A Kiss in the Night (40 page)

I love you, I love you...

He had been playing chess after dinner, she knew. She had told him she would sleep through the night, that she was so tired. She had promised to meet him at their special place by the river tomorrow afternoon.

A curious numbness crept into her limbs, part fear, part apprehension, as she thought of Paxton, sleeping so close. A numbness that intensified as she waited.

The sound of Morgan's heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs at last There was a scrape and a clang; she abruptly guessed one of his spurs must have come loose. He sang a ribald song in a wine-sodden whisper. The song stopped. The door opened and then shut.

The beat of her heart roared loudly in her ears— the only sensation she felt through the numbness that was claiming her.

Perhaps she should wait another hour or so. Perhaps she should wait until dawn. Morgan never rose before dawn and usually not until the tenth bell. Why spend any more time in his chambers than necessary?

If she fell asleep, though…

Stalling, she was stalling.

Mary, help me, for this is so difficult.

She finally sat up, swung her legs over the cot and rose, silently making her way to the door. She stopped, glancing down at the lovely gold and white robe that just this afternoon Paxton had parted. She bent over and rubbed her hands over her hair to mess it up. She hesitated still.

She was so scared!

She had to do it, she had to. Twould be over and done by morning. 'Twas but one night of sleeping in his bed. One night for her child's life and well-being!

Morgan would never touch her. He never touched her...

Soundlessly she stepped out into the darkened hall and to Morgan's door. Just as quietly she opened it and slipped into his room.

Morgan's snores were loud. Frantically her gaze searched the darkness of a room she almost never entered. Brightly colored banners hung on the walls and canopied the large bed. Morgan lay there with his legs together and his arms stretched out, like a man on the cross. His large bare feet pointed up at the end of the bed, and it surprised her that he managed to get his boots off. His tunic, too, had been discarded, tossed carelessly to the floor He wore only hose.

A hand went to her heart as if to slow the hard and irregular pounding. She drew a deep breath and marched to the bed slowly, like a condemned prisoner, and sat on the very edge.

The smell was strange and unpleasant, the rot of too much drinking, and the pungent odor of the faint sheen of masculine perspiration. A wave of nausea swept over her; by force of will she pushed it back. Without making a sound, she laid her head down next to Morgan's arm and curled into a protective ball on the very edge of the bed.

The canopy overhead flapped lightly in the slight breeze blowing through the open shutters. Two flies buzzed round and round. She found herself staring through the dim light at the chessboard that sat on the trunk: the white queen and her knight lay flat on the wooden checks; the black king and bishop stood ominously over them.

It was only then that she realized the salty taste in her mouth was brought by the silent fall of tears. She closed her eyes and tried to dream of Paxton. She tried to imagine Paxton looking at an emerald green valley surrounding a deep blue lake, the place she always sought when she was troubled. A place where she imagined the joy and freedom of loving him.

No pictures formed in her mind, as if the dream had already faded beneath the cruel and harsh light of reality.

* * * *

The days were still warm, but the nights grew steadily cooler. The breeze blowing through the opened shutters carried a hint of fall chill. It stirred the banners draping the canopy of Morgan's large bed.

Morgan stirred beneath the sunlight filtering into his chambers. Yawning, raising his arm to block the light, he touched something.

Alerted, he opened his eyes.

He sat up in alarm, his heart leaping with sudden upsetting energy.

Linness! Linness was asleep in his bed.

He stared at the tousled mass of dark hair, the pale beautiful sleeping face, the slight parting of her robe as she slept. He saw at once she had nothing on underneath. His mind turned slowly over how it was possible, how she had come to his bed.

She must have come while he was sleeping. But why?

The idea that she sought his bed produced a curious tingling throughout his body. Not Linness, his beautiful and saintly wife, the one everyone loved. She would not have such inclinations. Surely!

Yet there she lay, sound asleep.

He found himself staring at the soft swell of her breast beneath the robe. His heart began to pound hard. He felt a sudden rush of heat through his veins, a familiar tightening of loins. He remembered the first time he had lain with her. Before Jean Luc. She had not been so saintly then. Quite the opposite. Then she was a woman a man wanted only to sink his flesh into.

The memory pumped his blood harder and faster through his veins.

He pulled his hose off his legs.

He lay back down beside her. She stirred in her sleep. He reached his hand under the robe and over the tempting swell, encompassing her breast in his large hand, slightly flexing his fingers into her soft flesh. And again. He grew hotter.

Her gray eyes flew open with a startled gasp. A hard hand gripped her shoulder, turning her. The night came back in a rush of memory. Her eyes went wild with fear as his huge weight came over her with a husky grunt. She was shaking her head, a loud, frantic denial in her throat. The negative declaration changed to a scream, but it never sounded, for his mouth was over hers and she felt the wrenching pain of his body's first thrust.

Clair knocked softly on the door and opened it. Lady Beaumaris stood by the alcove, already dressed and brushing out the length of her hair.

Black hair streaked with silver, beautiful hair, startling when it was let down

"A good morning to ye," Clair said after she ascertained that Linness was not there.

"Good morning, Clair," she said brightly, "Linness must have already risen and left. Where did she go off to so early?"

"I do not know," Clair said, wondering herself. Lord Paxton was in the hall, and she had assumed Linness had shared her happiness with him at last and would have been with him; they never lost a chance to be together these days. After a quick inspection, she had seen that only Michaels was with him, and a few servants milling about. She had rushed upstairs to tell Linness where Lord Paxton was, only to find Linness not here either. She hoped she wasn't asleep in his room still; that could be a disaster. "I just woke myself," she continued. "Mayhap she's helping Vivian in the kitchen or is off to her garden. She wanted to finish picking the cloves before the first chill."

Lady Beaumaris nodded, though she knew it was a lie. Linness had no doubt slipped into Lord Paxton's room and had fallen asleep there. The love between Paxton and Linness seemed such a huge and grand thing, so perfectly obvious to everyone. As long as she lived, she would not understand how it was kept a secret at all. She suspected most of the household knew anyway; the only exception seemed to be Morgan. She kept trying to hint to Linness that she need not keep it a secret from her, that she had lived too long to pass judgment on a matter of heart, especially one so obviously consuming and sweeping. But somehow these words were never said. Somehow it was easier to pretend she didn't know.

"Can I dress ye hair, milady?" Clair asked. Eleanor assented and, once it was done, the two women made their way downstairs to the hall.

Eleanor hid her surprise at finding Paxton there, apparently just finishing his meal. After passing morning pleasantries, Paxton inquired, "And I suppose Lady Linness is still sleeping?"

Eleanor and Clair exchanged confused glances. Clair said, "Actually she must have left bright and early this morning. She was gone when we woke Methinks she's tending her garden."

Booted footsteps sounded and she looked past Lord Paxton to the entrance way. "Oh no, here comes the devil."

Paxton swung around as the bishop appeared in a bright burst of crimson. He approached the table with several priests following behind. The tension had become so acute in the last weeks, Morgan had finally banished the man from the hall—by threat of guards. The bishop had bought an old grain storage house in town and turned part of it into living quarters for his entourage. Mercifully, they had seen much less of him lately.

"I see Lord Morgan has not risen," the bishop said as he faced Paxton across the table. "I find I must speak to him. Would you rouse him?"

Paxton folded long arms easily across his chest. "I'm afraid he had a long night. I am loath to disturb his slumber."

"The matter can only be resolved by your brother, I fear. It concerns the Jesuit knights who have arrived. I was told last night your brother refused them lodging here at the chateau—"

"You were told wrong,” Paxton neatly interrupted. "'Twas I who refused the courtesy to extend shelter, not my brother. Though, of course, he naturally agreed to the measure."

The bishop's eyes blazed, before narrowing menacingly. "I thought as much. I demand to see Lord Morgan. If you will not wake him, I will—"

In one fluid movement, Paxton leaped across the table, his dagger manifesting from thin air to touch the startled bishop's throat. The room drew a collective gasp. Wide and now frightened eyes met darkly cold ones as Paxton said, "Do not threaten me again, because, I swear I would just as soon cut your throat."

The dagger did not waver Paxton understood his reaction; it had been building for days. Life was going dark, and quickly. Not just the idea that the bishop's warriors now outnumbered Gaillard's meager force and the danger of that—'twas impossible to know what side the people would come in on if it ever went to battle—but he now understood Francis and Duprat were not going to help him.

Beaumont was finished. The harvest here was over. It was time for him to leave. Yet he could not leave Linness with this malicious man's threat against her.

"Now I will indeed rouse my brother," he told the terrified man. "But only so he can tell you we will not house any guard that comes to Gaillard with the intention of raising swords against my brother or his own. Only so he can tell you that we will not stand by for an ecclesiastic trial, indeed any trial or further torment to his wife. Only so he can tell you it's over."

Paxton slowly lowered the knife.

The bishop stumbled back, gasping, his mind turning over the words, the shocking words. The lords of Gaillard would spill the blood of the church to protect that witch!
Mon Dieu!
The Vatican would not stand for it. Not with the evidence he would soon be sending them. This man would live to regret his unholy liaison with that woman!

Paxton ignored the scathing condemnation on the bishop's face and he withdrew. He rushed through the corridor and to the stairs, pushing back the violence trembling through him. He was stopped by an odd retching sound he heard coming from Morgan's room. A tingling bolt of energy rushed down his spine.

* * * *

Linness was bent over the water basin for nearly a half hour now, unable to stop the violent retching of a mercifully empty stomach. Morgan had passed out again.

Only one thought sustained her: retreat from this room.

Finally she stood up, drawing gasping breaths as she wiped her mouth. She took two unsteady steps toward the door before her knees collapsed beneath her weight and she fell with a stifled cry. She stood up again and stumbled to the door. A violently trembling hand touched the latch, and she stumbled out.

She made her mind go blank to protect herself from the horror of what had just happened. She had no awareness of seeing anything until two tall black boots suddenly appeared before her. She looked up to see Paxton staring down at her. A look of startled confusion changed his features. For a long moment she just stared up at him, a cold chill sweeping over her. The world went gray; she realized she was sinking. His arms caught her up. He jerked her head back; the wild mass of hair dropped back with the movement, but all she could perceive was the violence in his dark eyes.

Paxton just stared down at her, not understanding at first, and simply because he didn't believe the obvious. Her eyes were shining gray pools of a fear edged with hysteria. She was gulping for breath. Her robe parted slightly. Red marks appeared on her skin.

He caught her up in one arm, and with a twist, he pulled the robe from her trembling form. Her bare breasts showed brutal marks of another man's hands. She was speaking, "Paxton… No, I can explain, I..." He never heard.

A blinding murderous rage filled him. He only knew he would kill him; once and for all, he would kill his brother. His hands left her and Linness fell to a heap on the floor. She stumbled up and rushed after him crying. She gripped his arm and he pushed her away. She fell again. He pulled his dagger out, and seeing this, she started screaming.

Morgan woke to Linness's screams and Paxton's vicious howl as he flew on top of him, the dagger raised and descending, mobilizing him in a rush. He twisted beneath Paxton's straddling weight, altering the weapon's entrance into his flesh. The dagger went through his arm, tearing off a piece of flesh with the movement. Morgan's howl of hot stinging pain was hardly heard against Paxton's rage as he pulled the bloody dagger from the bed and thrust it into Morgan's shoulder.