Chapter Eighteen

By late afternoon many of the castle's residents had given up witnessing a miracle. One by one, they wandered away to return to their daily routines until only Rhiannon, Violet, Orrin, Hamish, Travis, and Rhys remained near the hearth. Hamish and Travis sat at a table to the side the hearth, keeping watch as they always did. Rhiannon had to admit that in Camden's absence, the warriors' presence made her feel more at ease. They would protect her and Violet should something happen.

Violet yawned. She tugged on one of her long golden curls, pulling it straight, then releasing it to watch it spring back to its original shape.

The others waited. And waited. "How long will this miracle take?" Rhiannon asked, growing restless.

"He was almost dead," Orrin said, stretching his legs before him as he lounged on a bench that he'd dragged near the fire.

When the man did not revive right away, they had arranged for a pallet to be brought for his bed. He lay silently against the heather stuffed ticking. Despite the fact that the grayness had vanished from his face and his bleeding had stopped, Rhiannon was amazed the man yet lived.

She shifted her gaze from the man to Orrin. "Have you seen healings before?"

"Only a few that Lady Lockhart performed while traveling with her husband."

"What happened?"

Orrin repositioned his long legs once again. "Much the same as this. At first nothing happened. Later, the person would wake up and be as they were before they were injured or sick."

"Is there no memory of the healing?"

"Oh, they remember." Orrin shuddered. "Two of the people I witnessed said they experienced excruciating pain while awake."

Rhiannon returned her gaze to Rhys. "Then 'tis best he sleeps." She brought her fingers up, her turn to gently tug on Violet's curl. The girl squirmed on Rhiannon's lap. "Perhaps it is also best if you head upstairs to change your clothing before supper."

Violet grabbed her curls in a playful attempt to keep them out of Rhiannon's reach. "Why do I always have to change my clothes?"

"Because you are a lady, and because I believe Mistress Faulkner has completed another dress for you to wear."

Violet released her hair and pouted. "But you never change."

Now that Violet had grown more settled in the castle, signs of her true intelligence had blossomed. Rhiannon pursed her lips while she considered how to respond. How could she explain the fact that she was not a lady in title in such a way that Violet would understand? She decided the best way to explain such a thing was to not explain at all. Tousling the child's golden curls, she said, "That's because I have only one dress."

Instantly Violet's playfulness vanished. "That is my fault." She turned and buried her face in Rhiannon's chest. "I wouldn't let you wear my mummy's dresses."

"Nay," Rhiannon said, bringing the girl's tear-filled gaze to her face. "It is not your fault. Your mother's dresses belong to you. When you get older you can choose to wear them or not. Had I known it was her gown when I put it on, I never would have done it."

Violet sniffed.

"Would you like to help me make us each a new dress tomorrow?"

The girl's face brightened. "Should we use your bed curtains or mine?"

Rhiannon chuckled, relieved that the girl's mood had shifted so quickly. "Before we attack the bed curtains again, go ask Mistress Faulkner if she has any more stored fabric."

Violet nodded, then darted up the stairs, followed by Hamish and Travis.

"Why did you really send her away?" Orrin's brows arched.

A heavy mantle of grimness settled over Rhiannon. "We need to move the man somewhere less public. If the Charm Stone's healing fails, I don't want Lady Violet to witness his death. She's been so happy as of late. What if he dies and she thinks it's her fault? Her nightmares have finally just started fading."

"Just as Camden's are becoming more regular," Orrin said with a frown.

"He has nightmares?" Rhiannon asked.

Orrin nodded. "He used to have them often when we were enslaved in the Holy Lands."

"He told me about that time." She shook her head. "I still cannot believe that you both "

"We both learned to survive," he said, cutting off whatever sympathy she might have offered. "Stay with Rhys while I gather a few men to transfer him. With the other warriors gone, we've extra pallets in the rooms above the stable." He stood. "There are guards at the door. You should be safe here for the short time I will be gone."

Rhiannon watched him go, leaving her alone with Rhys in the great hall. The flames in the fireplace licked greedily at the logs. A crackle and hiss pressed against the silence. Why had Orrin told her such a private detail about Camden's life? The information seemed a little too convenient. What did Orrin have to gain from her knowing such information? She released an exasperated sigh. Nothing.

Before she could consider other possibilities, the door to the great hall creaked open. Rhiannon could feel a presence, but could not see who was there. "Orrin?" she asked.

Silence.

Camden? She shot to her feet, her heart thundering in her chest. Had he returned so soon?

A dark shadow fell across the entrance to the great hall. "Not Orrin, my dear."

She could feel the blood drain from her face as she beheld Bishop Berwick in the doorway. "How did you get past the guards?"

"Holy men can do many things that regular mortals cannot." As he came into the light, she could see he was dressed in the dark brown robes of a monk.

That voice. She could not stop the chill that raced down her spine as recognition flared. That voice had ordered her to be burned alive. "You are no holy man."

"Your opinion of me matters not." His face contorted with disgust, then quickly shifted to benign superiority. "I am on a mission for the Church and I will not be distracted from my purpose."

"It would be impossible for you to slip past the guards at the gate, the wall breach, or even the door to the keep without help. Who helped you?"

He ignored her. "I've heard rumors of witchcraft being performed here this day." He continued to stride forward until he stood an arm's length from her. "The Church will have none of it. Such behaviors are punishable by death."

"There has been no witchcraft practiced today or any other day."

He held out his hand with its gold insignia ring for her to kiss. When she remained where she stood, irritation clouded his face.

"What do you want?" Where was Orrin? Where was anyone?

"I've come for the girl and the Stone. My sources assure me Lady Violet did indeed attempt witchcraft to try to bring a man back from the dead." His gaze dropped to the pallet on which Rhys lay.

Frustration and rage rose within Rhiannon, but she fought desperately to control her temper. "I will never hand the child over to you for punishment or anything else."

"No one is here to save you this time." He moved past her toward the stairs. Determination gleamed in his eyes.

"I don't need anyone to save me or Lady Violet." Lightning swift, she grasped an iron skillet from the cooking bench near the hearth. She lunged for him and swung the pan with all her might. It hit the side of his head with a resounding thump. The man's eyes flared. He swayed on his feet, then fell to the ground.

"Stay away from Violet," Rhiannon breathed as the man crumpled at her feet. A trickle of blood flowed from his forehead down across his face. The door of the great hall flew open, hitting the wall opposite with a thud, and Orrin charged into the room with a group of warriors. "Mistress Rhiannon?"

"It's all right. I took care of him."

Orrin raced forward. "How did he slip past the guards?"

Now that the danger had passed, Rhiannon set the pan down on the bench as a fatigue overwhelmed her. She staggered slightly as her gaze moved to the stairs, where Violet stood with her small bow and an arrow.

"I came to protect you, but you knocked him out before I could shoot," Violet said, moving to Rhiannon's side.

Rhiannon grasped the child to her in an emotion-filled embrace. "What a brave little girl you are."

Violet wiggled away. Setting her bow against the wall, she headed for the bishop.

"Lady Violet, what are you doing?" Rhiannon asked, suddenly terrified. She reached out, trying to stop the girl.

Violet stepped around Rhiannon's grasp, moving to kneel beside the holy man.

The bishop's eyes flickered open and his gaze clung to Violet. "There you are," he said in a silky tone.

"If you promise not to attack this castle again, I will heal you."

Violet frowned at the man as she held her hand to Rhiannon. "May I have the Stone?"

Rhiannon bolted to her side. "Lady Violet, no!" She grabbed the little girl's hand and partially carried, partially dragged her up the stairs. The bishop only had hearsay to accuse Violet of witchcraft. He needed no direct proof. "Orrin, get rid of this man before he does something horrible to us all."

"Aye, milady."

She could hear Orrin and the other warriors escorting the bishop out from the chamber as she raced up the stairs with Violet in her arms.

"You can't harm me," the bishop's voice floated up the stairs.

"I would damn my immortal soul for a chance to do so," Orrin ground out.

"Do it and you'll regret it. If word of my demise gets to the Church council, you'll be a man with a bounty on his head."

"You ever come back here again and I will kill you," she heard Orrin say before the rest of the conversation faded away.

The bishop wasn't going to win. She wouldn't let him win, spies or no spies. The bishop might be a powerful man, but nothing he could do to any of them would be as horrific as what he'd already put all of them through.

Could it?

Later that evening, Bishop Berwick stood in the doorway of his mother's bedchamber and rubbed the egg-sized lump at his temple. Damn the Ruthven girl. No one assaulted his person and lived.

He pushed his anger aside as his focus shifted to the woman lying in the bed. The yellow candlelight in the room cast an eerie glow across his mother's sunken features. Death would claim her if something drastic didn't happen soon.

When prayer had failed him, he'd turned to other things terrible things, he knew. But what else was a devoted son to do? He'd tried everything he could think of to get that Stone away from the Lockharts.

"How is she?" he asked the young maid at his mother's bedside.

"I had to give her juice of the poppy. It was the only thing that quieted her. Should I try to wake her? Would you like to sit with her for a while?"

"Nay," he said with more force than he had intended. In an effort to block the scent of her decaying flesh, he brought a square of linen up to cover his nose and mouth. "I've paid you handsomely to see to her needs." He turned away, not wanting to stay in the presence of death any longer than necessary.

What would it take to get that healing stone away from the Lockharts? He had truly despaired at ever possessing the Stone until he'd seen his spy lying on the floor in the great hall. Perhaps divine intervention would serve him yet. The bishop allowed himself and indulgent smile. The scoundrel may have survived the stabbing and drowning, but Rhys's illness appeared to be the same that wracked his own mother's soul. Perhaps this was God's ultimate revenge. Perhaps the sickness would spread to Lockhart Castle. And then they would have no choice but to bring the Stone out of hiding.

With the Stone, he could cure his mother. Just like a goldsmith needed fire to separate the base metal from the pure gold, he needed that Stone to help purify the souls of his flock. A man of miracles would be the only choice for the next Archbishop of Glasgow.

There was one more thing he could do to sway Camden Lockhart to do his bidding. He hurried to the elaborate desk in his chambers and pulled out a clean sheet of linen.

The Church council had not arrived at his earlier summons. This time they would come. They would want to know about the act of witchcraft performed by Lady Violet Lockhart. The girl was only a child. His hand paused above the paper before writing the word witchcraft, but his thoughts drifted back to his mother and he knew what he had to do. Through means fair or foul, he would see that the Charm Stone came to him.

After writing the message, he sealed it with a waxed impression of his insignia ring. His clerk would see to the delivery.

Within a matter of days, all hell would break loose over the Lockhart clan. The thought brought a smile of utter satisfaction to the bishop's lips.