Darkness In The Flames (70 page)

“Oh
Simon
…” Thérèse’s blood thrummed in her ears and she swayed, dizzy with shock at her lover’s betrayal of all she’d held so precious.

“’
Tis a lie
.” Mistress Osmocescu stepped forward, face flushed with anger and fear for her beloved child. “This man promised marriage. He spoke with my husband quite properly about it. Many here know the facts of this.” She looked around her, but few villagers were brave enough to risk the wrath of either the wealthy Montreaux family or the witch hunters.

Nobody moved to endorse her mama’s words.

“Where is this husband?” The question was sharp.

Mama looked down. “He’s in the city. I know not where at this moment. He’s gone to sell our baskets. To see if we can save a little something to keep us from starvation. Our crops are not doing well this year. Nobody’s are.”

The witch hunter raised an eyebrow. “I see. Most convenient.”

Thérèse found her voice. “’Tis not
convenient
, sir. ‘Tis a necessity if we are to survive the winter ahead. I swear, sir, on everything I hold holy. This man is lying to you if he alleges anything to do with witchcraft. I’m only guilty of one thing—loving
him
.” She flashed a furious look at Simon. “And it seems
that
was very, very stupid of me.”

Her temper built, always lightning-quick to ignite and symptomatic of her flame red hair. Or at least that’s what her father said as he tugged on the thick braid of fire which customarily lay tidily across her shoulder.

Now it was loose, a flowing stream of brilliance spilling over her torn shift and surplice, both of which were stained and muddy after her encounter with the earth. And her temper was unwisely loosening her tongue as well.

“If there’s anything untoward happening here, it is simply the devious schemes of a man wishing to rid himself of an unwanted burden.
Me
.” Thérèse strode to stand in front of Simon, deftly eluding the grasp of the witch hunters. “I heard that you’d ridden out with Mistress Thomasina. I ignored it. That wasn’t witchcraft, that was stupidity. Given her fortune and my lack of one—I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Her temper waned and she sagged. “But Simon—I gave you
everything
. I trusted you…”

Simon looked over her head and refused to acknowledge her presence. He addressed his words to the witch hunters. “You see how even now she attempts to bewitch me with honeyed words and glances from those green eyes of hers? How she tosses that hair—and if that isn’t the Devil’s work then I don’t know what is—how she flaunts the very lustful nature of her body at me?”

The two men stared at her, expressionless. Thérèse could not guess what thoughts were going on inside their minds.

Disgusted, she turned away from the man she had—up until this morning—loved. “It would seem that I am foresworn and betrayed by the one man I had thought to wed. To build a life and a family alongside.” She turned her gaze to the witch hunters. “But that does not make me evil or touched by the Devil, sirs. Surely you can see that?”

One man stepped closer and reached for her hair. “How do you explain this? I’ve never seen its like…” He let strands of the silken stuff fall through his hands. “Nor felt locks as soft.”

A new light dawned in the back of his eyes. For all her innocence, Thérèse could read the rising lust she saw there without any difficulty whatsoever.

“’Tis a heritage from an ancestor, sir.” Her mother called out from the crowd, unable to get close to her daughter, since many of the villagers were holding her back. It was wise, since she needed to protect Katya first. Thérèse knew this and yet still knew Mama would do what she could—what she was permitted to do if it would help.

The fingers in Thérèse’s hair tensed and pulled a strand sharply, making her gasp. “A gift from hell, more like. A teasing hot gift you might choose to share with others of your kind. Or use to seduce the unsuspecting man…”

Freeing her reluctantly, he turned away to his companion. “I see nothing here to change our original goal. She will come with us for questioning.”

A muted groan rolled across the square.

“No, Mama—
stop them
—” Katya broke free and ran to clutch at Thérèse’s skirts.

“And who are you?” The taller witch hunter stared down at her.

Unafraid, Katya stared back. “I am Katya. This is my sister. I don’t want you to take her.”

“If she is innocent, she will return.” He continued to gaze at Katya. “And how old are you?”

“I am almost fifteen, sir.” Shyly Katya dipped her head.

“And unwed?”

“We were waiting for Thérèse to marry, sir. She took her time since we have no brothers. There is just my sister and me to help Mama and Papa and times are hard. We thought…” Katya broke off and directed a look of pure hatred at Simon. “We thought she was going to be happy at last with—
him
.”

Simon finally fidgeted, unable to meet the accusations in Katya’s gaze. Thérèse smiled weakly and hugged her. “Never fear, my little one. These men will soon understand I have done no wrong in their eyes or in God’s. You must care for Mama until Papa or I return, do you understand?”

“Yes, Thérèse.” Katya nodded obediently. “Shall it be a long time?”

Thérèse glanced at her captors. “I cannot say. It’s up to them, I believe.”

Two hard and chiseled faces turned to her, no mercy showing in their eyes. They were lean, not unattractive and clearly used to getting their own way. There was an inherent sensuality in their bodies and Thérèse had glimpsed more than one woman in the crowd eyeing them with a purely feminine interest.

“It will be up to the judges and to God, child. Not us.”

*~*~*~*

It was an ordeal almost worse than she’d feared—and she’d had ample time to let her imagination run riot while riding pillion behind Dark. She’d christened them Dark and Grey, nicknames bestowed since they hadn’t bothered to introduce themselves.

Dark was the taller, with long dark hair tied neatly at the nape of his neck. Grey had eyes that really were quite gray and unruly hair, escaping its confines here and there in brown whorls.

Both men were silent during the ride, a journey that covered many miles and would end at the Bishop’s manor. An estate well known to the countryside, it was a forbidding edifice of weathered stone and heavy iron gates, not visually appealing from the outside and rumored to be even worse within.

She’d tried a few words of conversation, but had been met with silence. Eventually, she’d given up and simply concentrated on staying upright as the horse swayed along at a smart pace.

Obviously they were intent upon reaching their destination before nightfall. Only one stop was permitted—she had obeyed the call of nature and been allowed a brief mouthful of bread and cheese.

It was enough to sustain her. Her temper did the rest.

A curse on Simon Montreaux
. People had hinted, tried to tell her he was not sincere in his protestations—either to herself or her family. Blindly, she’d allowed herself to fall in love with his charm and his courteous appeal, finally surrendering her body on one enchanted moonlit night. He’d lain between her thighs and plunged deep, ripping her virginity away without a care.

She blushed as she recalled how little
she
’
d
cared—Simon had awakened the sensuality within her soul. From that point on, she’d stripped herself bare for him, both literally and figuratively. There was nothing she didn’t do to and with him, nothing she was hesitant about trying.

Her body cried out for more of these passionate delights and Simon had eagerly answered those cries with long lustful nights spent teaching her the things he liked her to do to him.

She’d discovered the wonderful place that sent bolts of desire through her veins and sobbed with pleasure when he fondled her there, just beneath her curly hair, in the secret places between her thighs. She’d learned how wonderful it was to have a man’s mouth suckling her breasts. To have a man’s cock inside her sheath, thrusting again and again, driving her wild with lust and need.

She’d found out that she hungered for this, the natural activity of a woman’s body. Thérèse had felt no shame—after all, this man would wed her. She had excitedly anticipated a lifetime with him, doing this night after night.

And now he’d turned on her with a betrayal so enormous—well, it couldn’t be borne.

And yet, she must bear it. She remained as silent as her captors until the massive gates of the manor came into view. Then she sucked in a little breath. “
Oh dear God
.”

Grey glanced over. “God will be of little use to you now. Best trust to honesty. Do not lie.
Ever
. Or it will be the worse for you.”

She tilted her chin and stared back at him. “I
never
lie.”

His lips curled wryly. “How many times have I heard
that
from the mouth of a woman. I’ve lost count.”

“Then you have chosen poorly, sir.” She turned her face away and stared straight ahead.

Dark snorted. “This one will be a handful.” His head turned to his companion. “I hope.”

“Mmm.”

Confused by their exchange, Thérèse simply ignored them and tried to suppress a little shiver as they passed beneath the portcullis and into the shadows of the manor forecourt. It was dark and cold within, as if no sunshine ever reached past the solid outer walls to light the gloom.

At Dark’s bidding, she slid from the horse only to find her hands pulled behind her and bound tightly. She gasped.

“It is necessary. You must face the Judge now. All prisoners are bound when presented for questioning.” There was no expression in Grey’s voice as he made sure the ropes were secure.

Servants scurried silently to open doors and Thérèse was led deeper into the cavernous building. Grey walked in front and Dark behind her. She was trapped by their presence and the fear she knew was rising in her throat.

Despite her assumed bravado, her knees began to tremble as they finally stopped before a huge door, studded with metal bolts and warped by time.

It swung inward with a mighty groan and a hand pushed her sharply into the room.

She stumbled and fell, cracking her knees on the stone floor. Tears started to her eyes as she raised them to see a stern face staring back down at her.

“Get up,
witch
.”

She struggled to rise, her bonds hampering her movements and the door clanged shut behind her, once more issuing a creak of protest. The slamming was more the sound of a death knell in Thérèse’s ears. If this man—her judge—was already referring to her as “witch”, how was she to protest her innocence?

She was thrust forward to stand in front of him, sensing the two men who had brought her here take several paces backward. She was truly alone now. It was just her and the elderly cleric.

Respectfully she lowered her head. “My lord. I am falsely accused.”

“Be quiet. You will speak when I give you leave, not before.” The voice was colder than the winter winds and just as harsh.

Thérèse kept her gaze on the flagstones at her feet.

“The charges?”

Since the question wasn’t directed at her, Thérèse didn’t move.

Someone—Grey, she thought—rustled papers. “This woman has been accused of witchcraft, my lord. It is alleged that she has used her body to ensnare an innocent man into proposing a marriage to which he had no intention of entering.”

Even as still as she was, Thérèse knew her teeth were grinding together.
Again
—
a curse on Simon Montreaux
.
The bastard
.

“It is also said that she can cure animals with a mixture of spells and potions. Another of her neighbors avows he’s seen her dancing naked beneath a full moon and reciting strange incantations while she does so.”

Thérèse blinked at that absurd accusation and risked a quick glance at the old man above her. She recognized the robes of a bishop but had never seen him in person before. His face was set in deep wrinkles that betrayed a dour nature, lines running from mouth to chin, deeply engraved and giving his expression a permanent frown.

This was not a man given to humor or laughter. Nor would he be an easy man to persuade from his course once his mind was set. Again, her legs trembled.

“You, woman.”

Finally she lifted her head, but kept her eyes lowered. “Yes, my lord Bishop.”

“You attend Church regularly?”

“Oh yes, my lord.”

“You are a believer in Almighty God and his power over us all?”

“Yes, my lord.” She kept her gaze on the floor and answered clearly and honestly.

“Recite the Lord’s Prayer.”

Thérèse did so, faultlessly, although she could not suppress a slight tremor in her voice.

Silence fell after her “Amen” as the Bishop considered her response. “You say you are innocent of these charges.”

Finally she dared look at him. “I am, sir. All these charges are false and absurd. I know naught of this matter other than what I have heard today.”

“What would the Montreaux family have to gain by falsely accusing you?”

She swallowed. “Freedom for their son to marry where he chooses.” Her temper roiled in her gut as she faced the man who held the power of life and death over her. “Simon Montreaux promised me marriage, my lord. We…found that we enjoyed each other’s company.” Heat rose in her cheeks. “I was unwise in my actions—that I will confess. But I loved him. I believed my affections were returned.”

The Bishop snorted. “You are a fool if you expect me to believe that. Simon is from a fine family and must marry where it is appropriate for him to do so. A wench from the village is an unlikely choice. If you imagined that you could lure this betrothal from him with your sensual skills…”

“No sir, I did
not
.” Unwisely, Thérèse interrupted him. “
He
was the one suggesting we wed. I’d not have surrendered to him otherwise.”

“Bewitched by your body, no doubt. Or did you place a potion of some sort in his ale?”