone called her by title in any case. Oh, if she could just keep Bishop Luce from hearing the uncommon name of Linness, she might be able to save herself!

"Paxton, I am so scared," she confessed. "The whole of this past month I have been having nightmares of him. I was carving Jean Luc's wooden statues and as I was making the magician, his face kept taking on a sinister air. I started anew time and again and still his face would look sinister I couldn't think who he reminded me of. But the night Father Gayly died, I suddenly saw whose face I was carving over and over. 'Twas him; 'twas Bishop Luce. I threw the statue in the fire and as I watched it burn, I saw Father Gayly's death." In a frightened whisper, she added, "If he comes here, 'twill be my death too!"

"Never," Paxton swore passionately as he came to her and took her in his arms. Fire pulsed where he touched her; she closed her eyes a moment to savor it. "I would never let his hands touch you, let alone hurt you. I daresay neither would Morgan. Love, love, all of Gaillard would rise to protect you!"

"But if the church—"

"Hush," he said, quieting her fears. "If the worst happened, I would—"

What would he do? Slay the next fifty men until weakened and spent?He stared at the hopeful look in her eyes as she waited to hear of his miracle. "I would snatch you up and carry you away to...to Switzerland—"

The silver eyes widened upon hearing this fancy. "Switzerland?"

Switzerland. The land of snow-covered mountains, emerald green forests, and crystal blue lakes-Switzerland, where good and simple folks lived between blue skies and the rich earth, where no punitive monarch could reach them and even the church was more or less the simple communal worship of peasants. She had always loved stories of faraway Switzerland.

"Aye," he said, smiling down at her, trying to keep his gaze from lingering at the place where the softest ermine brushed against her bosom. "And I would build you a house high in the mountains, overlooking a beautiful green valley and a deep lake, another mountain beyond. You would think it was heaven and I would pinch you each day to keep your feet on earth."

The pretty picture melted her fear suddenly and made her smile. "And how would we live in this pretty house overlooking the green valley and the blue lake?"

Her smile went through him in a rush of feeling, "Well, I...I would plant a field—"

The happy sound of her laughter interrupted him. "You? The great and famous Lord Paxton de Chamberlain, living as a common peasant?" She laughed more as she said, "I can just imagine you cursing our poor old plow horse, the relentless weeds and foul weather. 'Twould be me who pinched you each day to get you to put on your boots and out the door into the bitter wind!"

The idea, like a distant dream, was too sweet to say goodbye to. He added, "I would come back to our small home tired and hungry and in a mood as foul as this bitter cold. Ah, but then I would see my beautiful wife and my mood would melt like the spring snows. I would know happiness."

"I would not be beautiful then. I would be as ragged as any tired and overburdened peasant's wife."

"Aye," he said with a teasing lilt to his voice, “your dress would be patched and tattered, your hands would be raw from scrubbing and cooking all day, and you would be plump and cross from all my children tugging at your skirts." His voice softened as he stared into her eyes, sparkling with merriment at this fanciful idea. "And yet my love would paint you more beautiful than any other."

Her laughter quieted, her emotions rose in secret greeting with his as they felt the irresistible lure of the romantic dream of a common and simple life filled with daily toils, the happy sound of children, and all of it blessed by their love. That hundreds of peasants dreamed of their life did not occur to them. For their dream signified the escape to a magical time and place where they would be free. Free to rejoice in the blessing of their love.

Just as quickly die hopelessness of ever finding this magical place washed over them, and with this came desperation. The intensity of this emotion was fully expressed as his lips lowered to hers and he kissed her as if it were the last time he ever would.

With her eyes closed, she was breathing hard and fast when he finally broke this kiss. "Linness," he said in a ragged whisper, "I cannot wait any longer. Just following your sweet scent down the staircase, or the light trace of your skirt against my thigh, or your sleeve on my arm, seizes my senses and washes me in a hot chill—"

"Paxton," she whispered, feeling his moist lips on her forehead.

"You fill my every dream. The mere issue of your name makes my blood run hot. Linness." He cupped her face, tilting her for his kiss. "I want you. With each breath I take. Tonight, Linness. Tonight..."

He kissed her, gently, tenderly, a kiss that beckoned with a promise. Neither one heard the booted footsteps coming up the stairs nor even the first knock at the door.

The knocking came louder. "Milady, your lord begs entrance!"

Paxton broke the kiss with a start.

A small gasp escaped Linness; her next breath washed her in a wave of panic. She pointed to the bathing screen, a movable wooden panel to protect her modesty if dressing with company in the room, and Paxton swiftly stole behind it. She tried to still the wild race of her heart before she called out, "Come in."

The door opened and Morgan, Michaels, and the priest, Father Thomas, stepped inside the soft light of her chambers. "Ah, milady," Morgan said, not noticing her pale face nor the hot fear in her eyes. "I came to tell you it has been arranged. I have my brother's letters, signed and sealed and I will be sending these off as soon as the weather allows, Father Thomas here has agreed to carry them," he told her, not seeing the obvious problem with such an arrangement. He hesitated. "But the good Father does not believe Paxton or even Lotto has a chance of altering Bishop Luce's appointment. He claims the pope himself asked for it, that Francis would be helpless to change it. And Father Thomas here wanted to be presented to you again, to discuss this dilemma."

Michaels saw at once something was terribly wrong and he looked about the room in search of the source. He saw nothing. Just as he was to leave he spotted booted feet under the small opening at the bottom of the screen. His eyes flew to Linness in shock and, grasping the reason for her fear, he quickly stepped in front of the screen before anyone else noticed the same thing.

He realized whose boots they must be.

Linness was so consumed with the terror that Morgan would discover Paxton's presence that she could hardly follow what he was telling her. Yet his words slowly penetrated her stricken thoughts and she shook her head, a look of disbelief and horror revealed in her eyes. She shot her gaze to Father Thomas to measure his reaction. He stared stonily at her predicament.

She looked back at Morgan. The fool! Had Morgan told this Father Thomas everything? So that now Bishop Luce would be warned of her desperate disapproval, and dear Lord, he would be suspicious from the start. She could scarcely believe Morgan was that foolish. But then Morgan's mind was a mercilessly blunt instrument, sometimes as incapable as a child of the smallest intrigue or secret.

She turned back to Father Thomas, who now stood over her small altar to Mary, examining it. At the top of the table were expensive scented candles, a crucifix, her rosary, and a small white marble statuette of Mary that she treasured. It had once been the abbess's.

"So, milady, your husband tells me how much you dislike the bishop."

Still trying to recover from the fear of discovery, she managed to shake her head. "He is mistaken. I have never had the fortune of meeting Bishop Luce."

Father Thomas looked up from the candlelit altar. "Yet you have asked your brother-in-law and your husband to intercede; to stop Bishop Luce from assuming the vicarage of Gaillard."

Trapped. She had to say something. "I have heard he is a harsh man—"

"You have heard wrong," he interrupted. "The bishop is a just man."

"Oh?" she questioned, clasping hands together to stop their tremble. "Then it is not true that many people have been executed and, still worse, excommunicated, at his will?"

Excommunication was the harshest of punishments for the faithful. Death was nothing when laid alongside the awesome power of separating a soul from God for all eternity. While she harbored considerable doubt as to whether this possibility was real or not, for the devout it was far more terrible than the most slow and painful death by torture.

"Only those deserving of the punishment," he replied. "Only those whose sinful lives refused the holy word."

"I have heard differently," she said uncertainly. "The people of Gaillard are simple and decent and good; I would not want them to be the recipients of the bishop's... notions of justice. I would rather see the Gaillard vicarage go to a man who will show them the more holy grace of God's forgiveness and love."

"Aye, aye, aye," Morgan said, impatient with any conversation of things he could not get his hands around, especially abstract religious ideas. "Do not fret, milady. Paxton and I are still determined to try to get a new bishop for Gaillard. And the letters will be sent as soon as the weather clears, though Paxton may be unable to stop the arrival of this bishop. But after discussing this personage with Father Thomas, I believe he is not as harsh a man as you are imagining. I only tell you this so you will not be so concerned if the letter does indeed fail to merit reconsideration."

Her silver eyes shimmered with anger. How she wanted to hate Morgan for this betrayal! And she would, too, if only she could attach malice to it. She couldn't, though; 'twas not Morgan's fault he could not see the disaster of this situation.

"I see you worship the Madonna?” Father Thomas commented, after another glance at the table A great debate raged in the church even now over the peasants who worshiped Mary, and neglected God. Many priests had begun seeing the reverence of Mary over Christ and the Holy Father as a sacrilege. Most priests, he knew, felt this unholy path must be discouraged. Bishop Luce nourished these strong feelings.

He himself had always been struck with adoration and admiration and, aye, love for the Virgin, though he certainly never expressed this to the bishop...

When the lady offered nothing in response, he added, "I have also heard it said that you tell people you are blessed with the sight."

"Huh!" Morgan said with a gust of enthusiasm, stopping as he turned toward the door. This he knew about. "My good wife always knows of things to come." Noticing the priest's skeptical expression, he added with a pointing finger, "When she first came to Gaillard I dismissed it all as feminine nonsense. No more," he laughed. "I have lived too long with her to harbor any doubts. Why, just the other day Paxton and I had decided to put off the new fertilization until next week. She said no, that a great storm was approaching—you see, the benefit to the grape greatly increases with rain. Even though the sky was blue and the day fair, I knew to trust this." He laughed with a glance at the window where the steady patter of rain continued unabated. "And so it came to pass!"

"Indeed," Father Thomas said, with a hint of amazement. "And to whom do you attribute these miraculous visions?"

"To no one," she said quickly, moving towards the door to hasten their departure. "It grows late. If you will excuse me, so I might wash for supper."

"But of course, milady," Father Thomas said, and with a last glance about the room, he turned toward the door.

Morgan followed, his thoughts slightly disturbed by his wife's distress. He was not a man who was bothered much by a woman's capricious moods, things that fluctuated more frequently than wine prices, and he quickly dismissed her anxiety. No doubt the priest was harmless enough and her fears exaggerated. In any case, eventually his beautiful wife was bound to win the man over as she won every man over. He often thought she could cast some sort of magic or spell over men; his men were all so eager to sing her praises or win her favor.

When Michaels at last joined the other men at the door, Father Thomas turned back to bid her good eventide and stopped. He, too, spotted the boots beneath the screen.

His eyes blazed with sudden understanding.

It explained everything...

"You shouldn't fear Bishop Luce, milady, but rather God Himself. After all, Bishop Luce is only exercising His will—"

She shut the door on his face, and leaning against it, her legs gave way and she collapsed to the floor in a trembling heap of maroon velvet. 'Twas bad and getting worse. She felt the talons sinking into her flesh again and darkness swirl around her.

Tonight…

She looked to the screen that hid Paxton. Only to see he was gone. She looked to the open window; a gust of wind blew rain through its opened shutters. He was gone and yet it was too late.

Tonight...

She waited half the night, feeling, knowing, he would come. Yet, like so many nights before, he did not. Minutes gathered into an hour and then another and another. She paced, she sat, she paced some more. She stared at the darkened window, watching as the raindrops streamed down its panes. Every small and large sound made her jump.