Love Thine Enemy

  "Sire Gaston!" The monk’s face reddened with his shout. "Release her and step back."

  Gaston pushed her away like discarded refuse and confronted the Council. "That Alberre still lives affects not the results. He lost the land as much as any who do so in war, the spoils going to the victor. I am the victor, not Alberre, not England, not France, and never Becket." Gaston gripped the hilt of his sword. "And I will kill any who claim otherwise, crown, or no, even if none of you leave here alive."

  Fear ripped through Becket. As the Council shouted their outrage at Gaston’s threat, Becket jerked at the chains that still imprisoned his hands, mentally scrambling how to protect his people, including--damn him for a fool--Rochelle. Despite that she merely used him, Becket knew he would defend her until his dying breath. He loved her. Pain tore at his tattered excuse for a heart.

  "Ah, Sire Gaston, a threat to the Inquisition." King Charles's danger-tinged-response jerked Becket’s attention from his chains to the dais. King Charles’ eyes had narrowed to fox-like slits. He leaned toward Gaston, splaying his bejeweled fingers on the bared table as if readying to spring.

  "Do you believe us weak? Powerless? Quivering to the marrow of our bones because you dare the grievous error of threatening us? You say we are on your land surrounded by your soldiers, but my men will never allow you to touch me."

  "Most of your army is in the bailey unaware of what transpires within. The few who guard you in this chamber are no match for mine." Without loosening his grip on the hilt, Gaston shrugged. "We are both ambitious, King Charles, and will stop at naught to achieve our purpose. Now, reverse your decisions."

  King Charles remained in battle stance, hand gripping his own sword hilt, focus sliding from Gaston to the soldiers lining the walls.

  The monk nervously tapped his steepled fingers against his pursed mouth as if in desperate thought. "If we do so, Sire Gaston, then you will allow us to leave, unharmed?"

  Becket’s stomach fisted. The Council chose their own lives over his and Rochelle’s, but how could he have anticipated otherwise?

  "All can depart. Except for my prisoners." Gaston nodded to indicate Rochelle and Becket.

  "Tempting, Sire Gaston. Tempting." The monk clasped his hands, placing them with great care upon the table while he stared at Gaston. "Instead, we deal with the charge of heresy against you."

  Disbelief streaked through Becket. The Council dared to try Gaston, even after his threat? Or did they merely plot a farce for the records?

  "Surely you jest." Gaston glanced around at his soldiers before meeting the monk’s glare. "Have you not paid heed to your situation? Anywise, should you be so foolish as to pursue your doom, none will testify."

  Griselda’s laughter sounded of released virulence. "I will attest. I only wish I could swear more than once against your sins."

  Metal rasped as Gaston partially withdrew his sword. "Heed me, Council. Despite what this witch who claims to be my wife says, she has no proof of heresy. Besides, you need two witnesses. You cannot touch me. Reverse your decisions. Now!"

  The monk appeared shaken. "See here, Sire Gaston..."

  As if sparked by desperate inspiration, Lady Isabelle hastened to Becket’s side, her expression frantic, much like one who, despite Gaston’s boast, feared they had sided with the defeated party. He felt her ragged breath against his cheek as she leaned close.

  "I will testify as the second witness."

  "Mère?" Doubting his hearing, he grasped her shoulders and looked into her self-seeking face, painfully realizing that both the imperfection of his birth and his burn-scarred body made impossible her ever loving him. "You would swear against Gaston?"

  "In exchange for absolution. Name me as chatelaine of DuBois, and I’ll..." Her slate-colored eyes narrowed. "Protect you."

  Keep silent about his parentage, Becket reinterpreted.

  "Consistent to a fault, my loving mère. With Gaston’s demise, you become the only survivor of the Unholy Trinity."

  "You betray me again?" Gaston yanked her around to face him. "I told you I would wed you this time--if you behaved."

  "I reject your dangled hopes, Gaston. Why would I even consider coupling my fate with yours. You failed." She turned away from the shocked Gaston like a dog disavowing its own excrement, clutching at Becket’s still-chained hands so tightly that her nails dug into his flesh. "Do it!"

  Becket noted with dread the narrowing of Gaston’s pewter eyes and feared his mother had just sealed her destiny along with her son’s. Gaston merely stood there, fingering the hilt of his sword, watching, listening, as if determining how brutal her penalty.

  "Do it, Becket!" Isabelle’s nails pierced into his hands like dagger points. “I am your mother!”

  Wondering the futility of any action, and yet not certain he could, in truth, contribute to his own mother’s death, he released a heavy sigh along with the only solution he could fathom. "Although I should not bargain in your behalf, mayhap I can convince them to let you live out your days in a convent as you had once suggested for Rochelle. ‘Tis the most I can offer."

  "You ungrateful bastard."

  "I give you a chance at life."

  "With no identity? If you rob me of mine, then I rob you of yours." Before he could think of what to say, other than plead for her absolution, his mother stormed to in front of the Council. "Becket’s father is--"

  "Mère! Do not--"

  "Halt!" Rochelle seemed frantic as she shoved past his mother. "Noble sires, remove Père Bertrand’s disqualification of me and I’ll serve as the second witness. As I revealed before, I saw Gaston declare himself as God and then order Becket to kneel before him in worship."

  The monk nodded. "I deem you eligible."

  Gaston’s shouts of protest mingled with Lady Isabelle’s as she grasped the edge of the table, pressing her nose toward the monk. "I am the one who should testify."

  Rochelle jerked his mother aside. "We all benefit from my witness."

  "You benefit. You will say aught to rid yourself of any who block your ambitions. First, you’ll make certain Gaston dies, then later, you’ll kill the rest of us, including Becket."

  Gaston’s laughter rang with dangerous bitterness. "Vultures, Becket. They fight for the honor to pick clean your bones."

  Becket winced at the cruel reality.

  His mother jerked from Rochelle’s grip and glared at the monk. "Becket’s father is--"

  "My father is Sire Alberre!" Dragging the damned neck chain behind him, Becket strode to stand beside the resurrected miracle he once had believed long dead. "My father is Sire Alberre."

  "His mother frantically worried the buttons on her bodice. "I tell you the truth! He is--"

  "I tell the truth of Gaston’s savagery." Henri interrupted in timely fashion bringing a tight sigh from Becket. His long-time friend moved forward along with many of the refugees as if, to Becket’s confusion, unafraid of Gaston’s guards. "And any of his freed prisoners who still have tongues are adamant about witnessing."

  Gaston twisted. "My prisoners? Freed? You had no right."

  "I beg to differ, Gaston, but you had no right. By the by, your army has diminished, while ours has miraculously swelled." Henri swept his hands to indicate the soldiers who lined the walls. "All are welcome."

  "You attempt a bluff, Sire Henri. My knights dare not desert me." Gaston drew his sword and nodded to the sentries. "Take all the prisoners, including Sire Becket, Lady Rochelle and Lady Isabelle to the dungeon, post haste, else you’ll be my next victims."

  Becket’s pulse raged through his veins as fierce and as icy as the DuBois waterfall. Praying for inspiration on how to save them all, he yanked again on his blasted wrist fetters. “Henri, find something to break these chains.”

  "Gaston, non!" Becket’s mother rushed to Gaston, clasping Gaston’s legs as she fell to her knees, sob-like cackles stuttering from her throat as if she had fallen over the edge into madness. "I’ll wed you. I’ll do whatever you ask."
<
br />   "You betrayed me yet again, Isabelle. And yet again, I will punish you. This time you’ll not survive."

  Isabelle broke into frightened cries.

  Becket placed himself between Gaston and his mother. "Leave her, Gaston. The Council is in charge here."

  "I am in charge! Guards! Do as I command! Take the prisoners below!"

  Drawn swords rasped in chorus as the sentries moved toward Henri and the too-few soldiers! Men and women screamed, scrambling backward into the troops who rushed into the chamber.

  Gaston chuckled, victorious. "Becket, your death approaches at lightning speed. My forces surround and out-number yours by at least three score to one."

  "Sire Gaston!" The monk’s voice pulled Gaston around. "We will not allow you to punish those whom the Council has set free."

  "Watch me."

  "The Council forbids..."

  Panicked to break loose while the monk argued with Gaston, Becket scanned the room for possibilities. Henri and Davide rushed toward him with axes! Where had they found them, and so quickly? Becket dropped onto his haunches and stretched taut his wrist fetters on the floor.

  "Break the chain. Hurry!" Becket struggled to control his breathing as the men banged against the metal links. He knew that no matter the Council’s protests, Gaston would never let him live, and there he waited, bound, with no armor and no means to defend himself or his supporters. Or Rochelle.

  A link cracked!

  "Harder! The one next to my right wrist band."

  His pulse now pounding so fiercely that his body shook from the force, Becket glanced up from his struggles in dread of seeing the certain slaughter.

  Gaston’s soldiers thrust their swords! Hilt first? They joined forces!

  At Henri’s nod, Becket’s knights filed in to take defense positions along the wall. Bless them. Bless them all. Gaston had lost his army. And yet Becket knew that Gaston still held a sharp and lethal blade meant for Becket’s heart.

  With the unexpected insurrection, the monk seemed emboldened, eyes bright with purpose as he glared at the startled Gaston.

  "Sire Gaston, How do you plead to the charge?"

  "They lie!"

  "Then you do not admit to heresy?"

  "I do not!"

  "Then I use as example your own behavior as to how you wish to be treated. You will be tortured until you confess. Every method you have used against others will be used against you. Once you have confessed, you will die by fire."

  Shouts of approval vibrated the rafters.

  "Never!" Gaston raised his sword. "I will die by my own hand before I will allow any to torture me. And I refuse to go to hell alone." With cobra-like speed, Gaston struck at Becket. "Die, bastard. Die!"

  The sentries around Becket scattered. Becket held up his hands catching the blow on the metal restraint that still bound his wrists. The cracked link split in two! Ducking and spinning in hopes to miss the deadly slash, Becket leapt over his neck-chain, then hand-over-hand, hurriedly pulled in the accursed tether. Gaston jumped onto the silver snake, jerking it to a halt. Becket lurched forward, swallowing a cry of pain as Gaston’s sword pricked his chest.

  Gaston sneered at Becket as if at a doomed animal. "You lose."

  "Au contraire." Becket smiled. He grasped his neck-chain and jerked. Gaston tumbled backward, a look of shock so incredulous on his face that Becket nearly burst into laughter. Gaston scrambled upright. Becket whipped the chain around Gaston’s ankles. Gaston tumbled again, then surged to his feet like a wild beast hungry for blood.

  "Curse you, Becket!"

  "I but use the gift you gave me."

  "Then take this." Gaston swept the sharp tip at Becket’s stomach. Becket leapt back, scrambling to remain out of Gaston’s reach as he hurriedly reeled in the chain again.

  "Becket! Catch!" At Henri’s shout, Becket whirled and snatched the tossed sword from the air.

  Rochelle screamed.

  Becket jerked as the sting of a blade ripped across his shoulder blades. Groaning from the pain, he thrust his sword backward, hit something solid.

  Gaston cried out.

  Exhilarated, Becket turned, swinging the blade as he spun. Metal jarred against metal.

  Past Gaston, Becket saw his mother worry with a button on her bodice, lift her hand to her mouth, then close her eyes. Foreboding slithered through his confidence. The buttons. Filled with poison! ‘Twas how she had murdered the children. He shouldn’t care that she took her own life, but--

  "Mère!" Becket ducked a swung sword and lunged for his mother as she sank to the floor.

  He felt a snap on his neck chain.

  "Die, bastard!"

  "Your battle cry lacks originality, Gaston." Becket rolled onto his gashed back and jerked at the metal tether. Gaston stumbled forward, tripped over a fallen chalice, then determined, drove his sword toward Becket’s heart.

  In a flash, Becket whipped the dangling left wrist chain around Gaston’s blade, yanking the blade aside as he pointed his own weapon upward.

  Eyes wide with realization, Gaston stumbled to a halt, the tip pressing against his chest, perspiration beading on his face as he desperately flailed to keep from falling forward.

  Behind Gaston, Becket saw the monk gesture to someone beyond Becket’s vision.

  "Guards, take him below."

  Becket grinned up at Gaston. "You lose. ‘Tis your turn to suffer."

  "To hell!"

  A dagger flashed from Gaston’s hand!

  Rochelle cried out.

  Becket twisted to miss-- Gaston lurched forward as if shoved, impaling himself on Becket’s held-out sword. Becket grunted as the handgrip rammed into his side. Blood flowed from Gaston’s chest, the weight of his body sliding him down the crimson-wet blade, his glazed pewter eyes wide with surprised horror, until he thudded against the hilt and collapsed like a lodestone atop Becket’s blood-soaked body.

  Who had pushed Gaston?

  A cheer resonated in Becket’s ears. Resting his head on the floor, Becket closed his eyes, thanking God for yet another miracle, praying for his mother’s doomed spirit, wishing he had remained ignorant of Rochelle’s hatred of him, for now he must face the most difficult of all--not succumbing to the woman he loved more than his own soul. Taking a deep breath, he shoved Gaston aside and pushed to his feet, wiping his sticky, red hands on his breeches.

  "Becket!" Rochelle rushed toward him, pale, but radiant and far-too beautiful.

  He grasped her arms, preventing her from touching him, his anger so at odds with the merrymaking around them. Trembling from the feel of her in his hands, he inhaled her heady fragrance wafting stronger than the sickeningly sweet stench of Gaston’s blood. He hated himself for wanting her with such passion that every sinew in his body ached for him to accept her renewed pretense.

  "Lady Rochelle, let me make clear our relationship. You will reside at DuBois, your ultimate goal, but you will never rule as chatelaine."

  The glow of her smile faded. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean you will share my bed but that is all. You are never to go near Pierre. I will never take food or drink from your hand."

  "But I love you, my precious husband! I risked all for you!"

  "You risked all for DuBois."

  "I shoved Gaston onto your sword!"

  "So ‘twas you." Seeing Henri approach, Becket dragged Rochelle to behind a stone column as hard as her heart, fighting not to press his mouth against hers and be damned with the consequences. "You waste your devious efforts, my traitorous gyrfalcon, for no matter your actions and protestations, I know how you truly feel."

  "I do not hate you, mon amour! I but lied so as to save you. Once I explain--"

  "There is naught you or anyone else can say to convince me. I will never again believe your lies so like the ones fed me by my mother."

  Her blue-gentian eyes sparked fire. "How dare you equate me with that she-wolf."

  "She is how I recognize her kind."

  Rochelle
blanched, then lifted her chin in tell-tale defiance--that elegant porcelain chin he longed to kiss along with the rest of her exquisite body. Well, by damn, he would, but on his own terms.

  "You confuse me, husband. If you distrust me so, then why lower yourself to share your bed with me? From love you are loathe to admit?"

  "I have never loved you. I never will. Like King Charles, all I feel for you is lust."

  She recoiled as if he had slapped her. "Then I refuse."

  "You have no choice."

  "I’ll go to the convent."

  "How ironic a twist. You now seek refuge in the nunnery, but I’ll not allow you to leave me. So heed me and heed me well. Like the DuBois wine, you are part of my blood and I must have you. And like the wine, in order to slake my accursed thirst for you, even if to the point of drunkenness, you will surrender your essence to me whenever I demand. Gaston’s poison has tainted you to the core thus I will wear protection so that my seed will never take root in your polluted body. When I decide to have an heir I will set you aside like an empty keg and will take another to wife, but I will never let you go. Never."

  She gasped, her pale face as bloodless as her conniving soul. "But you are from your mother, and yet I love you still."

  "Dangling hopes in front of me as did your father? Oc, I am from my mother, but I did not sacrifice Pierre for greed, I did not switch sides according to the winner, I did not fake my affection for profit. I did not willingly destroy the lives of those who trusted in me. No, you are Gaston’s daughter, a descendant of evil, a truth you can never change for eternity. I pray my seed is not already growing within you. I shudder with the certainty that any child of yours would inherit Gaston’s wickedness."

  A cry soughed from her ivory throat that, during her sated slumber, had rested against his chest. He cursed himself for wanting her so much that his entire sweaty body trembled with desire for her.

  Alberre, Giselle, Henri and the knights surrounded them. Pierre plunked Sire Spitz around his neck and tugged on Becket’s hand. "We’re a family, now, Sire Becket! We’re a family!"

  A bogus one.

  As if desperate, Rochelle reached out for Pierre, but Becket scooped him into his arms and turned away from her, shutting her out as he placed his other arm around his father and distanced himself from her.