He stared up at the crucifix that hung above the altar. Her family had placed James' body on a cross similar to that. Camden tried to bring forth hatred for the woman, but intrigued rippled through him instead. Why? She was beautiful, he would not deny. But her appeal was something more, something intangible. A familiar frustration welled inside him. He moved restlessly toward the three stained glass windows behind the altar, staring up into their multi-colored brilliance. If only he could lose himself in thoughts of something other than Rhiannon Ruthven.
He had thought he could stay remote. To have Rhiannon near to tutor Violet and provide her with motherly support, yet remain unaffected by her presence. Each day she stayed, he found his feeling shifted to — what? Guilt at what he'd done?
He had no reason to feel guilty. Not really. He'd been desperate to protect his family. And angry, he reminded himself.
Restless was more his current state of mind. He flexed his fingers as he remembered Rhiannon's silky flesh beneath his touch, her tawny eyes staring up at him in wonder. As he'd explored her body with his mouth, the faint tremor that shook her only had encouraged him more. Rhiannon might be inexperienced, but her passionate response to him had been purely elemental.
He was hardening just remembering those brief moments in the cabin and felt a renewed burst of frustration. Why did he have to feel this way about her? Lust had never been this obsessive for him before. His feeling for her interfered with everything he did — in his work with his men, in his duty to the people of this castle, to his country. He had to put an end to his distraction.
Perhaps, he should deal with the situation more directly — to satisfy his need for her? Once he tasted what she had to offer, his obsession would no doubt vanish, and he'd be himself again.
Excitement quickened the tempo of his heart as he strode out of the chapel. He would put an end to this torture. And he knew just how to accomplish the deed.
Chapter Twelve
The door to Bishop Berwick's study opened and a black-clad footman stepped inside. Irritation broke the bishop's concentration for he had been lost in thought.
"Forgive me, Your Grace," the footman apologized with a bow, no doubt assuming that he had been deep in prayer.
"What is it?" he growled. He picked up his quill, dipped it in ink, then signed the missive he'd penned to the Church council.
The footman flinched at his tone. "A man to see you, Your Grace."
"It is not yet fully morning." He scowled at the interruption.
The footman backed away until he stood framed by the door. "He said you'd know who he was, Your Grace."
"Send him in," the bishop ordered, knowing exactly who had called at such an inappropriate hour.
Impatiently he threw his nib aside. After folding the sheet of linen, he took out his wax and warmed a small chunk until it turned a liquid red. He quickly poured it on the loose edge of the paper, then stamped it with his insignia ring. The mark of his station, and his mother's pride and joy.
He frowned at the thought of his mother. She showed no signs of her health improving. The spots on her chest had spread to her entire body. Her temper had turned sharp, and she spent most of the day rambling at him about how he needed to do something special to catch the Church council's attention.
He'd written to the council and asked them to come to their humble home to witness a miracle. His mother's miraculous healing would be a great enough triumph for them. But to perform any sort of miracle, he would need the Charm Stone.
He pushed the missive toward the corner of his desk. His clerk would see to its delivery. If the council members accepted his invitation, they would arrive in little under a week. That left little time to secure the Stone. He'd have to hasten his plans.
The bishop rose and moved across the room to stare out the window through the haze of dawn at the snowcapped mountains of the Highlands in the distance. A leaden gray sky hovered over the mountains while blacker clouds rolled in from the north. A storm was coming — several storms, in fact, if he were truly honest with himself. The weather would unleash itself with a vengeance, as would his mother if he wasn't selected to fill the vacant position of archbishop within the month.
This brought him to the storm brewing between himself and Camden Lockhart. The man was doing everything in his power to protect his family. No matter. Lady Violet and the Charm Stone would be the bishop's to command, giving him everything he had ever wanted.
A sound came from the doorway, and the bishop turned. The man he'd expected slipped inside the chamber: this time he offered no bow over the bishop's ring. He merely sat uninvited in the chair across from the large mahogany desk.
"I've news, Your Grace," the man announced, placing his muddy and wet boots atop the spotless wood.
"Do tell." The bishop narrowed his gaze on the filthy boots defiling his property.
The man brought his feet to the floor. "Last night a woman and her babe survived an impossible birth."
The bishop sighed deeply. "That's your news?"
The man smiled as he met the bishop's dark gaze. "Lord Lockhart and the Ruthven woman were both there. The baby came first by the feet, but the woman turned it around. The mum and babe survived. 'Twas a miracle to be sure."
The bishop gazed coolly at the man, disgusted. "They must have used the Charm Stone. I need that relic, you idiot. Someone must have witnessed something. When you have something more, you may return to me. Until then, be like the shadows."
The man's face darkened with a frown. "I've done everything ye asked me tae do, Your Grace."
Bishop Berwick moved to his desk. "Your son's life is at stake if you do not cooperate."
"Please don't hurt him," the man pleaded.
"Then do exactly as I ask."
The man nodded. "I'll not let ye down."
"See that you don't."
The man departed, closing the door softly behind him. No sooner had the door stilled when another knock sounded.
"Enter," the bishop growled.
His footman appeared to be quaking in his shoes as he stepped once again into the chamber. "Another caller, Your Grace. This one says he's—"
"I'll give me own introductions." The hulking man swatted the footman aside and surged into the chamber. The man was dressed in leather. Strapped to his body were several lethal blades.
And the bishop knew just who the man was. "That will be all," the bishop said to his chamberlain, striding to the doorway and pulling the portal shut. This discussion needed no audience.
Once the chamber was secure, the bishop turned back to the assassin. He had recently learned from his sources in Glasgow that Lord Lockhart had hired him to wipe the Ruthvens from the land. "What do you want? Are Lockhart and the woman dead yet? Did you kill them this morning then?" the bishop asked, moving back behind his desk. While he did not fear the man, somehow placing the desk between them gave him peace of mind that the openness of the room did not.
The man growled as he gripped the far edge of the mahogany wood with clenched hands. "Nay," he cursed, revealing a brown, rotten-toothed grin.
The bishop frowned. "Don't tell me you missed."
The man's gaze darkened. "I was interrupted."
"By whom?"
"The Ruthven girl saved 'em both."
"The girl saved them?"
The man rocked the desk with his hands. "She's a bruisin' rider and took me by surprise. 'Twas more than that though. All the while I was battlin' Lockhart, he kept beggin' me tae stop tryin' to kill her. He'd changed his mind, he said."
"That matters not."
The big man straightened. "How can I be sure to receive an intercession from the Lord above if the man no longer wants her dead? The sin of her death wouldna be on Lockhart's head, but mine."
"You stupid man," the bishop slapped his hand upon the desk, the sound echoing throughout the chamber. "An intercession is just that. It allows me to intercede for you in all manner of sins and gain for you a place in the afterlife th
at you might not achieve on your own."
"Lockhart changed his mind."
The bishop could almost taste the man's fear; and for an instant it brought him a smug sense of satisfaction. He was the master to all his lost sheep. "The world would be better off without her. No one in this life cares for her."
"I dinna know," the assassin said. "The way he fought tae protect her would prove otherwise."
The man's doubt suddenly filled the bishop with fury. He threw back the lid of the golden box on the corner of his desk. "How much will it take?" He ran his fingers through the silver and gold coins inside. The clink of the coins wiped the doubt from the assassin's face. That was better. Let the man remember who was in charge here.
"He paid me twenty gold pieces."
"Then I'll pay you forty."
The man nodded eagerly. "That'll do."
A smile of satisfaction came to the bishop's lips. His sheep were always so attracted to the sound and feel of gold. Gold could wring anything he needed from his flock. "Now, get back out there and do what you were hired to do."
With an eager smile, the man left the room.
Such enthusiasm. The bishop turned a cold gaze on the door. Too bad that once he'd wrung all he needed from the man, he would have to die. The trail of death would never lead back to the bishop's own doorway.
Never.
"I don't want to learn to sew today. I want to go outside and ride the horses." Violet's voice drifted out into the hallway outside the castle's solar.
"After you learn to sew," Rhiannon said, her tone patient.
Camden edged closer to the door, listening. He'd tried to find something to occupy his mind, yet all he could think about was Rhiannon. Before he'd known where he was headed, he found himself at the door of the solar. The anticipation of touching her once again sent a thrill to his core.
"All great ladies need to learn to use a needle, Violet. Without clothes to wear or blankets to keep warm with, or even tapestries to inspire, where would your people be?" Rhiannon's voice cut into his thoughts, pulling him back to the moment.
Camden peered inside the room. Rhiannon sat on a bench near the hearth. Violet sat at her feet. An embroidery frame with several untidy stitches lay in Violet's lap. She tossed her needle aside.
"I am no great lady. So why should I?" Violet pouted.
"You are a daughter of a great man, and you will become a great lady in this castle for your uncle. Your people already look up to you as an example. In time, you will lead them."
The young girl's eyes went wide. "Me? A leader of my people?"
Rhiannon smiled, her face radiant. "Many women have become leaders and examples over the centuries."
Violet scooted closer, staring up at Rhiannon with adoration in her eyes. "Tell me of these women."
Rhiannon's brow arched in question. "Did your mother ever tell you stories?"
Violet shook her head. "My mummy was very busy healing people in the local villages. She didn't have much time for other things."
A twinge of sorrow moved through Camden at the young girl's confession. James and Clara had had many responsibilities. He wished he'd taken more time to help them with those obligations after his return from the Holy Land.
Violet stared down at her sliver of chalk, then smiled. "Tell me a story, then I promise to pay more attention to my sewing."
Rhiannon dropped onto the floor beside Violet, absently stroking the little girl's fair hair as she pressed her lips together in concentration. "A story … that might have meaning for you." She hesitated, then smiled, her face radiant as she drew Violet closer to her with her arm. "There is the story of Esther from the Bible. She was a woman of deep faith, courage and patriotism, who ultimately risked her life in order to save her people."
Violet stilled, her attention caught as she waited for Rhiannon to continue.
Camden found himself edging into the room, just as eager to hear what Rhiannon would say.
"Esther was an orphan and a descendant of those taken from Judah in the Babylonian captivity. She lived with her cousin who held an important office in the household of the Persian king. This cousin of hers, Mordecai, was responsible for thwarting a plot by two palace guards to assassinate the king.
"King Ahasuerus was a wealthy man. He held a feast for one hundred and eighty days in order to display his vast wealth and the splendor of his kingdom.
"To further show his prosperity, he ordered his wife, Queen Vashti, to join him and his guests. When she refused, the King asked his wise men, the seven princes of Persia and Media, what he should do. They advised him to make an example of her for other disobedient wives and he had her banished from the kingdom."
Camden edged closer to the pair. They were so engrossed in their storytelling they did not hear him approach.
"The king then began a search for a new wife. Beautiful young women were taken from their homes within the province and brought to the palace. Esther was one of the chosen women."
"Before she was taken, her cousin Mordecai advised her that if she were chosen, that she should hide her true heritage from the king. There was much unrest in the land, and one of the princes, a man named Haman, wanted nothing more than to put all the Jewish people to death because of crimes committed against his family. Mordecai, afraid for his cousin's life, advised her to change her name from Hadassah to Esther. He also begged her to stop worshipping in the ways of her faith so that she might not be identified as a Jew and killed."
Violet frowned. "Why did they want to kill the Jews?"
"That is an excellent question that has a very involved answer. For now, let's just say that the Babylonians disliked the Jews. And because of that intense dislike, they wanted to see them dead."
Camden froze as the impact of her story hit him squarely in the gut. His own dislike for the Ruthvens had caused him to make a similar decision to put them to death. At the time that he'd made the decision, it did not seem as heartless as it did in this moment.
"What happened to Esther?" Violet asked, breaking into Camden's thoughts.
"She and the other women entered the king's harem and over the course of twelve months were cleansed and groomed to meet the king. Each woman appeared before the king. And it was from that meeting that the king chose Esther to be his new queen."
"What's a harem?" Violet interrupted.
Rhiannon sat back as though considering her answer. "A harem is a special place in some cultures where women live."
"Do you and I live in a harem?"
"Do you want to hear the rest of the story?"
Violet nodded.
Camden held back a chuckle. She would answer Violet's question by not answering it at all.
"King Ahasuerus was distracted by warring factions surrounding his territory. In order to protect his people while he was away fighting, the king gave Haman all the power and authority of his kingdom."
Violet's eyes went wide. "But Haman was a bad man. He wanted to kill the Jewish people."
"King Ahasuerus did not know that at the time. Haman planned his assault against the Jews carefully, waiting patiently for the time that the king would leave for war. Esther learned of Haman's plans to put all Jewish people in the Persian Empire to death after the king left for war. Putting her own safety aside and defying warnings to remain silent, she approached the king uninvited on the eve of his leaving for war. To appear before the king uninvited was punishable by death."
"Esther had to have permission to see her husband?" Violet interrupted again.
"In some cultures, women have very few privileges. You are fortunate to have an uncle who will allow you many freedoms."
Violet straightened. "What happened when she approached her husband?"
"Esther risked everything in order to stop the killing of her people. As she approached, the king held out his scepter to her, showing her that he accepted her visit. She told the king of Haman's plan to massacre the Jews, and with much trepidation, revealed her own identity."
Violet frowned once more. "That is kind of like what happened to you, when Uncle Camden learned of your last name. He was angry at first, but he's not so angry now."
Camden stilled. Had he hidden his anger at Rhiannon from no one?
"Aye," Rhiannon replied. "But just like the king, your uncle had his reasons."
Her understanding knifed at his guilt. Would she be so forgiving if she knew he had sentenced her to death? He knew the rest of the Bible story. The king had accepted Esther for who she was. Had he truly accepted Rhiannon? He no longer wanted her dead, but did that mean he had forgiven her for her family's sins against his family?
"Tell me how the story ends?" Violet asked.
Rhiannon continued, "The king, enraged with Haman for using the privilege of his station to further his own goals, ordered him to be hanged. Then the king appointed Mordecai as his prime minister, and gave the Jews the right to defend themselves against any enemy."
Violet's lips flattened with uncertainty. "What does that story have to do with me being a leader of my people?"
"Just like Esther, you have been orphaned, but that does not mean you do not have everything inside of you to become a great woman someday. Your Uncle Camden will need your help to keep our people free from English persecution. Some of the English feel the same way about the Scots as Haman did about the Jews."
Violet released a heavy sigh as she picked up her embroidery frame and needle and started sewing once more. "I will be a great lady, and I will learn to lead my people." She paused in her work. "Mother Agnes was right. She told me before we left the abbey that you would be the one to guide me in everything I needed to know."
Rhiannon dipped her head, hiding her reaction.
Even so, Camden could imagine the flush that rose to her cheeks and the soft sentiment that would fill her eyes. He strode the short distance from where he stood to the two women he'd been spying on. "The abbess was correct to send you to care for Violet."
Rhiannon startled. Her wide-eyed gaze flew to his face. "How long have you been listening?"
"Long enough to hear a rather insightful story." He held his hand out to her, offering her assistance up from her seat on the floor.
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