Read Online Love Thine Enemy by Carolyne Cathey - Free Book Online Page B

face.
      Père Bertrand moved to her side.  "What
goes on here?  Did Reynaurd shout something about poison?"  The priest
cast an incredulous glare at something she held.  
    She lowered her gaze.  Wine rippled in the tankard she
still gripped in her shaking hands.  Had she unknowingly poisoned her father? 
Appalled, she smashed the clay against the wall.  Dark rivulets streamed down
the wall as if the wainscot bled.
    A curse from behind drew her attention. 
    Becket's mouth thinned with his anger.  "How dare
the bastard die before he felt the thrust of my sword."  Then he slid his
hatred to Gaston.  Becket's raven-colored eyes gleamed too brightly as he held
his sword-tip at Gaston's throat; he lusted for the kill.  But if Gaston died,
she might never glean the truth to use for her war to win DuBois.  She needed
him alive.
    Rochelle stepped toward Becket.  "Don't slay him,
Sire."
    "Affection for the butcher, Lady Rochelle?  If you
knew the details of how Lady Alicia and other misfortunates have suffered by
his hand, you'd not be so eager to see him spared."
    "Then you might never know the third
conspirator."
    Murderous fire in his eyes flared his hatred, then
shifted to suspicion.  "And mayhap you are not as pure as you claim.  Mayhap
you seek to save a lover."
    Rochelle lifted her chin.  "Think what you will. 
Perhaps I, too, wish to know who deals an evil hand." 
    Becket stared at her with icy hatred.  "Perhaps. 
But perhaps I have more enemies than I first realized.  Methinks I dare not ask
you to pull Gaston's sword from out of his reach."
    Gaston groaned and Rochelle cut her gaze to the man
pinned on the floor.  The blood on Gaston's throat swelled a more glisteny bead
around the sword tip, then the bead burst and drizzled a crooked trail down the
side of his neck into the rushes.
    She stayed Becket's hand.  "I have seen enough
death this day, knight."
    Becket studied her for an uncomfortable moment, then
shifted his hatred to his defeated opponent.  "Moreau is mine whether you
live or die, Gaston.  But before Satan welcomes you, I will have the third name
of the unholy trinity.  Or mayhap I'll seduce the truth from your comely
champion."  Becket kicked the weapon from Gaston's hand.  "Henri,
take his sword and then add another rat to the dungeon.  He may come to wish
his lover hadn't spared his life with such sweet entreaties."
    Stung by his accusations and knowing he would never
accept her denials, Rochelle turned to stare at the quiet form that had once
been her father, the man she had tried so hard to love, but who had proved to
her that love is a weakness, a tool for manipulation. 
    She scanned the chamber, ready for a chance to escape
to her knights and call them to action.  Père Bertrand ministered the
last rites.  Becket held a now-standing Gaston at sword point, the prize
prisoner's hands bound behind him as Henri shackled Gaston's ankles.  Good. 
All occupied.
    With held breath, Rochelle slipped toward the door.
    "Not so fast, ma femme ."
    Becket placed his arm across the doorway and leaned in
indolent repose as if her father hadn't just died.  As if Becket hadn't taken
her as an unwilling bride and then turned from her in revulsion.  As if he
hadn't just raped her of her land, her future.  As if he cared.
    "Did you think to abandon your new husband?" 
He took her hand and held too tightly, but she refused to flinch.  "I have
use for you, yet, bride."  He pushed away from the doorjamb.  "Henri,
hand me the marriage linens, then take Gaston to the dungeon.  As soon as he is
secured, join me in the great hall."
    Gaston curled his lip in a snarl.  "Never fear,
Lady Rochelle.  This devil thinks me bested, but I'll save DuBois."
    Becket laughed.  "The dungeon will silence your
tongue, Butcher, after you confess the third conspirator, of course."
    Becket draped the stained sheet over his shoulder like
a conquered banner, then urged her into the empty hallway and toward