Page 87 of Warrior’s Lady

Chapter Twenty-Six

The glow of the flames changed the night sky into a vignette of red and orange. The huge funeral pyre had been made to hold all twenty-two bodies. The wood beneath was also piled with the bedding and clothing and anything that could be fouled by the disease that had wracked their home.

Camden gave a final blessing in the tongue of the ancients. Sorrow burned in his chest as he stared at the macabre, obscene beauty of his people returning to their Maker. Acrid wisps of smoke drifted around the living who had gathered upon the hillside to send their kin on their way. They had all worked the rest of the day through to make their home secure once more.

On one side of him, Rhiannon gently took his arm in a protective clasp. Violet stood on the other side, holding his hand. The two women he had never known he wanted in his life, yet they made him feel things he had always dreamed of, but never dared to hope for all those years ago while he had been a prisoner in a faraway land. He wanted to know all the things that love was meant to be. He wanted children, to be a father, to give Violet everything she might miss by not ever truly knowing her own parents.

He wanted to fully live whatever time he had left upon this earth, with a clear conscience and a clean heart.

He had to tell Rhiannon the truth. And then he had to convince her to stay with him. The task would not be easy, but it was necessary; he knew that now. "Rhiannon, I must speak with you when we return to the castle."

Her brow knitted. "Is everything all right?"

"It will be very soon." His tone held all the resolution he longed for in his soul. By this evening, he prayed all would be as it should be.

"You're trembling." Camden tightened his arm around Rhiannon's shoulders as they walked back into the great hall.

She gave him a small smile. "I suppose I am."

"Why? Do you fear returning to the castle after all you have endured here?"

She shook her head. "Nay. If anything, the plague has proved to me that I have strength I did not know I possessed."

He frowned. "Then what frightens you so?"

"It's not my fear, but yours that worries me." She looked up into his eyes and he saw the vulnerability he had seen there upon their first meeting. "I heard the fear in your voice outside. You wished to speak with me?"

He offered her a solemn nod. "You are very observant."

She came to a stop in the middle of the hall as the others filed in around them. "Tell me now."

"Rhiannon—"

"Visitors at the gate." One of the guards raced into the room, his breathing hard, his face flushed. "They are asking for Lord Lockhart." His eyes widened. "There are eight men and one woman."

Camden released a soft imprecation at the untimely interruption.

"'Tis the Church council, the Bishop Berwick, and his mother."

Camden set his lips grimly. His gaze lingered on Rhiannon's face for a moment before he moved past her. "We'll talk later. Go upstairs with Lady Violet. That man means to make trouble. As if he hasn't done enough already."

Camden hurried through the sea of people streaming back inside the keep. At the door, he came face to face with Bishop Berwick. "Who let you in?"

"The gates were open." The bishop gave Camden a black look. "We took that as an invitation. The Council and I would like a word with you."

The bishop pushed past him, and into the hall. Behind him came seven older men in ornate green robes with bands of gold trimming the sleeves. Each man gave Camden a condemning look as they walked past him. A foreshadowing of things to come?

And behind the men, walking bent over a cane, hobbled Bishop Berwick's mother. "Mistress Berwick," Camden greeted her with a chill in his voice. The glint in her soft gray eyes told him she was up to something.

Once inside, the men headed for the dais. They sat behind the long table, facing the rest of the room. His people, curious to know why the bishop had called upon them yet again, this time without his warriors, lined the chamber's wall. Their restless chatter created a soft hum that hovered over the room.

"Lord Camden Lockhart," the oldest councilman stated, with a hint of censure in his tone. "The Church council has come here this evening on a serious matter involving you, the Mistress Berwick, and your young niece, Lady Violet."

A sudden chill washed over Camden. "What about Lady Violet?"

"We will get to her. First, however, we must deal with the matter of you assaulting Mistress Berwick in her own house. These are times of war," the old man continued, looking down at Camden from beneath his bushy gray brows, "but cruelty to women will not be tolerated by the Church council."

"She claims I assaulted her?" Camden shifted his gaze to the bishop, who stood beside his mother. A flush reddened the bishop's cheeks. Camden bit back the stinging retort that seared his tongue. His arguments would do him no good. It was the woman's word against his. His men could vouch for his behavior, but their loyalties would be questioned, and he had no desire to bring further pain to anyone else under his protection.