Authors: Carolyne Cathey
Gaston ‘tsk-tsked and tapped her wrist. "I
detected a leap."
She wrested from his hold and covered her tear-drenched
face with her hands, forcing out a grotesque sounding laughter. "’Tis
merely from the struggle to control my hilarity. That he..." She choked
on a sob. "That he could believe I truly love him."
A moan of anguish tore from Becket’s throat.
"Why, damn you? Why? What we possessed valued more than mere land. Or
so I once believed."
Cursing the Inquisition’s inability to reassemble the
document before she had crushed Becket’s love, she swiped at her wet cheeks and
continued the ruinous travesty.
"When you invaded my home, threatened to steal all
I loved, vowed to imprison me in a convent, I swore to destroy you. Then to my
delight, I learned that when your mind is on more carnal matters, you are
easily distracted--a weakness I dared use to bring you to your knees."
"Not to my knees, bitch. Never to my knees. My
soul will burn in hell before I ever kneel before you!"
As if struggling to salvage his damaged emotions,
Becket widened his stance and a defiant cockiness washed over his features,
that same cockiness as when she had first seen him enter Reynaurd’s chamber on
that fateful day--and she knew she had lost him forever.
"Forgive me my inappropriate attire, my traitorous
falcon. I should have arrayed myself in jester’s cap and bell-tipped
poulaines
to fit the role of Fool."
"Sacrilege! This confession is a sacrilege."
At the monk’s condemnation, Rochelle closed her eyes,
drained. The discovery came too late, for despite the outcome, Becket would
always doubt her love.
"I never signed a confession!" Becket’s
incensed truth echoed around her in a vibrating shroud. "‘Tis a
forgery!"
Gaston clamped her on the shoulder and squeezed.
"You are of my blood after all, daughter, and the knowledge is sweet.
Carry on with your indictment. Guard, allow another to enter and you’ll never
survive the dungeon."
The slam of the door as the guard exited reverberated
within the painful hollowness of her chest, the closing a symbol of the
finality of all that had existed between her and Becket.
"Rochelle, you sell Pierre and me for rock and
dirt you will never possess. All you’ve gained is my hatred."
Tears still seeping from her eyes, she straightened her
spine and faced the Inquisition. "I bring heresy charges against--"
"I curse you to eternal damnation!"
"--against Sire Gaston and
Père
Bertrand."
Père
Bertrand winked at the monk. "Guilty, as signed." He flounced out
his robes to sit.
"What is this?" Gaston lunged, tearing the
piece from the monk’s fingers.
Rochelle released a breath she hadn’t realized she was
holding, and confronted her father.
"’Tis the secret bargain signed by you, Reynaurd,
and witnessed by
Père
Bertrand. The one that proves you and
Père
Bertrand gave false testimony against, then burned, the innocent Sire Alberre
de DuBois, that your word is unreliable, that you will do aught for ill-gotten
gain."
Gaston’s breath hitched, then he spun and sifted the
scraps through his fingers. "’Where did you find this? Bertrand and
I..." He swept the precious pieces onto the rushes, stomping them to
powder with his heel. "No such document exists."
Certain of Gaston’s revenge and fearing the Council’s
decision irreversible, Rochelle glanced at Sire Becket who stared at her, his
mouth and eyes wide. Did he now understand?
"The document truly exists?"
"
Oc,
my husband."
"Did you have the parchment all along?" His
voice sounded incredulous. Then to her frustration, anger flushed his face.
"I must have provided you many humorous hours while you watched me search
for a document you had already found."
"You impossible devil. When I retrieved coins
from the cavity in the stable wall to use for the journey here, I fell, pulling
away loose stones that exposed the long-ago secreted scroll. I realized ‘twas
my only hope. Do you not yet see?
I had to . . ." A chill feathered across her flesh
as if to warn her to silence. She swallowed her near-confession of having lied
about her hatred of Becket.
"You had to...what, Rochelle? Lie?" Gaston
stole toward her like a hunter who sensed his prey had committed a fatal
error. "Did you lie to Becket? To me? To the Inquisition? Do you
accuse me of that which you, yourself, attempt? Do you think to out-manipulate
the manipulators?"
"I..." She halted, uncertain how to answer.
If she admitted she lied about hating Sire Becket, she cast doubt on any
testimony she might present, which meant she wrecked everything she had fought
so hard to accomplish. No, she must continue the fabrication until the Council
ruled. Then, by heaven, she would do anything and everything to convince
Becket of her love.
Gaston closed in on her, the hunter to the kill.
"The scroll was your only hope for what, Rochelle?"
"’Tis not obvious? To prevent anything from
coming between me and the land."
"Wish granted." Gaston snatched her hair and
she swallowed a cry of pain. "I’ll have you buried beneath the DuBois
soil."
"’Tis I whom you want, Gaston." Becket
wrestled against the sentries who struggled to drag him back from attacking
Gaston. "Let her go free and I will testify to aught you command."
"Testify to heresy."
"Becket,
non!"
Terrified that Becket
would doom himself before she could gain his freedom, Rochelle dug her nails
into Gaston’s flesh to gain release. "Gaston will never let me live,
Becket. He merely dangles another hope."
With Gaston’s loosened hold, Rochelle rushed to the
dais, frantic as to how to convince the Council to spare Becket without making
obvious she did, indeed, attempt to manipulate the Inquisition. Rochelle
grabbed the hands of the extravagantly dressed nobleman who sat next to the
monk. She slit her forefinger on his ruby and diamond rings but she ignored
the sting.
"Most noble Sire, Gaston and
Père
Bertrand
claim to have swayed you and the others to a decision before this trial
started, but surely you see their evil. You must condemn the accusers."
"Becket, tell Rochelle how foolish her
efforts." Gaston pried one of her hands from the nobleman’s possessive
hold. Her flesh burned as he licked blood from her cut. "Mmm, sweet. My
favorite libation." She wrenched to free herself but he merely tightened
his grip. "Becket, tell your unfaithful wife with whom she pleads and how
worthless her efforts with this particular Councilman."
Rochelle threw her gaze to the aristocrat whose eyes
revealed amusement at her predicament.
Becket’s scoff sent icy dread throughout her body.
"Lady Rochelle, meet King Charles of Navarre. The man with whom Gaston
has bargained for my head."
Her breath caught and she jerked upright, struck by the
impossibility of her goal. Rochelle barely felt Charles’ touch as he lifted
her other hand to his lips.
"Sire Becket’s wife." The nobleman nuzzled
the back of her frozen fingers while he swept her with a lecherous gaze.
"Are you aware he once stuffed an apple in my mouth because I called you a
porker? After seeing you, I understand his desperation in wanting to believe
you could love him."
Charles rubbed his thumbs over her flesh, sending
chills slithering from his touch and through her frozen heart to the hand still
imprisoned by Gaston. "’Twould seem you are caught between two jackals,
my lady. Gaston lusts for your blood. I lust for you."
"
Non
!" Sire Becket surged against the
table, shoving Gaston aside as sentries stumbled alongside like insignificant
baggage. He slammed his fist against Charles’ wrist, breaking the hold.
"Touch her again, Navarre, and I’ll make certain you die along with
me."
"’Twill be a difficult task from your grave."
"He will not die!" Not knowing how to fight
for Becket without revealing she had lied, Rochelle spun to plead with the
monk. "’Tis Gaston who is the heretic. When at DuBois he demanded Sire
Becket kneel before him in worship, claiming himself Becket's god. ‘Tis why
Becket refused to kneel."
Gaston laughed. "Evil is not the same as heresy,
Rochelle. So, you fight for Becket after all. You say you love him not, and
yet you battle for him. You say you will allow none to come between you and
the land, and yet you seek to spare Becket’s life even though he’ll most likely
never allow you to step foot on DuBois. Your opposing actions prove that none
of us can trust you. Especially the Inquisition."
"I but seek justice. Sire Becket is not the
heretic. You are."
"You heard his confession when at DuBois.
Besides, no one will verify your claim against me."
Confident, she lifted her chin. "Only two testimonies
are required. Sire Becket’s and mine."
"Ah ha." A
light of understanding glowed in Gaston’s eyes and he turned to Becket with a
derisive grin. "You pathetic dupe. She but uses you to destroy me, then
once she has no more need of you, she’ll murder you as well. With poison, perhaps.
Or mayhap attackers will slaughter you as they did my son, her first
husband." Gaston glared at her with a hatred that chilled her courage.
"I always suspicioned you instigated his death."
She flushed, anxious to
change the subject before the Inquisition further questioned her honesty.
"What is of import, Gaston, is that Sire Becket and I, finally, will stop
you and
Père
Bertrand."
"Your machinations
serve you not." Gaston gestured to the priest. "
Père
Bertrand, disqualify them."
"Disqualified."
The deceitful priest giggled as if enjoying his power.
"Now, my scheming
daughter, name your two witnesses." Gaston glanced around the room, then
shrugged. "You have none."
Wiping her perspiring
palms against her skirt, Rochelle scanned the chamber in search of even one
person who might help.
Lady Isabelle.
Becket’s mother stared at
nothing in particular, eyes glazed as if unaware of the tragic scene that
unfolded around her. The self-seeking woman would never defy Gaston, not even
for her own son. And yet, none other knew the facts. Refusing to surrender,
Rochelle rushed to confront her.
"Lady Isabelle, how
can you stand there and allow this travesty? You’ve done naught while Gaston
tortured your son. You do and say naught even though you know Gaston intends
to burn him. You are his mother. Help him!" Rochelle grasped Isabelle’s
arms and shook her to break the trance. "Testify that Gaston is a
heretic. You were there at DuBois when he insisted Becket kneel in worship to
him. Save your son!"
Lady Isabelle’s eyes
widened and her mouth dropped open as if Rochelle had caught her by surprise,
then she merely fumbled with the buttons on the front of her bodice.
Rochelle shuddered as
Gaston slid his arm around her shoulder.
"Daughter, to what
purpose should she assist you? At long last she has learned I will not wed her
unless she obeys my every command. Without me, she loses all she schemed for,
a humiliating predicament for a woman who foolishly believed herself superior
to males." He squeezed her. "Much like you, daughter. Besides, she
would be but one witness. You need two."
Damn the truth.
Feeling as if caught in a
never-ending nightmare, Rochelle shoved from under his arm and raced to the
Inquisition.
"Sires, several of
you saw the document in which Gaston and
Père
Bertrand admitted they
lied about Sire Alberre being a heretic." She concentrated on each
startled and disgruntled face as she paced the length of the long table.
"Surely during the former trial they both swore an oath to God testifying
to that lie. Which means they falsified testimony in God’s name. Is that not
heresy? If
Père
Bertrand is allowed to testify against Becket, cannot
some of you swear against Gaston and
Père
Bertrand?"
Loud murmurs arose from
the Council, giving her hope.
Metal rasped like a
snake-hiss as Gaston drew his sword. "I remind you of your tenuous
situation should you dare to try me. You are within Moreau walls guarded by
Moreau knights. I also remind you that King Charles of Navarre is my ally and
is attended by additional knights. Now heed me, Council. I expect two guilty
verdicts. The first, Sire Becket’s--he confessed to heresy while still at
DuBois. The second, Lady Rochelle’s--
Père
Bertrand and I will testify
to her devil worship. I want their death sentences, and I want them now."
The monk glanced at King
Charles of Navarre.
Charles nodded.
"’Tis time to end this mockery."
Rochelle watched in terror
as the furrows of concern in the monk’s brow deepened. His jaw tightened as if
with apprehension while he ran his gaze along the row of sentries who lined the
chamber walls, then his attention halted on Becket. He released a defeated
sigh.
"Sire Becket, I give
you one chance to redeem yourself. Do you believe in God?"
The one question that had
no bearing on the document
. A cry of hysteria escaped her
throat.
Sire Becket’s laughter
resonated with disgust. "Why bother to reveal my beliefs when all is
pre-determined?"
"Fight for
yourself!" Rochelle spun to face the defiant Becket, aching because of
all the injustices in his life. "Tell them how when but a lad of nine you
begged God to save Sire Alberre from death, but Gaston burned him anyway, then
set fire to you."
"Hedging your bets,
Rochelle?"
"
Sacre Dieu
."
Feeling as if her world disintegrated like the ancient parchment, Rochelle
whirled to challenge the Inquisition.
"Several of you on
the Council are men of God. You are sworn to help us, to protect us, to guide
us to what is right. You must set the example for the world, a weighty burden
I’m certain, but a burden you willingly chose. If you bend to greed, power and
worldly sins then you are no more pure than the rest of us and should not sit
in judgment." She clasped her hands in supplication. "I beg
you--"
"Do not beg,
Rochelle!" Sire Becket’s demand shook the rafters. "And do not
further insult me by, in one breath, declaring your hatred of me, then in the
next, begging for my life. I would rather die as a heretic than be naught but
a ruse for your greed."
Rochelle bit her tongue to
keep from shouting her love for him. Tears stung her eyes from the pain, both
emotional and physical.
Gaston chuckled as he
turned and sat on the edge of the table, arms crossed. "Poor, hapless
Becket. Despite her betrayal of you, you still care for her. In return, she
uses that affection to manipulate you, torturing you with more cruelty than I
did with my well-oiled instruments. How righteous you must feel in that
undeserving love. And yet, love is but a heartbeat away from hate."
Gaston shoved from the
table, sauntering toward Becket with a purpose that curdled Rochelle’s blood.
"In proof, Becket, I
force you through one further, delicious, agony to best all agonies. I hunger
to see your love for her turn to a hatred so absolute, you will gladly die so
as to end the torment within your soul." He closed his eyes, then
quivered. "What an arousing power."