The Wild Baron (Baron 1)

“Why ever not? He is so very pretty and even though he doesn’t care for ladies, he does seem efficient. You certainly cannot fault his admiration and affection for the bishop.”

“Well, it’s not quite that simple,” Rohan said, took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles.

“Why don’t you offer him a position, Phillip?” Susannah said after she managed to look away from her husband’s beautiful eyes and his even more beautiful mouth, a mouth she seemed to be staring at more and more often of late. She’d never imagined that she could feel about a man the way she was coming to feel about him. And the way he made her feel when he touched her, when he came inside her. A window had been opened and she had flown through it. She never wanted that window to close. She didn’t ever want to leave her husband. Despite his reputation, she knew he was hers, that he would always be hers. As for herself, Susannah had no choice in the matter. She brought her thoughts away from her husband’s mouth that she wanted to kiss until they were both breathless.

“Well, Susannah, it’s like this,” Phillip began, looked for a long, very helpless moment into her lovely, innocent face, and groaned. “I can’t.”

“Susannah,” Rohan said. “I am your husband. You will trust me that Roland, as loyal and affectionate as he is, would not fit in well in the Dinwitty household.”

“All right,” she said slowly, her head cocked to one side in question. “I will get this mystery solved when I have you alone, Rohan.” She leaned against him, kissed his ear, and whispered, “You will tell me anything once I have you at my mercy.”

It was her husband’s turn to moan.

“I feel another bout of jealousy coming on,” Phillip said. “To distract myself, I will look out the window to be certain no one is following us.”

They were back at Dinwitty Manor within the hour. It was raining hard by the time the carriage rolled into the long drive, the sky a dirty gray by three o’clock in the afternoon. But it didn’t matter. Their excitement would have carried them through a flood.

“Damn,” Phillip said as they went into his study. “I wish we had the other half of the map.”

“Well, we do, sort of,” Susannah said. She grinned at her husband. “I had planned to surprise you. Now is the perfect time, don’t you think? I copied the other half of the map. Unfortunately I couldn’t very well copy the gold key. I have the half I drew upstairs. I’ll be back in a trice.”

“I’m going to throttle you, Susannah,” Rohan shouted after her. “She copied it. I should have known.” He added to Phillip, “She’s an excellent artist.”

“You married a very smart lady, Rohan,” Phillip said as he handed his friend a snifter of brandy. “I wonder when you will tell her the truth?”

“In my own good time. A man of my reputation never rushes things. That’s one thing I have learned well over my profligate years on this earth.”

Phillip was laughing when Susannah came dashing back into the room, out of breath. “Here it is! Look at what I’ve done. See here, I wanted to make certain that the proportions were as close as possible to the original and that’s why it’s so small.”

Because she had the most delicate touch, Susannah carefully fitted the two halves together, smoothing them down so they wouldn’t bend. They weren’t an exact fit, but they were close enough. “Look,” she said, stepping back. “It’s Scotland, all right. Here’s a town called Dunkeld—the ‘DU’ is on one side of the map and the rest is on the other, so you couldn’t tell what it was without the entire map. And look at this tiny drawing of a church spire. Half of it is on one side of

the map and the other half is on the other part of the map. Again, without both parts put together, it was impossible to tell that it was a church. Do you think the treasure, or whatever it is, is inside this church?”

“It seems likely,” Phillip said as Rohan began to read from the flimsy cloth book. “This seems to be a rambling diatribe on the quest for power and immortality—nothing specific, just how good is lost to mankind, but evil flourishes and is real and dangerous. It speaks of the Devil’s Vessel, and here’s a reference to something like Pure Flame, whatever that means. Ah, here we are. ‘Pure Flame’ refers to Hildebrand. He is called here the cardinal subdeacon, the administrator of the Papal States under many popes, the one guarding the vessel from thieves and greedy men.” Rohan fell silent, reading the following lines to himself. Then he said, “Hildebrand was evidently the pillar of sanity in the chaotic years of the different popes’ reigns, the power behind the throne. It was he who urged Pope Leo IX to give it into the keeping of Macbeth of Scotland—a man of worth and honor, a man to be trusted. The writer says that danger was too close and Hildebrand did not believe he could keep the vessel safe. He feared for the pope’s life. He feared for the safety of mankind if the vessel fell into the wrong hands. Thus, the pope placed it in a reliquary and gave it to Macbeth, adjuring him to keep it hidden for it can be neither destroyed nor freed.” Rohan looked up. “Those final words were set off—‘for it can be neither destroyed nor freed.” ’ He shook his head. “This is all very strange. Those words make it sound like it’s alive.”

“What is a reliquary?” Susannah asked, wishing she could read Latin, for there were several more faded lines in that cloth book.

Phillip said without looking up from the map, “A reliquary is a small chest or box that holds relics. They’re usually carried from one holy place to another so worshipers can be impressed.”

Rohan turned the fragile last page. “Look, here’s a drawing of a reliquary, evidently the one Pope Leo IX gave to Macbeth.” The lines were crude, wavering, but the outline of the cask was clear. It was impossible to tell if it was wood or silver or gold. It was a rectangular cask whose sides sloped up, like the sloping roof of a house. The sides appeared to be smooth. There was a long bar across the top of the box that had small circular handles at each end.

Phillip said. “This reliquary—it must hold the Devil’s Vessel. Macbeth must have seen that it was hidden somewhere in this cathedral in Dunkeld. Those final words—‘it can be neither destroyed nor freed’—that sounds apocryphal.”

“It sounds evil,” Susannah said, shivering. “I wonder what could have frightened the pope and this Hildebrand so much that they gave this Devil’s Vessel in trust to Macbeth? I suppose that someone must have discovered its existence. Perhaps like Tibolt, this person believed he could control the world if he had this—whatever it is.”

Rohan was nodding. “Yes, that seems likely. Tibolt said he would rule wherever he wished to rule. He would have ultimate domination. He would be as a god.”

“What the devil is this thing?” Phillip said, smacking his fist down on the mantelpiece. A Dresden shepherdess teetered for a moment until he righted it.

Susannah said, “Don’t forget that Tibolt also mentioned ‘those old fools protecting the secret.’ The ring Tibolt was wearing, the ring that obviously Bishop Roundtree was wearing before his death—it has to be some sort of secret society, one founded a very long time ago to keep the Devil’s Vessel hidden.”

Rohan sighed. “And Tibolt is a member of this society. Bishop Roundtree was the leader. He suspected danger. He couldn’t have suspected Tibolt or he would hardly have given George half the map. He kept the other half. He must have been murdered for the other half, but the murderer didn’t find his hiding place.”

“Tibolt,” Susannah said and shuddered. “I hope it wasn’t Tibolt who killed the bishop.”

“I agree,” Rohan said, “but it doesn’t look good.”

“Who else is a member, if there are more members?” Phillip asked.