Vengeance 03 - Believe In Me

by Lana Williams

  “But you said once you knew what happened, we could go.”

  “I need to know who killed Mother. I need to know why she came to Longsbury. And now I need to know why she had this ring.”

  The maid looked devastated at Cristiana’s words. “I don’t know any of those things.”

  “Can you help me, Branwen? Can you remember anything more? Do you remember coming to Longsbury before Mother died? Did she ever speak of the bishop to you?”

  Branwen stared into the distance, a blank look on her face that did not bode well.

  “If you can tell me more, especially about the bishop and my mother, then we could go.” Cristiana bit her lip, guilt pouring through her for pushing Branwen. But she hoped the maid could put aside her fears and tell her more.

  “I can’t remember. I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head from side to side as tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Disappointed, Cristiana took her into her arms. “’Tis all right. If you remember, will you tell me?”

  “I don’t think I ever knew that part. That’s why I can’t remember it.”

  Again Cristiana thought of Abbot Clarke and what he’d told her. She had confronted the bishop with the abbot’s comments, but rather than admitting anything, Bishop Duval had become angry. He’d said the abbot meddled where he did not belong and that, as bishop, he couldn’t possibly remember everyone who’d ventured to see him.

  Yet something in his expression had filled her with doubt. The ring confirmed it.

  “Someone here knows what happened to my mother,” she said, convinced of the truth of her statement. “We need only determine who it is.”

  “Then we can go?”

  “Aye, then we can go.”

  The ring she held bit into the palm of her hand. Now she had to find a way to tie it to Bishop Duval. She feared that would be easier said than done.

  ***

  The weather seemed to have no intention of aiding William and Henry. The rain that had forced them to seek shelter at the inn the previous night had not abated. Instead, it followed them to Madesborough and continued with them as they begin the long trek back to Longsbury. A brisk wind joined the rain and the temperature dropped. The chilly drizzle became a freezing sleet that made travel nigh impossible.

  Henry cursed loud and long as they rode, pulling his cloak tighter under his chin.

  “’Tis no use,” William called out above the gusting wind. “Let us seek shelter.” The narrow road they followed grew slick with mud. Ice pelted down on them. It found every possible opening of bare skin, chilling William to the bone.

  Henry nodded and veered off the road into the trees.

  At first, William felt the protection the thick forest offered but soon realized his error. Each branch he passed let loose a small torrent of cold water down upon him. He had to urge his horse to continue.

  “I thought we passed an outcropping of rock on our way past that might offer shelter,” Henry called out.

  “Aye, I remember,” William agreed.

  They made their way painstakingly to the rocky cliff and found a cave sheltered by tall evergreens.

  “You’re not thinking to spend the night in there,” William said as he stared at the small cave with dread.

  Henry gave him a bland look. “Do you have a better idea?”

  “I do not care for small places. I’m certain I’ve mentioned that to you once or twice.”

  “Surely you can manage it this one time.”

  The dryness in the back of his throat said otherwise. “I’ll stay near the entrance if it’s all the same to you.”

  Henry shook his head. “A big strong knight like you, afraid of a—”

  “Don’t force me to bring up the rats, Henry,” William said with a hint of warning in his voice.

  The big knight shuddered. “No need.”

  William dismounted and glared at the sky above before seeing to his horse with hands so cold they would hardly do his bidding. Henry did the same and soon they had a small fire burning close to the entrance of the cave to warm themselves. Though the wind still gusted, the fire took off the chill.

  “Perhaps we should’ve sought shelter in Madesborough,” Henry suggested.

  William shook his head. “Did you see the look on the priest’s face when we told him why we were there? Staying in Madesborough was not an option.”

  “I don’t think they’re telling anyone they no longer have the relic.”

  “Why would you believe that?” William asked.

  “He left the reliquary in its place.”

  “And?”

  “And that old piece of wood you have bundled in your bag could be from anywhere.” Henry shook his head. “They could put something similar back into the reliquary and no one would be the wiser.”

  “That might be true, but there’s little we can do about it.” In truth, he didn’t care at the moment. As miserable as he was, he wanted nothing more than to continue on to Longsbury. With each passing furlough, his sense of urgency increased. The image of Jack’s split tongue would not fade.

  He could only pray he wasn’t too late to make certain no harm befell Cristiana.

  ***

  Cristiana watched Bishop Duval carefully, but to what purpose she didn’t know. It wasn’t as if he would suddenly remember that he’d known her mother and tell her of it. She could see no purpose in confronting him with the ring. He would only deny it was his. First she needed to find some kind of proof that tied it to him.

  In all honesty, she didn’t know what to do. Her stay here thus far had been more pleasant than she’d expected. The bishop hadn’t brought up her healing ability since she’d told him she preferred to keep it secret and for that she was grateful. He’d introduced her to many priests and servants who seemed kind. All of that made it difficult to believe he could’ve had anything to do with her mother’s death.

  He still often touched her, whether it was her shoulder or her hand, but perhaps he was an affectionate person. She still hadn’t detected any illness. They’d had several interesting conversations on a variety of topics from a recent scandal involving one of the priests in a neighboring diocese giving a sermon while drunk to stories from the Bible and their true meaning.

  Bishop Duval was an intelligent, well-educated man, who had traveled widely. Yet for all his pleasantness, Cristiana could not completely set aside her disquiet.

  They sat in his private chamber, the sun shining in the windows though the clouds on the horizon hinted at rain. The bishop read some correspondence while she attempted to do needlework, something at which she’d never become adept. Impatience filled her and she drew a deep breath to curb it.

  “Is all well, my dear?” the bishop asked, his blue eyes studying her.

  “Of course.”

  “I must ask if something is bothering you.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Are you enjoying your stay here?” he asked.

  “I am,” she answered, wondering where he was taking the conversation.

  “Excellent. I would like to see you more engaged in our little community.”

  “Oh?” Alarmed, Cristiana waited to hear what suggestion he might make.

  “I wondered if you might like to get involved with the children.” He rubbed his finger across his upper lip, something she’d often seen him do when he weighed a decision.

  “I would enjoy that very much.” Relief filled her at his simple request. “I would like to serve more of a purpose here.”

  “I’m pleased you said that. There’s a boy—” He waved his hand. “Never mind. Much too forward of me.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t want to put any pressure upon you...unless you felt ready, of course.”

  “Tell me of the boy,” she said, her curiosity aroused.

  “If you insist.” He rose and rang the bell on a nearby table.

  Cristiana waited, but the bishop said nothing more, only smiled. Something about that smil
e made her uneasy.

  A knock sounded at the door and the bishop bid them to enter. Cristiana watched as a servant carried in a child. Immediately she saw the young boy was unwell and her stomach sank. His rough woolen tunic hung on his thin frame. Lank, brown hair covered his head and his face was thin and pale.

  “Who is this?” she asked nervously, well aware of what the bishop expected her to do.

  “The tanner’s son. He’s been feeling poorly for nearly a fortnight. I thought you might want to know.”

  Though she knew what the bishop had in mind, she didn’t have to like it. Anger filled her, both at him for doing this and at herself for believing he understood her. Why had she let herself be fooled by his kind ways and polite conversation?

  If she’d come across the boy, she would’ve been happy to try her best to help him. But to be forced to do so was a different matter entirely. She couldn’t turn away someone in need, especially a child. The bishop might as well have held a knife at her back.

  “What’s wrong with him?” she asked as she stayed where she was, wishing she could think of a way out of the situation.

  The servant started to lay the unconscious boy on the padded bench near the window.

  “Put him on the floor,” the bishop ordered with a look of disgust. “I don’t want his filthy clothes dirtying the cushion.”

  Cristiana stared at him in disbelief. He brought the boy in but didn’t want him touching the furniture?

  He glanced at her and immediately countered his order. “I misspoke. I meant for you to proceed. We want the child to be comfortable.” He then dismissed the servant with a wave of his hand. Once the man had closed the door, the bishop turned to Cristiana. “Can you aid him?”

  “I don’t know,” Cristiana said. Reluctance filled her as she knew that once she’d healed, she’d be expected to do so again. “This is an impossible situation.”

  “Shall I have him taken away?” the bishop asked, brow raised in askance as he reached for the bell.

  With a sigh of frustration, she shook her head. If she could help the boy she would. The poor thing tugged at her heart. She sat beside him on the cushion, brushing his hair from his forehead, her fingers lingering to find the source of his illness.

  “What is it you’re doing?”

  She ignored the bishop and continued to gently touch the boy. The heat seemed to emanate from his chest. She leaned down to listen to his breathing and detected a raspy sound. Yet she continued to run her hands along his limbs to be certain where the true problem was. A few times, she’d healed the first source in which she’d found heat, only to realize it was a side effect of the true problem.

  “Why don’t you proceed?” the bishop asked impatiently.

  She kept her back to him, partly to block out his presence and partly to keep him from watching too closely. His regard made her uncomfortable. With a deep breath, she placed her hands on his chest and pushed toward the illness to test its strength. It seemed to have a strong hold, but she felt certain she could help.

  “What is it you’re doing?”

  She ignored the bishop and focused all her strength. She pushed out the heat then drew it back with her. After a few moments rest, she did it again. This time, a flush filled the boy’s cheeks and his eyes fluttered open. He looked at her with a startled expression.

  “Good day to you,” she said softly even as weariness and a deep pain filled her chest, making it difficult to breathe.

  “Where am I?” he asked.

  “You’re in the bishop’s chambers.”

  His eyes widened with fright. “What for? I’ve been good. I promise I have.”

  The bishop stepped forward but the boy scrambled back. “Please, no!”

  Despite her tiredness and pain, Cristiana offered her hand to the boy. His behavior confused her. “The bishop won’t hurt you.”

  The boy looked at her with distrust but remained silent.

  Cristiana looked up at the bishop to see his reaction to the accusation. His lips tightened in a thin line, his eyes narrowed. “You speak nonsense, boy. Your sickness addled your brain.”

  Realization dawned on the boy. “I was sick.” He put a hand on his chest as his gaze caught hers. “Did you help me?”

  “You must’ve been getting better already,” she said, downplaying her role as always.

  “I want my mother.”

  “Of course you do. Shall we find her for you?”

  He nodded frantically, keeping a wary gaze on the bishop.

  She rose slowly, fighting off her exhaustion and offered her hand again. “Come along then. You lead the way. We’ll show her how much better you’re feeling.”

  Hesitating, he at last took her hand but continued to stare at the bishop over his shoulder as they moved toward the door.

  Cristiana looked at the bishop as well, wondering why the child would have such a reaction to him. What had the bishop done to make a little boy frightened of him?

  ***

  Filled with rage, Bishop Duval slammed his hand against his desk, startling Father Daniel who stood before him.

  “You should have seen that worthless child, Daniel. He acted as though he were terrified of me!”

  “Oh, dear,” the priest said, his brow furrowed with concern.

  “I’ve never spoken with that boy, let alone touched him.”

  “Perhaps word has spread of the other...incident,” Father Daniel suggested.

  “That’s ridiculous. That was a minor occurrence with one child. Besides, he needed to learn not to beg. How dare he approach me!”

  “A verbal warning might have been sufficient.”

  “Speaking with those children never brings results. You must be firm. If their fathers raised them properly, they wouldn’t act so outrageously.”

  Father Daniel wisely kept silent.

  “Just when I was gaining Cristiana’s trust, this happened.” The bishop shook his head in disgust.

  “Perhaps she realizes the boy overreacted.”

  “You may be right.” The bishop considered his options. In truth, he could do nothing to change what had happened. “Surely that other man cannot be spreading rumors about me.”

  “I believe that problem was resolved. Now that he’s marked a liar, no one would believe him. I’m told he left Longsbury rather quickly after you dealt with him.”

  “These people force me to take action that I do not wish to take. They leave me no choice with their unacceptable behavior.”

  “Disappointing, for certain,” Father Daniel agreed.

  “Did Cristiana go to her chamber?”

  “Aye. I believe she’s resting.”

  “To think she wanted to accompany that boy to his home. What was she thinking?”

  “I cannot say.”

  Bishop Duval brought his thoughts back to what was truly important. Cristiana’s healing. He had some suggestions on her technique. It would be a much more impressive sight if she lifted her hands to the heavens before she placed them on the person. The crowds would soon be watching her every move. The more dramatic they could make the spectacle, the better. He’d have embroidered cushions especially made for the event.

  He was also convinced that if she healed more people, her power would build. It was so simple, he was surprised she hadn’t discovered it on her own.

  But she was only a woman, after all. Not so different from her mother, complete with all the flaws.

  Father Daniel cleared his throat. “The chapter wishes to meet with you regarding the recent expenditures. They are concerned about how much over budget the changes you requested will be.”

  The bishop scowled. He hated having to answer to the chapter. But with the plans he had, they would soon be indebted to him.

  After meeting with the chapter, he would speak with Cristiana. The time had come to put a little more pressure on his ward.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Cristiana steadied her nerves, gathering her anger instead. A good night’
s sleep had helped her recover from the healing, but not from the feeling of being used.

  “I would like to speak with the bishop,” she told the man-at-arms who guarded the door to his chamber. She intended to make it clear she would not perform at his command. If he couldn’t agree, she’d leave at the first opportunity.

  A few moments later, she was escorted in.

  The bishop sat at his desk, quill in hand, parchment spread before him. “Good day, Cristiana.”

  “Bishop Duval, I would speak with you about something important.” She moved to stand before his desk, her stomach jumping.

  “Allow me to talk first.” He sat back in his chair and studied her. “I would like to apologize for putting you through that dilemma yesterday. I only wanted to understand how your skill worked. In my eagerness, I was insensitive as to how it may have made you feel.”

  Cristiana searched his face, trying to measure his sincerity. Did he speak the truth or were these words merely to placate her? She could think of no reason he would bother to do so, but her doubt remained.

  The few clues she had regarding a connection between the bishop and her mother were not enough to take action on, yet she could not let go of the many questions she had. She was at an impasse and unsure what to do next.

  How she wished William was here to speak with about this. He would know what to do. Somehow, she thought he’d tell her to listen to her instincts. She didn’t want to act rashly though, which meant she should wait until she had more evidence. Or should she? William’s return could not come soon enough. She wished she had someone to talk to about all this.

  “I thought you had said you’d like to become more involved with children, but obviously we didn’t have the same meaning.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Nay, say no more. Please accept my apology.”

  “Thank you,” she said at last, resigned to giving the bishop the benefit of the doubt. For now. She’d discovered several things about her mother since her arrival and she was certain there was more to learn. Her chances of success would increase if she acted graciously. Arguing with the bishop would gain her little.

  “As I mentioned before, my ability is limited. I can only help some people, not all, and certainly not those gravely ill or injured. Healing someone is...tiring.”