A Kiss in the Night (36 page)

She laughed at this, hardly able to believe this was her grandson. "Handsome, then. Oh, Jean Luc, I have longed to see you ever so long!" She hugged him tightly and for a long moment she just held the precious boy against her heart. Jean Luc pretended he did not mind. She drew back and asked softly, "Your mother, how is she?"

"Hale, Grand-mere, hale." He was happy to tell her this.

She was confused; her dark eyes searched his face. "She is fine?"

"Aye! My father says she is too hale, that she never catches my head colds. My father always catches them."

A sweet wave of heady relief washed over her as more tears filled her eyes. Belinda was fine; thank God for that. Surely Jean Luc would know if she was ill or injured? No one could keep that from a child.

He told her, "No one told me you were coming to see me!"

"No one?" The boy shook his head.

She began to sense a mystery here. Why had Bishop Luce called her here if Belinda was fine? Why was it a secret? Perhaps Jean Luc was too young to know what was wrong. "Perhaps your mother wanted to surprise you?"

"She would have told me. She tells me everything about you. She reads me every letter you send." Quite suddenly his eyes turned sad, like a capricious whisper of wind. "
Grandmere,
I am so sorry about my
grandpere.
I never got to see him. It made my mother sad, you know... "

The boy was so sweet! She nodded with a smile, her heart so full of love. "'Twas a sad thing. Even though he never got to see you, he loved you very much."

Jean Luc declared, "And I loved him, too! We had a special mass sung for him," he added, thinking this would please her as it had pleased his mother.

"Well, come," she said, standing up and taking his hand in hers, hardly able to take her eyes off him. "You can escort me to the chateau, can you not?"

The three men dismounted and Paul rushed to take the lady's mare. Hand in hand with her grandson, a smiling Lady Beaumaris asked, "Will your mother be there?"

He shrugged. "I do not know. She swims in the afternoon, when the sun is high, you know—"

Lady Beaumaris stopped, shocked. This was, perhaps, the most jolting of all the strange things that had happened to her daughter since arriving at Gaillard. For Belinda had been deathly afraid of water. She bathed infrequently and only upon the most outrageous threats imaginable. Then she only let the great wooden tub be filled two inches, no more. She would measure it with her hair comb "My daughter swims?"

"I do, too! I love to swim in the river. My mother says I am as good a swimmer as she is! And she swims better than my father. But not as good as my uncle. He has rescued her more than once. I think she was teasing him, just pretending, because she never needed to be rescued in the river until he came, you know. No one is to know they swim together every day," he whispered confidentially. " ‘Tis our secret, so do not tell anyone. Look, Grand-mere, there's the chateau gate. Can you see it?"

* * * *

Bishop Luce waited from atop the battlements, watching for the Lady Pretender's return. The sun set behind the township and the mountains beyond. The breeze held a whisper of fall. Soon it would be harvest time; the end of one cycle and the beginning of a new one. The end of the devil's reign and the beginning of God's.

She was late today; she usually returned earlier Just after or just before Lord Paxton. She always had either her serving woman, her son, or Michaels with her. To avoid suspicion. The serving woman and Michaels would always part on the river trail, leaving her alone for her illicit tryst with Lord Paxton, before rejoining her on the way back. The nights were easier managed. Lord Paxton simply slipped into her room, somehow always leaving just before dawn. Lately they were so consumed with their wicked lust, perhaps because Lord Paxton would have to leave after the harvest, that they no longer waited for Lord Morgan to retire anymore.

Father Thomas waited at the gates in the event she was with the serving woman, to stall her. Nothing and no one would spoil this. For Lady Beaumaris had arrived. Morgan and the lady and her knights were gathered in the hall, waiting for Linness's return.

Ah, 'twas the serving woman, he saw.

Father Thomas stepped out to meet her. He would tell her Jeanroy, an acquaintance, had asked to see her immediately upon her return, that it was important. Clair would not find this person, however. He had been sent to town on an errand.

He watched as the serving woman absorbed this message, and hurriedly rushed off to the guards’ quarters. The lady stood still and unmoving, staring back at Father Thomas. She turned to stare at the chateau, then back at Father Thomas. He could not hear what she was asking him, but that she was suspicious, he had no doubt.

Her diabolical intuition again.

He was lying, Linness knew. She could always tell when falsehoods were uttered. Why would he lie about Jeanroy wanting to see Clair? Obviously to separate Clair from her, but why?

She looked back at the chateau. A chill raced up her spine, and not from the lingering aftermath of Paxton's love play. Something was wrong ...

Father Thomas stared at her, hatred in his eyes.

‘
Twas not the priest's hatred she felt. He was anxious, as if he were secretly worried for her. Lately she had begun to sense a change in Father Thomas. His friend's departure had awakened his sensitivities and doubt, and this uncertainty was directed at his superior. She longed to speak with him about it, but she didn't dare, afraid it might make him rally back to Bishop Luce.

Yet she felt hatred shooting at her, like invisible hot stones slung from above, and she looked up to where Bishop Luce stood, watching her from the battlements high above. Another shiver passed through her. The bishop turned away, disappearing. She looked back at Father Thomas, but he, too, had left.

Something was wrong.

A vague image of four riders sprang into her mind. A woman in a blue riding habit. Anxiousness. Worry. Who were they?

She didn't know. The feeling of foreboding remained, and with a shake of her wet hair, she headed for the stairway, a basket of bluebells in her arm. ‘Twas cool and dark inside. The fires had not been lit. Voices came from the hall, Jean Luc's and Morgan's among them. Michaels was waiting for her and she smiled, brushing lingering bits of brush from her plain green dress. "I know that look." Linness teased. "That is the look you get when Vivian has made something sweet and special. "

Michaels laughed and shook his head. "Something much better than a treat, milady There is a big surprise waiting for you in the hall!'

She froze; another warning chill shot up her spine. "What is it?"

"Do not look so scared." He grinned, excited "’ Tis a wonderful surprise!" He took her arm as they turned down the corridor, leading to the hall. "You will be thrilled, I promise!"

Michaels led her into the hall. She stopped in the doorway, taking in the gathering of people: Morgan, Jean Luc, a lady, a number of men she did not recognize. Bishop Luce stood there, too, along with a number of his priests. Everyone stopped and turned to look at her. Smiling, Michaels grabbed her hand and pulled her forward.

With a look of bewildered amusement, Linness approached the crowd. Jean Luc held the lady's hand and she was smiling at her, unaware. Completely unaware. Michaels stopped in front of this woman. Silence. Everyone stood staring, waiting for an exclamation.

The two women stared at each other, confused.

Jean Luc laughed and said, "
Grandmere
has come!"

Morgan laughed and announced happily, "Milady, 'tis your dear mother. Your mother has come to Gaillard at last!"

"Mother..."

The word was uttered in a whisper. A whisper like a horrified gasp. Linness stopped on the word "mother," the idea that this at last was the Lady Beaumaris, that she would now be sentenced and condemned, that nothing but heaven could save her now. Nothing—

The basket of flowers slipped from her numb fingers and onto the floor, bluebells spilling over the marble and wood squares. Linness followed in a faint.

It was a beautiful faint, dramatic and absolutely convincing, a slow sinking to the floor, like collapsing into the protective folds of her green dress, a trail of long, wet hair falling to her side. Anger and incredulousness blazed in the bishop's gaze as he watched the amazing theatrics. He had been expecting hysterics, a scream, a cry for mercy, anything but this. His gaze shot to Lady Beaumaris, who appeared confused and shocked, hands over her heart, staring as Jean Luc fell on top of his mother with alarm. "Mercy! Mother!"

Then the bishop realized the faint was so convincing only because it was real. She had fainted!

Morgan was lifting her up with a whispered,
"Mon Dieu ..."

Bishop Luce's gaze shot back to the Lady Beaumaris. She continued to stare with bewildered confusion. A hand went to her mouth. She was trembling.

He would not let this opportunity pass. Faint or not, unconscious or not, he would hear the lady declare the creature an impostor. He stepped forward. "Milady." He stamped his long staff. "Now you have seen why I sent for you!"

Morgan was carrying Linness from the hall and crying out, "Milady just never thought she'd set her mother again. She was so glad. Someone find Clair."

Servants were rushing away to fetch water some pepper, and Clair.

Michaels rushed after his lord with concern and worry. "
Mon Dieu
, we should have prepared her. She is so delicate!"

Lady Beaumaris turned to the bishop. She looked at him hard, her eyes searching, questioning. No words came from her mouth. She didn't know what to say; what she could possibly say! There had to be an explanation for this, there had to be. Someone would explain how this had happened, or at least what had happened.

The bishop's gaze turned fierce, and he demanded, "Say it! Say it out loud for all to hear in the name of God Almighty! You know why 1 sent for you!"

She drew back as if slapped. She felt his hatred washing over her, an unrelenting force, like the sting of scalding water. She suddenly understood what he wanted of her. The woman's condemnation.

In the next moment she grasped that her daughter was dead and this woman had, dear Lord, all these years, pretended to be Belinda. She knew in that instant that she was the authoress of each letter that had filled her heart with joy and given her love again. More than that, given her late husband love and joy, the idea that they had a grandson…

She cast her gaze to where Morgan had disappeared with the lady through the entrance to the hall. With a lift of her skirts, she rushed after them. The woman might indeed deserve her condemnation, but it would not be given until after she was made to understand how this had happened, exactly what had happened.

"I will not let her get away with this, so help me God—"

The bishop's threat echoed eerily after her. She wondered if God Himself had given her a choice: the bishop and his condemnation, or the woman and her son. She did not have to think long on that one.

After a baffling and fruitless search for Jeanroy, Clair stepped into the entrance hall as Morgan raced up the stairs with Linness in his arms. Servants crowded the stairway. "Oh, Lord! What has happened—?"

She stopped as Lady Eleanor Marie Beaumaris appeared in the corridor. The reality drained the blood from her limbs. The tremble started in the pit of her stomach and spread out. She started to back away, shaking her head.

"You! Clair!" Eleanor understood Clair's shock quite well now as she continued up the stairs. "Attend me at once in the lady's chambers...”

For the first time in five years, Clair genuflected. For help. She had never believed in the direct intervention of God, but then, 'twas the only thing that could save her now.

Nothing was said while Morgan and a number of other servants were in the room. Linness lay in a stupor, protected by those around her. Clair sat on the side of the bed, her mind racing over the questions that would be asked and the answers she would attempt to provide. Only the truth would do, but the truth seemed pitifully inadequate to the task. The good woman would not believe it; no one could believe this fantastic story who hadn't, like herself, actually witnessed it from the beginning.

Finally Morgan and the other servants left to wait downstairs. "I hope she wakes in time for supper." He shook his head with a chuckle. "She was just so surprised. Next time, milady," he said to Lady Eleanor, "you will have to prepare us in advance for such a happy occasion."

Eleanor managed a nod. The door shut. She turned her gaze to Clair, who stood up, her bright blue eyes hot with worry and trepidation. "My daughter, my real daughter, Belinda?"

Clair's gaze lowered.

"How, Clair? How in heaven's name has this happen?"

Clair fell onto the trunk at the foot of the bed. She drew a deep breath as she tried to find the place to start.

She began the story with Belinda's death. Clair spared no detail of the gruesome attack. As Eleanor listened to the incredible series of events, she stared at the unconscious creature lying in bed. She could not stop staring. As the story of Linness of Sauvage unfolded, Clair reached the part wherein she, too, faced the choice between condemning Linness or linking her fate to the pretense.