Vixen (48 page)

Hugo swung his other leg over the gallery rail and jumped down. It was a long jump, but he landed easily on the balls of his stocking feet—a man who’d spent many years climbing the rigging of a ship of the line.

“I’ve pistols, if you prefer,” he offered courteously, watching as Jasper also shrugged out of his coat.

“No … no …” Jasper said calmly, bending to pull off his boots. “It should be done according to ritual, as always.”

“And according to ritual, the honor of the woman falls to the victor.”

“Exactly so.”

Chloe understood what was happening; Jasper’s bedtime story had left nothing out, and she knew all the details of the rules and rituals of the Congregation. Hugo was fighting for her as he’d fought for her mother. If he won, then she would never have to take her place in the crypt again. If he lost … but then nothing would matter. If he lost, he would be dead. The duels of the Congregation were always mortal combat.

Crispin was hissing through his teeth, his body very close to Chloe’s. Hugo suddenly turned to look at Chloe for the first time. “Go and stand on the stairs, lass,” he instructed in even tones.

“But I—”

“Do it!”

For once she obeyed immediately, and as she reached the stairs understood the reason for the order. Samuel was standing in the darkness behind her. Hugo was not going to play by the rules. Even if he lost, she would not be abandoned to the Congregation.

The two men saluted each other. Then Hugo said softly, “En garde.” He lunged in a straight thrust and Jasper parried in quarte. The blades met and disengaged.

Chloe watched with a numb and dreadful fascination as the two men danced over the tombstone slabs, their blades glimmering, flashing with an almost impossible speed, moving from one position to another in a rapid series of attacks and counterattacks as they probed for, an opening in their opponent’s guard. It seemed to her that neither man held the attack for more than one engagement, as each attack was parried, the defender became the attacker.

Ten … fifteen … twenty minutes it went on, and it seemed impossible that any man could maintain such speed and accuracy for another second.

Finish it … please God, finish it.
The prayer went around and around in Chloe’s head. She could feel their growing fatigue amid the desperate clashing of invincible wills … the desperate purpose that fueled them both … the terrifying knowledge of imminent death.

Then came a moment when Hugo seemed to fall back on one knee, his free hand grazing the floor, then he sprang upright as Jasper’s blade thrust beneath his arm, twisting sideways so the deadly attack met only air. His own blade caught his opponent’s and the ring of steel echoed in the hushed vault. Hugo offered a feint to his opponent’s forearm, and as Jasper jumped back to gather for a reprise, Hugo’s blade came down and under.

Jasper fell to his knees, his blade clattering to the ground. Blood welled from his side.

Crispin with a frenzied hiss leapt forward, grabbing up his stepfather’s weapon. His salute was perfunctory. “En garde.”

Hugo didn’t seem to draw breath. He parried his new opponent’s attack smoothly, moving backward, allowing Crispin to press the attack as he assessed the skill of the younger man. He knew he was exhausted. Just as he knew that for one almost fatal second he had allowed himself to believe he’d won and it was over. Now he had to face the knowledge that it was far from over.

Chloe gasped in horror at this villainous intervention. She gazed around the room, waiting for someone to protest, to call a halt to such an infamously unfair fight. But they all remained still, watching closely. Denis was licking his lips almost convulsively in his anxiety, and once his eyes darted across to her, predatory and filled with hungry anticipation.

Hugo moved backward, invited a thrust in sixte, counterattacked to Crispin’s left shoulder, lunged as his opponent feinted, and saw the épée snaking into his forearm too quickly to evade. It sliced through his shirt, nicking the skin. It was no fatal strike, but it was a deadly warning.

Chloe’s heart seemed lodged somewhere in her throat, so she could hardly breathe. Her eyes raced around the crypt. Now no one seemed interested in her; their eyes were all fixed on the lethal combat. Jasper had been pulled to the side of the crypt and someone was staunching his wound. His eyes were closed and his labored breathing was an audible accompaniment to the ring of steel on steel.

She began to sidle around the wall until she stood against the strange, damask-covered, candlelit table. She
licked the finger and thumb of one hand, slipped the hand behind her, and pinched out the flame of one of the candles. Then slowly she brought the heavy candlestick down to her side. All eyes were still on the two men locked in their mortal struggle.

She inched forward again. Sweat glistened on Hugo’s brow; his face was drawn in a rictus of determination and exhaustion. Both men’s movements were slowing perceptibly, but Crispin maintained the edge, pressing his attack.

Hugo felt now as he imagined Stephen had felt, facing his inevitable defeat at the hands of a younger, stronger man. But Crispin was not stronger … just younger and fresher. He tried to hang on to that, to keep at bay the destructive forces of hopelessness, but the blood was thundering in his head and his lungs screamed for air.

Chloe calmly, casually, put out her foot, catching Crispin’s ankle as he lunged in full extension. He lost his balance, and as he swayed, she brought the candlestick down on his head. He fell sideways to the floor and lay still.

There was a moment of total silence, then Samuel, pistols in hand, appeared at the foot of the stairs. He leveled his weapons at the assembly in general and nodded curtly. “I shouldn’t move if I were you, sirs.”

Hugo doubled over, struggling for breath as the men in the crypt stared between Samuel and Chloe, still standing over the fallen Crispin.

“Have I killed him?” Chloe asked into the silence.

Hugo straightened slowly. “You don’t play by the rules, do you, lass?” he gasped as his lungs expanded and he drew a deep shuddering breath.

“I wasn’t going to let him kill you,” Chloe said. “Of all the underhanded tricks.”

“Shameful, I agree,” he said dryly, bending over the
fallen Crispin, feeling for the pulse in his neck. “And I suppose one underhanded trick deserves another. At least you seem to have stopped short of murder.”

“But he has to be dead,” she said in a voice that now didn’t seem to be her own. She lifted the candlestick again. “I’m married to him, and I would prefer to be his widow.”

Hugo caught her arm. “Steady now, lass.” He spoke quietly but firmly as he twisted the candlestick out of her grip.

“But you don’t understand—”

“Yes, I do,” he interrupted, picking up the cloak they had taken off her earlier. “Put this on.” He wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and lightly kissed her brow. “Trust me, lass.”

Jasper stirred and his eyes fluttered open. “Lattimer?” His voice was a thread.

Hugo crossed over to him. He stood over his fallen enemy and spoke with slow, deliberate clarity. “It’s done, Jasper. Finished. The circle is completed. The girl is mine.”

“And has been for quite some time, I understand.” Blood trickled from the corner of Jasper’s mouth as he moved his lips in the travesty of a mocking grin. “For all your self-righteous posturing, Lattimer, you debauched her. You’re no better than the rest of us.”

Hugo stood very still, his face white in the candle glow, but his voice was low and even. “Of course you would see it in those terms, wouldn’t you, Jasper? You seek only to sully and you would see only defilement in love.” His shoulders lifted in a dismissive shrug. “I’ve done finally with you and yours … and with this sewer.”

His eyes ran around the crypt, lingered for an instant on the faces of the men gathered there, then he turned away from Jasper. As he did so, a harsh rattle came from
the wounded man’s throat and Jasper’s head fell back. Hugo swung back to him. His expression was inscrutable as he watched death film the shallow eyes as they stared up at the vaulted roof of the crypt. Then he turned aside and strode back to Chloe.

He took her left hand and drew off the serpent ring. It bounced on the granite slab by Crispin’s head as he threw it to the floor.

“Come along, lass. You’ve breathed this infected air for long enough.” He swept her ahead of him toward the stairs where Samuel still stood, his pistols still aimed at the cluster of men in the crypt. But no one made a move.

Chloe was silent as they went up the steps and into the pure cold air of the moor. She could think only that Hugo had talked of love … that he’d told Jasper that he loved her. He’d fought for her … risked his life for her … as he had done for her mother.

But she was married to Crispin. Even if she never saw him again, she was his wife. Jasper was dead, but Crispin wasn’t.

The horses were tethered in the copse, restless at the end of their ropes, quivering in the frosty night. Hugo lifted her onto his mount and swung up behind her. He was as silent as she, but he held her tightly against him as they rode back to Denholm. Samuel rode alongside, also keeping his own counsel.

“I’ll see to the ’orses,” Samuel said as they dismounted in the courtyard. “Ye’d better throw some kindlin’ on the fire. Like as not it’ll be out by now.”

Hugo and Chloe went into the house.
The
kitchen was dark and cold, only the ashes in the range showing any light. Hugo lit the candles, stirred the embers, and threw on kindling and fresh logs.

Chloe stood wrapped in her cloak, watching him. She was beginning to feel as if she were slipping back into
the drug-induced torpor. “Hugo, they married me to Crispin this afternoon,” she finally said. The words sounded as if they came from somewhere outside herself. “Just taking off the ring can’t make it go away.”

He pulled a chair up to the blaze and beckoned her over. “No, I know that,” he said, drawing her between his knees. “Let me explain. You’re a minor, married against your will and without your guardian’s consent. In addition, the marriage has not been consummated.” His eyes were grave as they examined her face. “That is true, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

He’d known it was, but still the fear had been there that he might have miscalculated … that Jasper would have found some way to defile her before he could reach her. The final relief seeped through his veins. He smiled. “Then the marriage will be annulled, lass. It’s a mere formality. Crispin won’t dare to contest it even if he could.”

“So I’m not married?”

“Yes, you are, technically. But only for as long as it takes me to find a Justice of the Peace.”

“Oh.” Her knees began to shake and tears suddenly filled her eyes. “I’m sorry …” But the flood of tears was unstoppable.

“Hush, sweetheart.” He pulled her down onto his lap, cradling her against his chest, rocking her gently. “Did they hurt you, love?”

She shook her head against his chest, tried to speak, but the words Were lost in sobs.

Samuel entered the kitchen, glanced at the pair by the fire, and sat down in the chair opposite, stretching his feet to the fire.

When her tears had subsided somewhat, Hugo sat her upright and said, “Sweetheart, you have to tell me. Did they hurt you?”

“Only a little. But it was uncomfortable,” she said frankly, wiping her eyes on the handkerchief he handed her. “I don’t know why I cried like that … I expect it’s because I’m hungry.”

Hugo threw back his head and laughed in rich relief. Samuel grinned and went to the pantry. “Coddled eggs do ye, lass?”

“Yes, thank you.” She smiled mistily and leaned back against Hugo’s shoulder.

“Tell us exactly what happened to you,” Hugo demanded, knowing he wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d heard every detail. While she ate her supper, he listened as she rendered a faithful account of her captivity. She left out nothing, including what Jasper had told her of Hugo’s past. Hugo’s eyes were hard, his mouth a grim line, and when she concluded, he said with soft savagery, “He died too quickly.”

Both father and son had died too quickly for the evil they had wrought. But he must let it pass from him now. It was over. Without a Gresham to lead it, the Congregation would disband. Crispin hadn’t the authority or the maturity to take over from Jasper. It had been created by the Greshams and would die with them.

He glanced over to the table, where the last Gresham sat wiping her plate clean with a slice of barley bread. Stephen never knew what a pearl he’d sired. And the qualities he’d passed on to his daughter—the fire and the passion—were without the taint, the twist that marred them in the father.

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed as he allowed the peace to fill him. He was finally free. He had honored Elizabeth’s charge; Chloe would never again be harmed by the Greshams; and he had confronted his painted devils and defeated them. He knew himself to be no better and no worse than the next man. And the knowledge was sweet.

He opened his eyes to see Chloe regarding him gravely. “Why didn’t you tell me that you’d loved my mother? Why didn’t you tell me what happened?”

He met her gaze steadily. “Cowardice, lass,” he said. “I was terrified I would lose your trust if I told you. How could you trust a man who had played in the crypt … who had done what I had done? I couldn’t bear the thought of losing your love and your trust—they were … are … the most precious gifts … gifts without price.”

Sweet relief flowed in her veins. It wasn’t lack of love but love itself that had kept him silent.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” she said. “What happened … what you did …”

His eyes held hers for a minute, then he said softly, “And it doesn’t matter to me anymore. The past has ruled for long enough.”

Samuel gave an audible sigh of relief and began gathering up dirty dishes.

Hugo stood up. “It’s time for bed,” he said, stretching and yawning. “Upstairs with you, lass.”

“I
t doesn’t seem as if there’s any essential difference between adultery and fornication,” Chloe observed with a mischievous chuckle, turning her head on Hugo’s chest to look up at him with dancing eyes glowing with the residue of desire and its fulfillment.