A Kiss in the Night (11 page)

"You were staring at my mother."

"Your mother is a beautiful woman," he replied with barely suppressed laughter. "You must find many men who stare at her."

"Aye," he admitted, "but she is naked." He looked out over the water where his mother swam far away now, as she did every day. Turning back to the tall knight, he stated the fact as he knew it. "You cannot stare when she's naked.'

Paxton threw his head back and laughed. “I see. Well, young lad, what be thy name?"

"I am Jean Luc."

Surprise fitted onto the handsome face. “Jean Luc? Jean Luc, be you the young lord of Gaillard, Jean Luc de Chamberlain?"

"I am."

Hands on hips now, Paxton changed his expression in the instant. "My brother's boy! Jean Luc, I am your uncle, Paxton!"

"My uncle?" The boy's eyes widened at last to encompass the wonder of the famous knight's presence. And his famous uncle Paxton was a wonder John and his father always talked about. He had always thought of his uncle as a knight in a fairy tale, a man as noble and brave and real as Lancelot or Gawaine, King David or Apollo. "My father and John always speak of you! John says you are famous! He says you are the best knight in three lands! Be that true, milord?"

Paxton just stared, now seeing the family resemblance. He wondered if it bothered Morgan that Jean Luc looked far more like himself—with his light brown hair and large, dark blue eyes—than his father. "Well," he chuckled, lowering himself on a bent knee, "I have not fought every knight in three lands to know."

Though it felt that way at times. How he longed for peace, so bitterly fought for, so brutally won. Yet won it, they had, and Francis had rewarded him with a huge land grant in Alsace, a land he meant to make into the richest wine country in all of France. This would almost certainly be joined at some point with more land in the Duchy of Milan. That was if dreams came true.

"I am going to bathe and then dress to meet your father. Would you like to come with me?"

"Aye! 1 would indeed."

Paxton laughed at the boy's precociousness, but the sound died the instant he caught sight of his nursemaid. The woman had both hands clasped over her mouth, looking at him with alarm and fear. He might have been holding the boy's head in his hands for all of it. "Are you quite well, madame?"

She nodded slowly.

"I'll take my nephew with me. We'll present ourselves shortly at Gaillard—" He stopped and snapped, "Confound it, woman, why do you stare like that?"

She slowly shook her head."I...I just remembered something…I--"

"Yes?"

Struck mute, Clair shook her head helplessly.

Paxton didn't know whether to laugh or box the woman's ears. He did neither as Jean Luc quickly pulled his tunic over his head and pulled on his hose and boots. Gripping his sword, the boy followed Paxton as he retrieved his horse from the bank.

Paxton took one last look at the lady who was Morgan's wife. She swam against the current, which was swifter now, swollen with spring rains. Smooth, strong strokes gave her small progress. She looked beautiful; the scene was sensual. Morgan was a lucky man. He wondered what kind of husband Morgan was. "So the Lady is your mother?"

Jean Luc nodded.

Knowing boys well, Paxton asked, "Jean Luc you look strong and able. Would you mind riding Tasmania, my horse? I am weary of the saddle."

Jean Luc could scarcely believe his luck. No one, not even his father, had ever let him ride atop the warhorses. "You'll let me?"

"You would be doing me a favor, nephew," he said as he bent down to lift the boy and swing him up into the saddle.

Clair watched the two disappear through the woods. Her heart hammered unnaturally as she waited for a coherent thought to emerge in her mind. There was none, past
Lord, have mercy
…

Lord, have mercy
...

For all these years Linness had convinced her John, and Father Gayly—those who knew—that they would never get caught. She had always believed it. Even when John had inadvertently discovered the deception, he had chosen to remain silent about it. And simply because it was impossible to condemn someone you loved.

And everyone loved Linness.

First off, she had the sight. No doubt about it. Even she, an old, skeptical waiting woman, had come to believe in Linness's gift. True, Linness's clairvoyance was an indefinite talent—certainly, she had learned over the years, not a thing to be wagered upon—but it was nonetheless a miracle at times. Just the other day she had stopped everyone in the kitchen with the announcement, "Jean Luc just fell from a tree."

"Be he hurt?!" Vivian asked in alarm.

She had shaken her head. "Nay, a scraped knee and sore hands, 'tis all..." Sure enough, minutes later the boy came running in to proudly display these very wounds. And then Linness could always be counted on to tell when a storm was coming, predictions Morgan and John had learned to rely upon for the vineyards.

But even more than Linness's mysterious prescience, it was her aura of wisdom mixed with genuine kindness that worked magic. Somehow she could ease Morgan from his worst tempers, relieve John's biggest worries as he saw to the administration of Gaillard and the township, make Father Gayly's head spin with her extreme idealism, send children into fits of giggles. She lent her ear to the people's complaints, offered sound advice and was well known for her tireless effort to ease the burdens of the most needy.

And yet, despite these magnanimous gifts, Linness's hearty peasant stock shone through. Unlike any others in her lofty class, Linness had no pretensions or airs. Just the other day she was found sitting with a circle of women in a flower-filled meadow, making daisy chains with their girls, while they discussed the best means to remove stains from their linens. What other lady would condescend? So, while the people honored her for her saintly gifts, they also felt she was one of them and they loved her for it.

Over the years, the enormous fear of being caught had lessened day by day, year by year, until it had completely disappeared. She never thought about it anymore, not even when they wrote those letters to the baron and baroness de Beaumaris. Until now.

Until Lord General Paxton de Chamberlain returned.

Perhaps he wouldn't remember her. After all, he had been fighting a battle, his wits addled and dazed from all the killing. It had been only one night, hadn't it? Surely a man such as Lord Paxton had laid with dozens, perhaps hundreds, of women, and Linness had been so young, so terribly young...

Still, it seemed to her, her lady would be hard to forget...

Linness swam back to the shore, coming quickly out of the water. "I am numb with cold!" she said. "I should not have stayed in so long! I shan't be warm until supper. Where are my clothes?"

Clair came to Linness with a drying cloth and a gown. Her hands still trembled. She didn't know what to say, because if Lord Paxton remembered, nothing could save them.

She had to warn her! She had to...

Linness swung her long hair forward and dried the cold moisture from her skin, before wrapping the wet mass up and rubbing vigorously. She swung the warm robe around her shoulders and held it rightly, shivering. "I shall never be warm again," she repeated as she removed the towel and plopped down in the only spot of sun on the bank. Despite these complaints, she laughed with the exhilaration of her venture.

After donning her undergarments, she pulled her long, wet hair from beneath the folds of the beige day gown and felt Clair's hands lacing up the back of the dress as she dreamily stared off at the river she loved. Sounds of male laughter came from downstream. She wondered who else had plunged into its cold waters... Clair anxiously rubbed her chubby hands against her dress. How could she tell what she had just seen? Paxton Gaillard de Chamberlain, in the flesh, standing in the very spot where she now sat.

She would never believe it herself. Lord Morgan and John had unknowingly convinced Linness that Paxton would never appear at Gaillard again. Ever. Each of Lord Paxton's letters brought an argument, one Lord Morgan always won, "I will not ask his forgiveness!" Morgan's voice would thunder. "Never!"

"But now you correspond with Paxton as if you never said those hateful words," John would say. "Mon Dieu, Morgan, you are taking his advice for the vineyards! I am old now; I cannot be working so hard. You will need Paxton's help when I die Do it for me. I want to see him again before 1 die—"

"Ah, you old codger," Lord Morgan would dismiss him, "you are bound to outlive the both of us."

So Linness never thought she would see Paxton again. "I have Jean Luc and our one night to cherish my life long. 'Tis enough, Clair,” she'd say. And while she knew Linness often dreamt of the man it was for the best. No one could want the disaster it would bring if Linness was ever presented to Morgan's estranged brother.

A disaster that had just arrived.

Linness found her gold hair band and pushed it through her hair. "Where did Jean Luc run off to? His tree fort?"

Jean Luc and his friends practically lived in the forest; they knew it better than the game master. Her boy knew every tree that might be climbed, and which trees had lark nests, bluebirds, or squirrels; he knew every rabbit warren, where the hedgehogs hid for winter, the favorite grazing spots of the deer. The forest was his home, as it should be with a boy.

Where? Mercy, where? She cast an anxious gaze to the forest and back. "Milady—”

The queer catch in Claire's voice alerted Linness. She turned around to stare at her. “Clair, what's amiss?"

"Milady, I have something to tell ye. Ye won’t believe me, but—"

She stopped as hearty male laughter, horses’ hooves, and heavy boots sounded through the forest behind them. Clair turned toward the sound. Linness rose to her feet, clutching the gold robe tight about her form.

Morgan appeared first, to make sure his wife was dressed. He had long ago issued a warning to all of Gaillard that if any man or boy was caught spying on the Lady Linness as she swam, he would be banished from his land and all his properties confiscated. The people of Gaillard took this warning seriously, and after four summers of daily swimming, no one had ever dared violate it.

He had been brought the word of Paxton's arrival just this last hour. He had rushed out to meet his brother. And here he was, little changed after six years, at least in the measure of appearance. He was, in fact, greatly transformed; they both were. For their animosity had disappeared over the years, a gradual progress that occurred, oddly enough, through parchment paper and pen, their secret exchange of letters. So that they were able to embrace with laughter and well wishes just as brothers should.

He was well pleased, more as his gaze came to Linness at the riverbank. She looked like a burst of spring warmth in the beige day dress. Long flowing sleeves covered her arms, and the modest bodice was made of a dark russet velvet. A pleated underskirt of the darker color showed through the outer skirts. A matching headband held the long hair back.

"Milady! I have a great surprise for you." He turned back to the forest and called, "Come and meet thy brother's wife."

Thy brother's wife.
The words brought her a brief moment of bewilderment, until Paxton appeared alongside Morgan and Jean Luc. For one wild moment she thought she was dreaming, but no, he stood there. Paxton.

Six years had changed him. A wet lock of light brown hair fell over his forehead. He wore a dark chestnut doublet, informal garb, a wide brown belt and lighter suede breeches, and tall brown boots but more than anything, he seemed harder, taller more than she remembered. And she did remember. She knew every line of his face, every mark on his body, she knew the exact shade of those beautiful dark eyes. She knew because he appeared faithfully every night in her dreams. Paxton.

She didn't realize she had stopped breathing until she started again with a sharp gasp. Her hands went clammy. Her heart pounded as if she were running. She wondered wildly if she would faint.

Paxton's smile disappeared the incredulous moment he understood who it was that stood in front of him. His gaze rushed up and down the lovely figure in a desperate search for the crucial flaw that would announce it was not her. That standing before him was not his virgin witch-child. Thy brother's wife. Linness.

"Paxton." Morgan slapped his back. "'Tis my great pleasure to introduce my wife, the Lady Belinda, though she goes by the simple name Linness." He then turned to Linness and said, "Milady, here is my long-lost famous brother, Lord General Paxton de Chamberlain."

A loud ringing sounded in Paxton's ears. He only heard Morgan pronounce her name, and until that moment he didn't believe it. Linness. His brother’s wife.

She was as beautiful as he remembered. More so. The long, wet hair pulled straight back, held by a gold band that accented the lovely silver eyes, the depth of her shock giving way to pain even as he stared. The delicate Celtic features of her face had lost the sharpness of youth, softening with time and motherhood. Linness.

"Milord, I am honored," she said, and only because the silence had stretched too long. His next words could easily condemn her, separating her from Jean Luc and her life forever, and that fact pressed so heavily on her every nerve, it nearly dropped her to her knees in terror.