Into the Dim (Into the Dim, #1)(78)

Phoebe’s hands covered her mouth. I wanted to run to my mother, who cringed and huddled over her round belly. But my knees had turned to water and my lungs to empty paper sacks.

Eleanor stiffened in outrage. “What? And she with child? This will not stand! Not in my kingdom.”

My mother’s weak voice filtered to me. “Celia told Babcock the baby wasn’t his. That he’d been cuckolded. She watched while he did this to me. If the baby was a boy, he said he’d drown it in the river and lock me in my room until he got another on me. Take me back, please. Don’t you see? She’ll tell him I tried to run. She’ll come after Hope.”

Bran, suddenly at my side, gave a moan and dropped his head in his hands.

“Sarah. Sarah, listen to me.” Collum’s voice was so tender as he knelt down before her. “Hope’s here. She’s safe. And we’re taking you to Lucinda. We’re taking you home.”

She shook her head violently. “No! If I do as she says, she’ll leave Hope alone. She swore it.”

Mom rocked forward. The cloak puddled around her hips. And I sucked in all the air in the chamber. All the air in the world.

“No,” Bran whispered.

I closed my eyes, but the image was imprinted forever inside my lids. The back of my mother’s shift had been ripped to the waist. The pale, freckled skin beneath was scored with dozens of torn, bloody lash marks.

My mother cried out as the air hit her raw flesh. I stumbled across the room and dropped to my knees beside her as Phoebe moved to the other side.

“What do we do?” My gut rolled at the blood seeping from the rips in her skin. “We need Rachel. She’ll know—”

The chamber doors burst inward. Collum whirled and stumbled back as Thomas Becket sauntered in. Four members of the black-clad city watch formed a line behind him, dragging the limp body of Eleanor’s guard, his chain mail jangling. Hate, white hot and pure, surged inside me when I saw the pale blond head of Eustace Clarkson move up next to Becket and shove a bound Rachel to her knees. Shuffling in at the rear was Wilifred, the old serving woman who’d been so enamored of Becket back at Baynard’s Castle.

“It’s as I told you, Father Thomas,” she said, pointing at me. “The girl is here. And I saw this Jewess and Captain Lucie myself, embracing in the hallway less than an hour ago.” She sneered down at Rachel. “Blasphemer.”

William’s hand was at his sword. He’d had eyes for no one but Rachel since the second they’d entered.

Thomas Becket clapped his hands in delight, then gave the simpering servant a pat on the shoulder. “You may go now, madam. I also thank you for bringing this sacrilege to my attention. A Christian and a Jew in carnal relations. The laws against this are clear, and they will both pay the price.”

Eleanor glided across the room, her face flushed with outrage. “How dare you burst into my chambers, you trumped-up clerk! And you”—she loomed over the now-cowering Wilifred—“you will live to regret this.”

The serving woman paled under the queen’s furious scrutiny. She bunched her shoulders as if warding off a blow and hustled out of the chamber.

I stared at Rachel, tears prickling my eyes when I saw the fresh bruise that marred her delicate cheekbone. Her yellow veil was missing and blood trickled from a swollen lower lip. Yet she appeared so serene, so poised. When her gilt eyes met mine, I gave a sharp nod, letting her know we’d get through this. Somehow.

“The bloody rat bastard,” Phoebe muttered in Becket’s direction.

“Enough!”

At Becket’s shout, Eleanor advanced on him. “When my husband hears of this . . .”

“Oh, but I suspect he will not hear,” he said with a condescending leer. “For if he does, will you not have to explain how two of your servants committed treason?” As he skimmed across the floor toward our little group, he pointed at Collum. “And that you concealed a thief under his very roof?”

Becket’s men moved up behind him as he flipped the hood back from Collum’s face and stepped back. The queen stiffened, but Hectare reached for her sleeve and pulled her down to whisper in her ear.

“And”—Becket’s saturnine smile widened as his gaze sharpened on me—“that you parley secretly with the French as well?” He pivoted toward the queen with a bark of laughter. “Oh ho, milady. I think His Grace would be most interested to learn of the company you keep, don’t you?”

The queen paled, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Without a sound, Bran moved to Collum’s side. With only the briefest hesitation, William Lucie joined them, creating a wall between Becket’s men and the rest of us.

“Madam,” Becket said, “you have taken an item presented to our king by the Jews of London. A jeweled dagger.”

I forced myself not to look at the bag at Collum’s waist.

“His Grace doesn’t realize the value of the blade. He believes it naught but a pretty bauble. I’ve convinced him to gift it to the church.”

“Oh really?” Bran muttered through clenched teeth. “You claim the dagger belongs to the church. Yet I know you promised it to Lady Alvarez. Which is the truth?”

Thomas Becket studied Bran. “Ah, the traitorous son. Your mother will be most pleased to see you.” A fanatical light shone in Becket’s eyes. “Lady Alvarez is blessed with holy prophesy. I’ve seen the evidence myself. This dagger holds an object of great evil. One cursed with pagan magic. Only Lady Alvarez can take it from here and destroy it.”