by Cathy MacRae
Day after day, Kinnon mentally paced the tiny cell. His body was slow to heal, but his mind burned with restlessness. He eased into a seated position, seeing little to capture his attention in the dank cell. Surprisingly few rats rustled in the noxious reeds strewn about the floor. He rose shakily and hobbled to the wooden box that held his meal. A hunk of bread and something resembling a soft cheese huddled next to a flask of ale.
Breaking the bread in half, he sought a soft center. Much of it crumbled in his hands and he let it fall to the ground. He drank some ale and carried the flask back to his small island in the midst of his incomprehensible world. A movement in the corner of the room caught his attention and he flung the flask at the shadow with a harsh cry. A high-pitched squeal followed by a soft swish of sound marked the rat’s hasty departure.
A tremor ran through him, for he knew if the rat grew bold enough or hungry enough, it would defy him, even gnaw on him in the dark. He sucked in a breath of revulsion that ended on a ragged cough, reminding him his broken ribs had not yet healed.
He sat on the thin mattress and wrapped the thread-bare blanket around his wasted frame. Leaning against the thick stone wall, he eventually dropped off to sleep.
* * *
He woke to something warm and solid draped across his legs. The weight wasn’t much, but it confused Kinnon in his befuddled state. Before he could react, his eyes registered the fact that the furry little body was light-colored, though he couldn’t tell exactly what hue in the semi-darkness. But at least it wasn’t the dull gray of the rats that haunted the towers. Nevertheless, his body jerked with startled surprise, and the creature lifted its head and meowed.
Kinnon blinked. A cat? No, more like a kitten judging from the small size. Perhaps half-grown, the animal set an impressive set of teeth on display as it yawned mightily. A rustling noise from across the room reached him, and the cat’s big ears instantly honed in on the noise. Sleek muscles bunched, gathering its legs beneath it. The feline eyes stared intently into the dark recesses, Kinnon either forgotten or ignored as the cat readied to tackle its prey.
The tip of its tail flicked then went completely still. An instant later, Kinnon felt the force of the cat’s leap as it sprang across the room. A squeal and quick rustle that ended abruptly told the tale.
“Good work!” Kinnon approved, waiting for the cat to return. When it did not, the disappointment was acute, painful. He leaned his head against the wall at his back and gazed at the tiny window in the door. He was again alone.
His thoughts went wandering, landing on memories of his beloved sister.
Riona, ye would like Melisende. She reminds me of Ma. She is tough, yet kind. Strong in the best sense of the word. And my heart is always lighter when she is near.
Lucienne, ye ask? Kinnon smiled wryly into the darkness. The lass is fey. Fey and wild. She needs a man who appreciates her passions, be they childish or sultry. A man who can keep her curiosity satisfied.
Ach, lass, I shouldnae say such things in yer presence. But ye are older now, and mayhap even a wife by now. He grimaced as a tear slipped from the corner of one eye. I would have liked to have intimidated yer groom. Just to set him straight on how to treat ye.
He imagined her laughter and how she would have stormed off, accusations of boorish behavior floating over her shoulder. Receiving no reply to his one-sided conversation, he drifted off to sleep, a prayer for all three lasses’ safe-keeping on his lips.
* * *
Summertime in France was a mixture of warm days and breezy nights. Or, it had been when she and Lucienne had lived on the farm. Melisende patted her neck with a folded piece of embroidered linen and shifted her market basket in the crook of her arm. It had not taken long to find her uncle’s shop in le Puy, and only a bit longer to wheedle temporary lodging from him in exchange for her talents in accounting for both the business and the household. Though Lucienne had yet to accomplish much more than cooking the occasional meal and staring dreamily at the younger male customers, Melisende kept busy with shopping, cleaning, and balancing the shop’s books late into the evening. And worrying about her sister’s strange moods.
She returned the linen to her basket. Around her, the tall buildings of le Puy-en-Velay effectively cut off the breezes sliding off the mountains and the air in the market place was close beneath the colorful awnings. Casting a critical look at the cloudless sky above, she decided it was time to hurry home—the small sweet cakes Lucienne loved could wait for another day. She lingered long enough to pay for a baguette, then exited the baker’s stall into the full force of the late-morning sun.
The aroma of warm bread tickled her stomach, and it gave a tiny growl of interest. Knowing it would be time to open the shop as soon as she got home, she broke off a crust and nibbled on it as she wound her way among the lingering shoppers, feeling quite young and even a bit naughty as she pilfered her breakfast from the basket.
’Tis something I would expect Lucienne to do. Her fond smile was quickly followed by a frown, memories of her impetuous sister’s actions over the past few weeks contrasting greatly with the child she’d always known. I do not know how much longer I can keep her under control. Dismay tugged at her. Her interest in the men who come to the shop is growing daily. It is difficult to send her to market by herself, and almost as hard to leave her whilst I go.
Melisende doubled her steps as she thought back to Lucienne’s sleepy response as she waved farewell that morning. She is beautiful. My golden petite soeur is now a beautiful woman. And neither of us knows what to do about it.
She turned the corner to Rue Goldsmith—named for the three jewelers’ shops that dotted the wide lane. It was a lovely, restful avenue, lined with trees and small benches designed for opulent, leisurely shopping. Ahead, a horse nodded at the end of his tether in front of her uncle’s shop. An early customer? She picked up the hem of her gown and fairly flew up the lane.
A bell chimed cheerfully overhead as she opened the brightly painted door. Light spilled in behind her, casting aspersions on the couple in the room. Lucienne leaned over the display counter, intent on whatever the young man on the other side whispered in her ear. Her curls, nestled close to the pale locks of a young man Melisende had seen previously in the shop, gleamed a burnished gold in the glow of the candelabra on the end of the polished counter top.
Melisende swept inside, sliding her basket down the counter, forcing the pair apart. “Still looking for a bracelet for your fiancée, Monsieur Depaul?”
The young man flushed, his eyes flashing with anger a brief moment before they became lidded, arrogant, unconcerned. “Mademoiselle Lucienne is willing to show me things of great beauty.” He cast a look of promise over his shoulder at Lucienne who discretely pulled her robe closed. “I am a paying customer, after all.”
“Not in this shop,” Melisende bit out, clipping her words to keep from shredding his ears with what she wished to say. It would not help to completely antagonize the nobility in Le Puy. Her uncle would be scandalized by Lucienne’s behavior and the risk to the shop would likely overcome his already reluctant familial duty. It would not take much for him to put her and Lucienne out on the street.
Monsieur Depaul’s eyebrows shot upward, disbelief slapped across his face. “I assure you, mademoiselle, my father will hear of your lack of hospitality.”
“Oui, I will be sure to tell him of it after I ask that he keep his son’s intentions honorable around impressionable young ladies.”
The young man’s lips pursed in a sneer. “You should ask your very pretty little sister what her intentions are, mademoiselle. I think you would be surprised at how impressionable she truly is.”
“Enough! I will deal with her, and you will leave immediately.” Shaking with fury, Melisende whirled on Lucienne, her hands shooing her away. “Upstairs with you! I will speak with you shortly.”
Two red spots staining her white cheeks, Lucienne stormed to the apartment overhead. Melisende waited until the young man
strolled insolently from the shop, then bolted the door behind him.
She took the stairs in a rush, closing on Lucienne’s unslippered heels.
Lucienne spun about, fists clenched, curls tumbling about her shoulders in abandon. “You embarrassed him!”
Melisende reeled back in shock. “I embarrassed him?” She waved a hand up and down at her sister’s attire. “You should be ashamed to be seen outside of your room in such a state of undress. Whatever possessed you to allow him into the shop?”
Lucienne twisted a lock of her hair about one finger as her body swayed with indecision.
“The truth, jeune mademoiselle,” Melisende warned.
Lucienne sighed loudly and rolled her eyes to stare at the ceiling. “I cannot believe you are upset because I let a customer into the shop. His family is very important and spends a great deal of money here. Ask Oncle Ramon.”
Melisende fisted her hands on her hips, refusing to let Lucienne turn the tables on her. “Oncle Ramon is on his way back from Paris, as you well know. And he would toss us both out on the street without delay if he found you entertaining his important clients in such a state.”
“I don’t see what the fuss is about. Raul only wanted to see—”
Fury ripped through Melisende. “He is Monsieur Depaul to you, young lady. Do not forget you are an unmarried young woman and he is engaged—not to you.”
Lucienne dropped her offended act and drew herself up, a sneer marring her beautiful young face. “You are jalouse because none of the men ever look at you.”
Melisende jerked her chin up in surprise. “What absurdity. I have spent the last two years raising you, making sure you have a roof over your head. I have not sought marriage.”
“And who would want you when they see me?” Lucienne preened. “I know you lost your heart to Kinnon, though it did you little good.” She slanted Melisende a superior look. “What do you think went on whilst he slept in our house—only me and him? He would be unable to look you in the eye if you knew everything that happened.”
Melisende froze inside, and it took her a moment to find her voice. “You act like an ungrateful child—willing to hurt anyone who denies you. I will not listen to you speak of him in such a manner.” She schooled her heartbreak behind a mask of pity. “He was grateful to you for your healing arts which saved his life. You should read nothing more into his actions than that.”
Lucienne’s eyes narrowed, her lips thinned in an ugly grin. “Think what you want. He preferred me over you. And he was very grateful.”
“As he is no longer in France, it is a moot point. You are confined to your room until you can learn better manners.”
Lucienne flounced into her room and slammed the door. Melisende stared at the closed portal and refused to shed the tears of doubt.
The remainder of the day flowed over her in a blur as Melisende poured her energy into waiting on customers in her uncle’s jewelry shop. She shoved the problem of Lucienne’s wanton manner to the back of her mind, but she could not shake the deep sense of betrayal to think the one man she’d allowed herself to care for could have had relations with her sister. Until now, she’d not given their time alone much thought, too glad to know Lucienne had saved his life to read anything else into those days. Would Lucienne lie about this?
Had he made love to Lucienne whilst they were alone? He seemed so genuinely pleased to see me…or was it my heart wishing it so? She forced a smile as she greeted another customer, explaining that her uncle would be back in a few days’ time, and she, his niece, would be happy to help.
I do not even know what happened to him. Why should it matter? He has certainly gone back to Scotland by now. An unwelcome thought struck her. Or is he dead?
Agitated, she rubbed her palms on her skirt, wishing the hours would pass so she could latch the door and be alone with her thoughts.
Oui, madame, non, monsieur she mocked in her head as she went about her duties in her uncle’s absence. Your wife already has too many diamonds crowding her throat. Why buy her more? And your mistress can scarcely lift her hands for all the pretty baubles you have placed on her idle fingers. I am sure she would love another.
At last the shop emptied. The sun hovered low in the sky, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air. Melisende picked up a broom from the back and swept the floor clean. She scrubbed the counter top, removing the final traces of the day’s customers. She pulled her stained apron over her head and hung it on a peg. The door chimed.
Pasting a regretful smile over her burst of annoyance, Melisende turned to the door. A man stood there, hair wild as though he’d been lately pulling at it, his cloak hanging askew on his shoulders.
“How may I help you, monsieur?” she asked politely.
“Where is your sister?” he demanded.
Melisende blinked in surprise. “She has been in her room all day—”
He gave her a quelling look. “I beg to differ, mademoiselle, and I have no time for niceties. She was seen with my son not two hours prior.” He took two steps forward, looming over her with his size and anger. “She has bewitched him, I tell you! Never has he disobeyed me before.” He shook his fist in her face, spittle flying from his lips. “I will not allow her to ruin his life like this. When I find them, I will have her brought up on charges of witchcraft!”
* * *
Melisende knew her uncle was not pleased to return home and find one of his nieces missing, though presumably wed—even if against the elder Depaul’s wishes—to one of the lesser nobles of the town. Raul’s father was most adamant his son was acting under a spell Lucienne had cast. What else could entice him away from the mousy heiress to a modest fortune, and six years his senior, that he had been engaged to wed?
She busied herself in the shop, cooking, cleaning, and keeping the books while her uncle chatted with the upsurge of customers. Many came to gossip about the pair’s elopement, but most stayed to purchase pretty baubles for themselves. It was the one benefit, he muttered once beneath the influence of too many glasses of wine. After that, all Melisende had to do to cheer her uncle up was to place the day’s accounting sheet beneath his nose. He was soon busy enough to hire an apprentice, and within a month’s time, their lives had settled into a slightly new pattern.
“Melisende,” her uncle called from the doorway to his office. She set her dust cloth aside and followed him into the small room, a bit startled when he closed the door behind her. He stepped hesitantly to his desk and sank heavily into the chair.
“Depaul had a message sent here today.”
Melisende’s heart skipped a beat. “What did it say, Oncle?”
He cleared his throat and Melisende felt a wave of dizziness sweep over her.
“He received a missive earlier. His son and Lucienne have settled in Italy.”
She let out her breath in a whoosh of relief. “She is well? They are happy?”
He scowled. “I do not know more than what his message said. Two foolish young people starting a life in a strange country, away from family.” He shrugged expressively. “Depaul has cut them off, pending his son’s return to his senses. He still believes he is bewitched.” His look turned grim. “God help them both.”
Chapter 17
Days drifted by with no discernable march of time. Kinnon had to assume his meals came at the same time each day, and marked the placement of sunlight on the floor to determine if he was right or not. But sometimes long periods of time passed without light, and he did not know if one day or two had passed when his meal arrived at last.
I lift my cup to ye, Jamie, lad. He raised the flask of ale to his childhood friend—still alive in his memory when all he had in the world was his recollections of sunlight and days long past. Now, he hid whatever mirth came his way, for at such times he stood on the edge of a terrifying darkness. He knew of men, when faced with more than their fear could hold, who succumbed to bizarre behavior marked with frenzied laughter and deep withdrawal. The realization of h
ow easily he could become like them, existing nowhere except in his shattered mind, horrified him, and it became harder and harder to keep despair at bay.
Do ye think me brave, Brody? Kinnon pushed his uneaten bread aside. I watched ye take yer last breath, and ye had no fear in yer eyes. He clenched his fists. There is no one to watch me die.
Footsteps as silent as a sigh trailed through the matted rushes. Kinnon’s head jerked up, instantly alert. Carried aloft like a standard, the tip of the cat’s tail twitched in recognition as he sauntered across the floor. A faintly rusty meow trilled from his throat. Kinnon’s lips crept upward.
“What brings ye here on this fine day, wee laddie?”
The cat strolled straight to him and rubbed its head against Kinnon’s leg, arching its back as it replied with a second meow.
Kinnon rubbed the small head, and the cat leaned into the caress. “Have ye no rats to prey upon?”
The cat placed one small foot on Kinnon’s leg, then another, until it perched precariously on his thigh. Kinnon carefully slipped a hand beneath the furry belly. “Even yer wee weight doesnae fare well on my leg, lad. But ye are welcome to sit in my lap.”
With peculiar feline grace, the young cat curled in the fold of Kinnon’s legs, purring contentedly. His nose twitched, following the scent of the discarded bread. Patiently, Kinnon retrieved the remnants of his meal and fed them to his furry friend.
* * *
After an indeterminable amount of time, the heavy wooden door to the cell creaked open. Kinnon struggled to his feet, gaping at the skirted figure silhouetted in the portal. A pale yellow aura beamed from the man’s hand and torchlight reflected off his tonsured head.
“I am Frère Jean. I understand you are in need of a champion.”
Kinnon’s knees buckled. Saints be blessed! Someone has taken notice of me! He sank weakly onto the thin mattress as a cough racked his body. Frère Jean pounded him enthusiastically on the back until Kinnon caught his breath and waved the man off.
