He turned, more annoyed. “You cannot say me nay, Madelyne. I must—”
“I would not. But, here, take this to cover your mouth and head.” She handed him a length of cloth, and he saw that she had torn her gown to her knees. It was wet and cool, and she helped him to wrap it around his head and shoulders, leaving a flap to pull over his mouth and nose. “Have a care!”
Her words followed him, even over the crackle and hiss of flame and the calls and shouts of bucket-passers, and for once he did not ask himself why he should have a care for his safety. Instead, he paused at what once was the door of the house, wrapped the wet cloth more tightly over his head, and pulled up a piece of it to cover his face.
He kicked out at the sagging door of the house, shoving it into an interior that was dim. Smoke did not billow out, which bespoke of the fact that mayhap the fire had not progressed as far as he’d feared. Gavin stepped inside gingerly, watching for fallen timbers and other pitfalls.
The house was little more than a hut, and it did not take much effort to scan the room with his gaze, even in the dimness of the interior. At first, he saw naught but the flames that licked the ceiling, kissing the walls and dropping an occasional tuft of fire onto the floor. Then, back in a corner, he saw a large, unfamiliar shape.
Stepping over a fallen beam, he skirted the edge of the building to avoid the fire in the center, and approached the lump. It was a piece of the wall, and had folded inward, collapsing onto a pallet, leaving an opening just next to the blaze outside.
With a grunt of triumph, Gavin stepped over a collapsed stool and, continuing to hold the cloth over his face, used one hand to push the wall up. It sagged, bowing in the center, but held together so that he lifted it up enough to see the two people it had covered. Though he could not tell if they yet lived, he dropped the cloth from his face to push the wall away, and it fell outside of the hut, landing against the next house that burned. The smoke suddenly speared into his nose and mouth, and Gavin found himself needing to duck near the floor. Fighting the cough that welled inside his lungs, he replaced the cloth over his nose and reached to grab the woman’s arm with his free hand.
He grasped her wrist, half lifting her off the floor, and slipped his arm around under both of her arms, then began to push his way toward the opening where the wall had collapsed. He was just reaching it when he realized the fire next door was too close for him to make it out safely, and he was forced to turn.
By now, the smoke was burning his eyes so that they were hardly tearing any longer and he could see little but blurred shapes. It was hot, and sweat made him and his grip slippery and clumsy. He took several steps toward the door before stumbling and nearly falling to his knees.
The thought came from nowhere, but came with a galvanizing strength, and Gavin felt a burst of energy beat back the fatigue he’d been feeling. He took two more steps toward the door, and was just about to reach for the edge of the opening when a loud crash filled the air. A sudden wave of smoke and flame buffeted toward him, and the last thing he saw was the roof tumbling toward him.
Eight
Fantin de Belgrume awoke with a smile on his face.
At last, his destiny was clear. He felt light and free and very sated, only part of which was due to the warm body that slumbered next to him.
The only disappointment, the only thing that kept him from being completely serene was the knowledge that Gavin Mal Verne still lived. The mere thought of the man caused Fantin’s insides to roil with anger and hatred—but the added knowledge that the evil man had Fantin’s own innocent daughter in his possession served to make him near mad with the bloodred fury that seemed to rear in him more oft as of late.
An obsession…mayhap Rufus spoke aright. In the dawning light of day, abovestairs and away from the beckoning power of his laboratory, Fantin could admit that his venom toward Mal Verne was perchance more of a distraction than it should be.
Did he indeed allow his need to annihilate Mal Verne sway him from his holy work? Aye, it could be true.
Yet, he could not allow the man to keep him from his purpose, and Mal Verne, should he have the chance, would destroy Fantin’s life and any opportunity to finish his work. ’Twas self-preservation, Fantin acknowledged as he trailed a finger along the sweeping curve of Retna’s spine.
As the woman next to him shifted, brushing against him in her sleep, Fantin could not help but recall the many times Mal Verne’s own Nicola had done the same. The woman’s body had been sleek and sensual, and she fancied herself in love with Fantin. He, in turn, had believed she was the woman God had provided him in the replacement of his dead wife Anne. Mayhap not as pure, but worthy to bed with Fantin and become one with him. After all, God had given the earthly pleasures of coupling to all humans, and, like his patron, The Whore Saint, Fantin did not deny himself that release.
It had been no hardship to avail himself of what Nicola, Lady Mal Verne, offered the first time he’d met her at court. Fantin had had merely to give her his measured, haunting look from the lute over which he labored with such melancholy, and to sing of beauteous maids and the perfection of the love bestowed upon them by their champions …and the woman had been lured in like a mule following a carrot.
Of course, being wed with a gruff, silent, stupid man such as Mal Verne should drive any woman to one with the charm and striking countenance that Fantin possessed, he reflected as his lips shifted in a self-satisfied smile. God had blessed him well, indeed, in making him attractive to both women and men…at the least, those of whom he
Retna opened her eyes, hazy with sleep, and allowed the blanket to shift nearly to her waist, baring herself to him. Fantin looked at her, the stirrings of lust returning to his nether regions, and considered whether he should make love with her once more before sending her to her fate in the laboratory.
’Twas a messy fate, but necessary.
This was, in fact, his weakness. The physical coupling with a woman—any woman—who did not bear the same purity that God had bestowed upon Fantin was the vice that he must battle, the cross he must bear, the temptation that he must set right. He knew he compromised his gift, his Purpose, by enjoying the flesh of whores and women who gave their bodies to any man who asked—true whores, or even the ladies of court, such as Nicola Mal Verne. She had not been the pure woman he’d believed, and that had caused Fantin much grief.
Yet, David had had his Bathsheba, and God still gifted him with his kingdom. Aye, David’d had his punishment, but Fantin did not fear that. So long as the Lord continued to show him the way to the formula for the Philosopher’s Stone, Fantin could manage any penance that might be foisted upon him.
If Anne had not perished… Ah, Anne, his wife, the one woman who possessed untouched innocence and was chosen as he was. The one woman worthy of his physical love.
Fantin had searched for one to replace her these ten summers past, and had never found one worthy of him. Nicola had been his greatest error, enslaving him with her whoring ways whilst causing him to believe she was innocent and pure.
Until he found the woman God meant for him, his transgressions would only be forgiven if he removed the temptation—the sluts, the whores—from his sight, from his life…from this world.
Only then—when he found perfection in a woman and needed to look no further—would he be forgiven his transgressions.
Madelyne heard the horrifying crash as the roof groaned and folded into the house where Mal Verne had disappeared. She shrieked and ran toward the collapsed building as smoke poured forth. Jube, who had shadowed her since she left her chamber, was right on her heels, shouting for Clem and Arden to assist. He pushed her to one side, giving her a curt command to stay there, as he approached the rickety structure.
She stood there obediently, gnawing on her fist, watching the three men dash toward the building. A small crowd of women and children, led by the woman who had alerted Mal Verne to the missing people, clustered behind Madelyne.
Jube, followed by Clem and then Arden, stooped and gingerly pushed through the entrance to the house. They disappeared into the smoke.
