“My lord, I don’t know,” Roland whimpered and burst into tears, covering his face in his hands. Rohan shot Susannah a harassed look.
She frowned at him.
“I’m sorry, Roland, take your time,” Rohan said. His voice, if not gentle, was at least a bit more restrained. “This is naturally quite a shock to you. But surely you want us to find who did this to your master. Please think. That’s it. Focus your memory on meeting that man who was dressed as a curate.”
Roland was obviously thinking. He began to pace. He looked, Susannah thought, like a very beautiful actor from a play of the last century.
Susannah said nothing, merely waited. Phillip was standing beside the open door, his arms crossed over his chest. As for the magistrate, he was saying not a word, just sitting next to Rohan, watching the young man and his perambulations.
“He was young,” Roland said suddenly, “not much older than I am. He had a lot of hair, black hair, and it was too long for a curate. I remember thinking he should get it cut. He was taller than I, but not much. He was very fit, not lean but muscular. I’ve never seen a curate built like he was. Oh, God, I killed my master.”
“Roland, you’re doing fine,” Susannah said, “but you must continue to hold yourself together. What you tell us will help find the man who did this awful thing.”
Jubilee Balantyne cleared his throat, winked at Susannah, and said, “Did he tell you his name?”
Roland shook his head. “No, my lord. He was pleasant, spoke a moment about the weather, asked me how long I’d lived in Oxford. What did I think of Bishop Roundtree? Oh, God! I see it all now. He was keeping me away from the bishop while his accomplice was murdering him. Oh, God!”
“That is true,” said Jubilee Balantyne. “But you had no way of knowing it was a ruse. Come now, do pull yourself together, as Lady Mountvale told you to do. Did you notice anything at all unusual about the young man, anything distinctive?”
Roland was shaking his head, wringing his hands, his periwig crooked, but it didn’t matter to him, for he was too upset to speak.
“Think, man!”
“Yes, yes, I remember now. He was wearing this ring on his left hand. Bishop Roundtree has one identical to it. I started to ask him where he got it, then he gave me the packet and there was no time.”
“Tell us about this ring.”
“Better than that,” Balantyne said. “Let me go fetch the bishop’s. You’re certain it was identical?” Roland nodded. Susannah didn’t envy him his task. He was back very soon, standing in the doorway, frowning.
“He isn’t wearing a ring.”
Roland jumped to his feet. “No, my lord, the bishop always wore that ring, always. I asked him once about it, and he became so angry at my impertinence I thought he would strike me. Of course he didn’t. He never struck me. Well, he did just one time, but that was because it pleased him to do it.”
“Then the man who killed him took it. None of us noticed this before. One of the bishop’s fingers was cut off, likely the one upon which he wore that ring. Evidently his killer couldn’t simply pull it off, thus the mutilation.”
Roland fell into a dead faint.
Susannah wished she could join him. Instead she left the drawing room and found her way to the kitchen, a small, dim room at the rear of the house. She dampened a cloth and returned to Roland, who was still on the floor, now moaning like a child. She came down to her knees and gently wiped his face. “It will be all right,” she said, then said it again, but she doubted it sincerely. She looked at her husband. His eyes were closed.
She knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that it was the same identical ring. Both of them wearing the same sort of ring? Was it some sort of club? Then she remembered Tibolt’s words: “All those old fools protecting the secret . . .”
The ring, Roland finally told them, after drinking a snifter of rich smuggled French brandy, was heavy silver, an etching of a bishop in a mitre atop it. Yes, there were words beneath it, but he didn’t know what they were.
“Interesting,” Balantyne said.
“It was very big, very heavy,” Roland said. “Does that help somehow?”
“It could,” Rohan said.
Balantyne dismissed poor Roland, telling him with a bit of disgust in his voice that he should have a liedown after he brought Balantyne the names of all Bishop Roundtree’s relatives. He himself would see to the acquaintances.
Jubilee Balantyne looked thoughtfully at Phillip Mercerault. “I do believe it’s time you tell me what this is all about, Phillip.”
Phillip, after a quick glance at Rohan, shrugged, saying, “I’m sorry, Jubilee, but there’s little I can tell you. Lord Mountvale and I have been friends for many years. The only reason I am along is because I know Oxford so well. Rohan wished to visit the bishop. Didn’t you tell me, Rohan, that he was a friend of your father’s?”
Rohan nodded. “That’s right. Unfortunately, we were unlucky in the timing of our visit.”
“I see. I don’t suppose you know anything about this ring?”
“The ring? Not a thing.”
Jubilee Balantyne said nothing as he rose to his feet. “This is a bloody mess. Everyone in Oxford is going to want to nail my hide to the wall if I don’t quickly discover who did this. The proctors will want to take over. I should probably let them and wash my hands of it. Ah, but I won’t. Now, why don’t you three discuss what’s happened and then come and talk to me. I really need your help. If you go off on your own, I cannot be responsible.”
“A perceptive gentleman,” Susannah said after the magistrate had left the bishop’s house. “What are we going to do?”
“Not tell him the truth, that’s for sure,” Rohan said.
“I told you he wasn’t stupid,” Phillip said. “I want to leave this place, all right?”
Phillip gave them what he called the best bed in Dinwitty Manor. The bedchamber was low-ceilinged and somewhat damp, but the bed was indeed magnificent. It was after midnight, after an evening spent discussing everything and coming up with not a single answer. Susannah was pressed against Rohan’s side, her cheek on his shoulder, her palm wide over his chest.
“I bloody well don’t know what to do,” he said to the dark ceiling. “I’ve thought and thought. My God, Susannah, what if Tibolt murdered the bishop?”
She kissed his shoulder. “We have no notion if that could be true. It seems more likely that it was Tibolt who diverted poor Roland. He was wearing the ring, after all. He must also have been wearing a disguise. I do have an idea, however.”
She kissed him again on his shoulder while her palm stroked down his chest, her fingers threading through his hair down to his belly. His muscles contracted. His breathing shifted from steady and slow to a leaping roar.
Her fingers went lower until she touched him.
He nearly bounded off the bed. All thoughts of the day were swamped by lust so great that he was shaking with it. Her fingers wrapped around him.
“Susannah, do you know what you’re doing?”
“I’m not certain, but I think you would tell me if I don’t do something correctly, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh, yes. What you’re doing is quite acceptable.” He moaned.
She kissed his mouth, saying as he parted his lips, “We have been distracted for far too long. There have been too many questions, too many bad things that have happened. You told me that we would share, Rohan. I need a different kind of sharing now. I need you.”
They hadn’t made love for several days. It had occurred to Rohan upon occasion that Susannah was his bride, yet he’d kept his hands to himself, and his mouth and every other part of him as well. Both of them had been distracted. She was right. It was time to bring the two of them together again, like their first night, like that incredible night at the inn.
He slowly turned on his side to face her. Thank God she didn’t release him.
He began kissing her, his hands on her breasts, roving to her belly, ar
ound to her buttocks. “Damned nightgown,” he said in her mouth, then raised her to pull it over her head.
Unfortunately she released him to help him get the garment off.
He fell back, bringing her on top of him. “It’s just as well. I would be in a sorry state were you to continue holding me like that. Perhaps sometime you could put your mouth on me, Susannah.”
She blinked down at him. It was dark and she could see only the vague outline of his face. She said, surprise clear in her voice, “You want me to kiss you there?”
“Oh, yes, and more.”
She fell silent. She’d never imagined such a thing. She’d believed her hand on him was beyond bold, something a lady shouldn’t ever do, yet she’d enjoyed thoroughly the feel of him, the warmth and hardness of him.
He pulled her completely on top of him. “Kiss me,” he said, and when her mouth touched his, he splayed his fingers over her hips and began to knead her soft flesh. Soon his fingers were pulling her thighs apart. Then his fingers were touching her flesh and she reared back, staring down at him.
“Don’t you like that?”
“Oh yes, but it’s shocking.” He eased his finger into her, and she gasped.
“Rohan, you touched me like you did our first night together, like that evening in the inn, well, other nights as well, but I’d forgotten how it felt. It’s been a long time. It’s been three whole days.” Then she moved against him. He squeezed his eyes closed. It was going to be close.
When he came into her, her legs wrapped around his flanks, his hands cupping her face between his palms, he whispered against her mouth, “Shall we make a babe, Susannah?”
She thrust her hips up against him, whispering on his neck, “I don’t care, I don’t care. I just want you, just you. Ro-han . . .”
He took her pleasure into himself. It was deep and raw and he moaned his own release into her mouth.
The three of them were seated at the breakfast table the following morning. There was little conversation until Rohan dropped a piece of crisp bacon and said, “What if the bishop’s half of the map is still at his house? Still in his study? What if the killer failed to find it? He didn’t have all that much time. And the way he killed the bishop, he appeared to be in a rage, as if the bishop had refused to tell him what he wanted to know.”
Susannah tossed down her napkin and rose. “That’s what I was thinking as well. The bishop must have the other half of the map hidden somewhere. Let’s go see.”
Phillip said to Rohan, “I’ve never met a woman like her before.”
“Perhaps when you do find a woman like my Susannah, you’ll marry her before she can get away from you.”
Phillip stared hard at her and said finally, “Perhaps. Perhaps.”
29
“I’LL BE DAMNED,” PHILLIP MERCERAULT, COMING TO HIS feet. He’d been lying on his back under Bishop Roundtree’s desk. “Look at this. It was fastened to the underside of the desk.”
It was a narrow cloth book. It looked very old.
Rohan and Susannah gathered around him. They had nearly given up searching the bishop’s study.
“It’s very fragile,” Phillip said as he slowly opened it. “There are only three pages here, all written in Latin. And this.” His smile was dazzling as he gently pulled a single half of a small map from a pocket on the back cover.
“You’ve taken first prize, Phillip. This looks like the other half of the map.”
“The first thing I suggest we do, gentlemen,” Susannah said very quietly, “is to contain our excitement and leave this place immediately. I don’t want Roland talking to Lord Balantyne, telling him about our find. Or telling anyone else, for that matter. We will act like we finally gave up.”
“She’s right,” Rohan said. He kissed her, then whispered in her ear, “We found it!”
“None of that,” Phillip said. “It makes me jealous. I dislike being jealous. It is too petty, too common. Rohan, no more nibbling her ear. Now, once outside, we must be certain that no one is watching the house. Everyone keep a long face.”
Once downstairs, they found Roland in the kitchen, sitting at the table, his head on his folded arms, fast asleep.
“What will become of him?” Susannah asked as Rohan helped her into the carriage.
“If the bishop had relatives, and they move in here, then I’m afraid he won’t be long welcome,” Phillip said.
“Why ever not? He is so very pretty and even though he doesn’t care for ladies, he does seem efficient. You certainly cannot fault his admiration and affection for the bishop.”
“Well, it’s not quite that simple,” Rohan said, took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles.
“Why don’t you offer him a position, Phillip?” Susannah said after she managed to look away from her husband’s beautiful eyes and his even more beautiful mouth, a mouth she seemed to be staring at more and more often of late. She’d never imagined that she could feel about a man the way she was coming to feel about him. And the way he made her feel when he touched her, when he came inside her. A window had been opened and she had flown through it. She never wanted that window to close. She didn’t ever want to leave her husband. Despite his reputation, she knew he was hers, that he would always be hers. As for herself, Susannah had no choice in the matter. She brought her thoughts away from her husband’s mouth that she wanted to kiss until they were both breathless.
“Well, Susannah, it’s like this,” Phillip began, looked for a long, very helpless moment into her lovely, innocent face, and groaned. “I can’t.”
“Susannah,” Rohan said. “I am your husband. You will trust me that Roland, as loyal and affectionate as he is, would not fit in well in the Dinwitty household.”
“All right,” she said slowly, her head cocked to one side in question. “I will get this mystery solved when I have you alone, Rohan.” She leaned against him, kissed his ear, and whispered, “You will tell me anything once I have you at my mercy.”
It was her husband’s turn to moan.
“I feel another bout of jealousy coming on,” Phillip said. “To distract myself, I will look out the window to be certain no one is following us.”
They were back at Dinwitty Manor within the hour. It was raining hard by the time the carriage rolled into the long drive, the sky a dirty gray by three o’clock in the afternoon. But it didn’t matter. Their excitement would have carried them through a flood.
“Damn,” Phillip said as they went into his study. “I wish we had the other half of the map.”
“Well, we do, sort of,” Susannah said. She grinned at her husband. “I had planned to surprise you. Now is the perfect time, don’t you think? I copied the other half of the map. Unfortunately I couldn’t very well copy the gold key. I have the half I drew upstairs. I’ll be back in a trice.”
“I’m going to throttle you, Susannah,” Rohan shouted after her. “She copied it. I should have known.” He added to Phillip, “She’s an excellent artist.”
“You married a very smart lady, Rohan,” Phillip said as he handed his friend a snifter of brandy. “I wonder when you will tell her the truth?”
“In my own good time. A man of my reputation never rushes things. That’s one thing I have learned well over my profligate years on this earth.”
Phillip was laughing when Susannah came dashing back into the room, out of breath. “Here it is! Look at what I’ve done. See here, I wanted to make certain that the proportions were as close as possible to the original and that’s why it’s so small.”
Because she had the most delicate touch, Susannah carefully fitted the two halves together, smoothing them down so they wouldn’t bend. They weren’t an exact fit, but they were close enough. “Look,” she said, stepping back. “It’s Scotland, all right. Here’s a town called Dunkeld—the ‘DU’ is on one side of the map and the rest is on the other, so you couldn’t tell what it was without the entire map. And look at this tiny drawing of a church spire. Half of it is on one side of
the map and the other half is on the other part of the map. Again, without both parts put together, it was impossible to tell that it was a church. Do you think the treasure, or whatever it is, is inside this church?”
“It seems likely,” Phillip said as Rohan began to read from the flimsy cloth book. “This seems to be a rambling diatribe on the quest for power and immortality—nothing specific, just how good is lost to mankind, but evil flourishes and is real and dangerous. It speaks of the Devil’s Vessel, and here’s a reference to something like Pure Flame, whatever that means. Ah, here we are. ‘Pure Flame’ refers to Hildebrand. He is called here the cardinal subdeacon, the administrator of the Papal States under many popes, the one guarding the vessel from thieves and greedy men.” Rohan fell silent, reading the following lines to himself. Then he said, “Hildebrand was evidently the pillar of sanity in the chaotic years of the different popes’ reigns, the power behind the throne. It was he who urged Pope Leo IX to give it into the keeping of Macbeth of Scotland—a man of worth and honor, a man to be trusted. The writer says that danger was too close and Hildebrand did not believe he could keep the vessel safe. He feared for the pope’s life. He feared for the safety of mankind if the vessel fell into the wrong hands. Thus, the pope placed it in a reliquary and gave it to Macbeth, adjuring him to keep it hidden for it can be neither destroyed nor freed.” Rohan looked up. “Those final words were set off—‘for it can be neither destroyed nor freed.” ’ He shook his head. “This is all very strange. Those words make it sound like it’s alive.”
“What is a reliquary?” Susannah asked, wishing she could read Latin, for there were several more faded lines in that cloth book.
Phillip said without looking up from the map, “A reliquary is a small chest or box that holds relics. They’re usually carried from one holy place to another so worshipers can be impressed.”
Rohan turned the fragile last page. “Look, here’s a drawing of a reliquary, evidently the one Pope Leo IX gave to Macbeth.” The lines were crude, wavering, but the outline of the cask was clear. It was impossible to tell if it was wood or silver or gold. It was a rectangular cask whose sides sloped up, like the sloping roof of a house. The sides appeared to be smooth. There was a long bar across the top of the box that had small circular handles at each end.
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