“First of all, I’m Jewish. Second of all, screw you!”
Tommy stood under the spray, his face hotter than the steam.
Okay, now I really do want to die.
Elizabeth headed back to Rhun’s room, resting a palm over her concealed phone. Anger flared inside her, but she banked it. When the time came to rescue Tommy, she must act with icy clarity. Emotion had no place until then.
She intended to confront the cardinal, but first she wanted to check on Rhun.
As she entered, she smoothed her skirt and adjusted her sleeves. She found Friar Patrick kneeling next to Rhun’s bed, holding his hand.
The friar raised his head and beckoned her forward. “He still rests.”
Stepping to the bed, she studied Rhun’s face, relaxed in sleep. He looked much as he always had, untouched by the many years and tragedies that had made up his long life. Would that he had lived the life of an ordinary priest, dying with only a single lifetime of cares at the end. He did not deserve the fate that had been thrust upon him.
“I’m sure he’ll rouse soon,” Patrick continued. “The prompt care in the field saved his life.”
She pictured Erin painting her blood over his wounds. As frail and mortal as she was, the archaeologist had saved him.
“You may sit and pray with me if you like,” the friar offered.
She wanted to stay, but she glanced back at the wooden door. “I must speak with Cardinal Bernard first.”
“I heard the others are meeting with him soon.”
This she had not heard.
Anger built inside her, knowing what that villain had done with the ailing boy, turning him into a pawn.
She backed out of the room, then hurried down to the end of the corridor. A trio of unfamiliar Sanguinists — two men and a woman — guarded this section of the residence. But was it to protect Rhun or keep her in place?
She spoke to the woman, an African, with skin darker than Elizabeth had ever seen. “I must speak to Cardinal Bernard. I have information vital to the security of the order.”
The woman’s round eyes studied Elizabeth. “Access to the prisoner is restricted. Only his personal aide, Father Gregory, is permitted to speak to him, to attend to the cardinal’s requests. I could give such a message to Father Gregory to pass on.”
“I must speak with the cardinal myself.”
The other’s lips pinched. “Given his crimes against you, I’m afraid that is forbidden.”
Elizabeth kept her voice soft, as meek as she could manage. “But I understand that my companions are scheduled to meet with him this morning. Surely, I may address him in the company of others?”
“The edict was firm.” The nun’s expression turned sterner. “As the victim in the charges against him, you are not to be allowed to see him under any circumstances.”
“Then it appears I must permit my companions to pass on that information themselves.” Elizabeth gave a small bow of her head, hiding her fury, and walked slowly back to her cell.
Once alone in her room, she slammed a palm against the brick wall.
I will make you pay for taking Tommy, Bernard… even if I have to destroy everything you hold dear.
A knock on the door drew her attention back around. Friar Patrick called through the stout planks, his voice stoked with happiness.
“Rhun… he wakes!”
25
Rhun struggled through a fog of pain and blood. He smelled wine, incense. He heard excited voices, naggingly familiar. His vision swam, then slowly settled to reveal a small room, lit by candlelight.
Where am I…?
He tried to raise his head, but that only set the world to spinning even faster. Cold hands touched his forehead, encouraging him to lie back down.
“It’s okay, Rhun, my son. Not too fast.”
He focused on the gently smiling face, recognizing the friar.
“Patrick…”
“That’s right.” The friar turned enough to reveal someone bent behind him.
“You’re finally awake, I see,” Elizabeth said sternly, but her eyes shone with clear relief.
“I am.”
He barely recognized his voice. It was deep and hoarse, the voice of another man, a weaker one. He tried to sit up, but he fell back as pain flared up along his left side. He gritted his teeth against it, reaching to massage the source — only to find nothing there. He turned to see.
My arm is gone.
The shock returned a kaleidoscope of memories: the bell shattering atop him, Erin pulling him to safety, fire and smoke closing in on them both.
That was as much as he recalled.
“What happened?” Rhun gasped out. “How are we in Castel Gandolfo? Why are we—?”
Elizabeth sank to a stool and took his right hand. He gripped her fingers, and she, in turn, squeezed reassurance.
He took several breaths, steadying himself. “How long have I been out?”
“Just the night.” Elizabeth slowly explained all that had transpired, telling him what they had learned from John Dee’s papers, and how they connected him to Cardinal Bernard. “That’s why we’re here. To find out what he knows. But you, the famous Knight of Christ, need to rest.”
She smiled at him.
He turned his head and studied the bandaged stump of his limb. “I remember…”
He let his voice die away, recalling a vague vision of writhing in pleasure, of hot fingers, steeped in blood, gripping him, bringing him to the height of rapture.
He stared up at Elizabeth. “Erin.”
A wounded look shadowed her eyes. “Yes, it was the archaeologist who saved you. Used her blood to draw you back from the brink of death.”
Patrick touched Elizabeth on the shoulder. “But it was you, my dear sister, who never left his side all night, tending to his wounds, ministering Christ’s blood through his lips.”
Rhun touched Elizabeth’s knee. “Thank you.”
She dismissed his gratitude with a toss of her head. “Erin and Jordan are scheduled to meet with Bernard this morning.”
“When?”
Elizabeth glanced to Patrick, who checked his watch.
“In another twenty minutes or so,” he said.
“I should be there.” Rhun used his remaining arm to push himself up. Agony flared, but he withstood it this time. “Where are my clothes?”
“I do not believe that is wise,” Patrick said.
“Wise or not, I must go.”
Recognizing his determination, Patrick slid an arm around his shoulders. The friar glanced to Elizabeth as Rhun’s blanket slid down, exposing his naked state. “Perhaps, Sister, you should leave him to me for the moment.”
Elizabeth turned to the pile of clothes, picked up a folded pair of trousers, and shook them out. “Not to be immodest, but who has been cleaning his wounds all night? I am not so faint a woman as to go weak at the sight of a naked man.”
Patrick lowered his face, hiding a grin. “As you wish.” The friar helped Rhun stand. “Go slowly.”
It was sage advice. The room swayed as he attempted a few steps, but after several tries, he could soon stand on his own and move with little assistance. Still, he needed help dressing, especially with only one arm.
Once finished, Elizabeth knotted his loose sleeve and tucked it into his belt. She eyed him up and down. “You’ve looked better, Rhun.”
“I’ve felt better.”
Patrick took him by the elbow, helping steady him toward the door. “I’ll go with you, take you to where they are holding Cardinal Bernard.”
Rhun glanced to Elizabeth. “Are you coming?”