A Kiss in the Night (34 page)

She was Paxton's future wife, his betrothed, by orders of the king. No one could refuse an order from the king. Not even Paxton. He would be married.

The lady in black would be his wife…

She had had the vision since the very first night she gave herself to Paxton. Because the lady in black was to have everything she ever wanted in life, the only thing she had ever wanted in life. The lady in black would be his wife. . . .

"You have indeed guessed," Paxton said, his voice amazingly calm. "My king has arranged a marriage to the Lady Beatrice Lucia Calabria, duchess of Nuovo in Naples."

"Ah," the bishop said, watching Linness, "an arranged marriage. The best kind, decreed by God himself, rather than the trite sentiments brought by lustful emotions. May God bless your marriage."

Morgan was thrilled. "My God! And what do you know of her?"

There was a brief hesitation. For he knew everything and nothing about the lady. She had lived her life cloistered in a nunnery; she was said to be extremely pious and devout. She had chosen to remain in the nunnery until he decided to send for her. Francis had regretted he could not send a portrait, but no one had ever seen the lady.

"The lady is orphaned," Paxton replied in a dispassionate tone. "And she has only an aging steward, her late father's brother, to oversee her properties. The man is said to be on his deathbed. There are many problems with her estates. Land-rich, aye, but it has not been productive for nearly half a century due to the unending wars between the church, the Kingdom of Naples, the Duchy of Milan, and, of course, France. The people are suffering, a hairsbreadth from starvation. Francis imagines I will remedy the half century of neglect inside of a year and soon be replenishing not just the peasants' stomachs but his own treasury with its wealth."

Morgan laughed at this. "And he is probably right! And what of the good lady herself? Be she young or old?"

"Young. She is but nine and ten,"

"Not in her first blush, then," Morgan commented. "But young enough to get you sons."

No one but John heard Linness's stifled gasp, as a napkin covered her mouth. He asked the only question that mattered. "Has the church committed the lady to the marriage?"

"Aye," Paxton said at last. This, of course, meant that once he put his signature to paper, they were legally married. "Francis has demanded my signature on the marriage contracts. I am to send them within the week."

"And when does he want you to leave?" John asked.

A pause. Then he announced, "Immediately."

"Immediately?" Morgan questioned, alarmed. Paxton could not leave immediately. He could not leave until they got rid of the bishop.

"I was considering sending Rialto," Paxton said, referring to his steward at Beaumont in Alsace. "Despite how much I need him to oversee the building at Beaumont."

John understood this at once, and in the next moment a perfect solution presented itself to him "Paxton," he began, "let me go. I could leave at once. I would be there within two fortnights. I could assess the damage and problems and begin the construction, if it needs such, while arranging for the purchases of plows, chattel, and seeds. And I would be more than happy to present myself to the lady as your representative."

Paxton met his uncle's anxious gaze. He had not dared to hope for his uncle's generosity; it was the perfect solution. It would be a hardship to send Rialto when there was still so much work at Beaumont, and he could not leave Linness as long as the bishop's malice still threatened her. Still, "Uncle, you are not as young as you once were—"

"Nor am I too old for the task. Paxton, I would welcome a journey abroad. God knows I have beers too long in one place. I need both hands to count the number of friends I might see on my way which I would welcome. I have been across the Italian borders only once—some of my fondest memories are of the numerous pleasures found in that country. And more than anything, we are so close in mind; you know me as the one man you could trust with the awesome responsibility of this important task. Let me go, Paxton."

The bishop watched his hope crumbling about him. "And why is it you cannot leave Gaillard now, milord?"

"Ah, well," Paxton said, leveling a heated gaze in his direction. "You see, I will sign this marriage contract, and so Francis will naturally feel more inclined to answer my most recent request with his favor. I would like to stay at Gaillard to see the result."

The bishop stared stonily at the lord. He had not anticipated this turn of events. He should have known, for Satan does not rest.

"So it is settled," John said with a note of triumph on his face. "I shall begin preparations to depart immediately."

Morgan was well pleased and held his goblet out for more wine.

Linness could not absorb the shock of losing him, let alone bear the idea he could sit so calmly discussing the details of her execution. Color had drained from her face; her eyes were filled with emotion. "Congratulations, milord," she managed somehow. Her skills at falsehoods and pretensions were so terribly acute now, she could say those words as she felt the very life flowing from her limbs. "I fear I must withdraw suddenly—"

The bishop stood in a pretense of concern, "Milady, you look so sickly suddenly."

She ignored the glee in his tone. Her hand went to her forehead as if bracing herself against an aching pain and she said, "My head has suddenly started pounding. If you will excuse me..."

"By all means, milady," Morgan said in confusion and worry as all the men stood for her withdrawal. The men watched her rush from the room in a swirl of violet and rose silk, her perfume lingering in the air.

Paxton drew the faint scent deeply into his lungs, as if to hold the small part of her close for a precious second more. She would be pulled from his grasp. Soon. He always knew it would happen; he just had not known when. Now that the time approached, he felt a numbing sense of doom. Some called it fate.

The fate of star-crossed lovers.

Forgive me, Linness...

To the great relief of all others remaining, the bishop and his priests left the table soon afterward. Paxton waited until Morgan's eyes were red and his speech slurred, staying to discuss the details with his uncle for his departure. Finally he managed to exit. He saw Michaels in the stairway. The young man's face searched his questioningly, stricken by the news.

Paxton grabbed his forearm and squeezed, his request understood. Michaels nodded and moved to tike bottom of the stairs as Paxton went up and opened the door to Linness's room.

She was leaning against the wall, waiting for him, her eyes closed. Pain and anguish marked her face and echoed in a whisper. "Tell me it is not so! Tell me you will not do this to me!"

He stepped toward her. Silent.

She opened her eyes; with desperation she said, "You could refuse!"

"Not if I ever expect Francis or Duprat to rid Gaillard of Bishop Luce."

"I do not care about him! He is nothing when laid alongside that woman—"

He snatched her hand, drawing her up as if needing more of her attention. "You are a fool, my love, if you do think that man is nothing. Remember the monk who brought me the news of Simon's death?"

She nodded.

"He disappeared shortly afterwards. Morgan and I were suspicious. Yesterday we sent the hounds out after his scent. And we found him, love, buried in a shallow grave by the river."

Silver eyes searched his face with confusion. "What?"

"Aye. The man was murdered. No doubt the bishop wished to discover what he had told me and who I sent in Simon's place. Linness," he said with feeling, "the bishop had him murdered."

The shock of this registered on her lovely features, changing her expression to one of confusion. Murder and the bishop, she did not care. She could hardly think long enough to care…

"There is no limit to the man's malice," he continued. "And this malice is directed at you. I will not leave you until he is gone. And I need all of my king's favor to make this happen. Accept it, Linness—"

"Nay! I cannot, I will not. There must be another way—"

He pulled her up again, his face cruel with its insistence. "But there isn't."

A hot fury uncoiled and trembled through her as she abruptly realized the only thing worse. "You want to marry her!"

Paxton could not deny it.

For a long moment she stood frozen in a panic, waiting for the denial. When he did no such thing, the humiliation of it and fury demanded a vent. Hot, tremulous, vengeful, she raised her hand to strike his face.

He caught her hand, and then the other, pulling her hard against his frame. With a pained cry, she gasped for breath, struggled but briefly before she went still and lifted her pain-filled eyes to his face. Only to see his own struggle there: his own anger and pain and sympathy.

"Listen to me, Linness," he said, demanding she listen to the unalterable facts of his life. "Listen. Even if I went back to that first night and found you had waited for me, even if you had never married my brother, I could not have offered you the sacrament of marriage. You would have always been my mistress. No one with my landed rank is free to choose a wife. You know thus!"

She stared up at him as she tried desperately to deny this. "That's not true! If you renounced—"

The look in his eyes stopped her short.

"Aye," he said, "if 1 renounced. Renounced my land, my king, my country. Renounced my life. Forced you to renounce our son, his inheritance, my brother, the church. Nay," he said with feeling, "nay, not even for you, my love. Not even for you. All that would be left of me would be a worthless skin of a man, empty and hollow inside, a man who had nothing left to give you."

The impassioned words melted her fury, replacing it with raw and tragic sadness. They had nothing but their love; they never had anything but their love…

Tears filled her silver eyes and his tone softened with his sympathy as he finished his say. "Linness, I have spent the whole of my life either preparing for war or waging it. I am so weary of it. I long to ease my hand from the sword, to sleep through a night without waking at every creak and slight sound; I want to walk through the rest of my days and never see bloodshed again."

He gently kissed her forehead, closing his eyes to drink in the sweet scent of her. "I want to join that lady's land with Beaumont, Linness. I want to spend my life raising the people from poverty. I want to see their fortunes rise with mine and my king's. Linness," he said, "I want this peace so badly…"

He had freed her hands and she reached up on tiptoes to bring her arms around his neck, clinging to him tightly, passionately. She struggled desperately to accept this, the fact that they would never have anything more than forbidden love: a love made of stolen kisses and whispered words, of denied longing and desire, a love that never shone beneath the bright light of the sun, but she couldn't…she couldn't...

As he held her closely against his strength, she saw her. The lady in black. She understood her pity at last. For that lady had everything Linness had ever wanted, the only thing she ever wanted To he Paxton's wife…

"Kiss me, Paxton." She whispered the forbidden words. "Kiss me as if it's the last time you ever shall."

Chapter Ten

“
And why should I?" Cardinal Duprat asked from the sidelines as Francis and Lord d'Etampes parried back and forth across the lawns of the rose garden. The clang of metal sang in the stilled afternoon air. Normally the entire court gathered to watch a display of their king's famous swordsmanship, but after last night's gala those few lords and ladies of the court who were awake by noon chose to remain indoors with shades drawn against the bright sun and cool damp cloths pressed to their foreheads.

Francis advanced, swung, and struck, but Lord d'Etampes parried neatly and countered. Francis knew this game with Duprat, his voracious, infuriating, yet absolutely irreplaceable cardinal. Nay not a cardinal, not really. Rather, Duprat was a shrewd, brilliant administrator dressed in a cardinal's vestments; his faith in the holy doctrine was as honest and convenient as a condemned man's. No matter. He knew exactly what Duprat wanted, what he was willing to give him, and how to play the game out in hopes of winning from Duprat the minor but costly concessions.

Yet today he did not have the energy for this. So he said as he parried, "Because I am your king!"

Duprat, an enormous man both in height and weight, only laughed with a shake of his graying hair. "Indeed, your Majesty." With a hint of amusement, "So is this a command?"

Lord d'Etampes was gaining the upper hand.

Francis stopped suddenly and turned to Duprat, lowering his sword to inquire, "And what if it was?"

"Ah well! As your humblest servant, I would comply, of course. That is, after warning you about the consequences, the potentially dire consequences. The bishop has earned the high favor of a certain fanatical segment of the Vatican, which is, not coincidentally, the same faction that brings me, and therefore you, constant trouble. I suspect it would be more than a thorn in their side. I would remind Your Majesty—"