Page 65 of Warrior’s Lady

Violet frowned at the man as she held her hand to Rhiannon. "May I have the Stone?"

Rhiannon bolted to her side. "Lady Violet, no!" She grabbed the little girl's hand and partially carried, partially dragged her up the stairs. The bishop only had hearsay to accuse Violet of witchcraft. He needed no direct proof. "Orrin, get rid of this man before he does something horrible to us all."

"Aye, milady."

She could hear Orrin and the other warriors escorting the bishop out from the chamber as she raced up the stairs with Violet in her arms.

"You can't harm me," the bishop's voice floated up the stairs.

"I would damn my immortal soul for a chance to do so," Orrin ground out.

"Do it and you'll regret it. If word of my demise gets to the Church council, you'll be a man with a bounty on his head."

"You ever come back here again and I will kill you," she heard Orrin say before the rest of the conversation faded away.

The bishop wasn't going to win. She wouldn't let him win, spies or no spies. The bishop might be a powerful man, but nothing he could do to any of them would be as horrific as what he'd already put all of them through.

Could it?

Later that evening, Bishop Berwick stood in the doorway of his mother's bedchamber and rubbed the egg-sized lump at his temple. Damn the Ruthven girl. No one assaulted his person and lived.

He pushed his anger aside as his focus shifted to the woman lying in the bed. The yellow candlelight in the room cast an eerie glow across his mother's sunken features. Death would claim her if something drastic didn't happen soon.

When prayer had failed him, he'd turned to other things — terrible things, he knew. But what else was a devoted son to do? He'd tried everything he could think of to get that Stone away from the Lockharts.

"How is she?" he asked the young maid at his mother's bedside.

"I had to give her juice of the poppy. It was the only thing that quieted her. Should I try to wake her? Would you like to sit with her for a while?"

"Nay," he said with more force than he had intended. In an effort to block the scent of her decaying flesh, he brought a square of linen up to cover his nose and mouth. "I've paid you handsomely to see to her needs." He turned away, not wanting to stay in the presence of death any longer than necessary.

What would it take to get that healing stone away from the Lockharts? He had truly despaired at ever possessing the Stone until he'd seen his spy lying on the floor in the great hall. Perhaps divine intervention would serve him yet. The bishop allowed himself and indulgent smile. The scoundrel may have survived the stabbing and drowning, but Rhys's illness appeared to be the same that wracked his own mother's soul. Perhaps this was God's ultimate revenge. Perhaps the sickness would spread to Lockhart Castle. And then they would have no choice but to bring the Stone out of hiding.

With the Stone, he could cure his mother. Just like a goldsmith needed fire to separate the base metal from the pure gold, he needed that Stone to help purify the souls of his flock. A man of miracles would be the only choice for the next Archbishop of Glasgow.

There was one more thing he could do to sway Camden Lockhart to do his bidding. He hurried to the elaborate desk in his chambers and pulled out a clean sheet of linen.

The Church council had not arrived at his earlier summons. This time they would come. They would want to know about the act of witchcraft performed by Lady Violet Lockhart. The girl was only a child. His hand paused above the paper before writing the word witchcraft, but his thoughts drifted back to his mother and he knew what he had to do. Through means fair or foul, he would see that the Charm Stone came to him.

After writing the message, he sealed it with a waxed impression of his insignia ring. His clerk would see to the delivery.

Within a matter of days, all hell would break loose over the Lockhart clan. The thought brought a smile of utter satisfaction to the bishop's lips.