Cassiopeia looked to Jordan, beseechingly. “Would you go with me to talk to her? Do you think she would be receptive?”
Jordan’s gaze was on her cousin. She stood there for a moment before shaking her head. “I willna speak tae her,” she said, turning to look at Cassiopeia. “But I will go with ye tae Northwood tae speak with yer father. If there’s any courting tae be done, it must come from him. If he refuses, then I willna push. But I feel as if we must try.”
Cassiopeia liked that idea. She felt some hope for her father, even if the companion they were suggesting was the woman he called Banshee. Perhaps William had a point, but Cassiopeia wouldn’t give up where her father was concerned. But as she nodded eagerly, William stood up from his chair.
“I am putting a stop to this before it gets out of hand,” he said. “Jordan, it is ridiculous to even think of matching Paris and Jemma. They will kill each other before our very eyes!”
Jordan acted as if she hadn’t heard him. “We’ll leave Edward here with the children,” she said to Cassiopeia. “Ye can go with me, English, or ye can stay. ’Tis all the same tae me.”
As she departed the solar with Cassiopeia, making plans, William and Edward stood there in stunned silence. Edward finally looked to his father.
“Do you think Uncle Paris will want a Viking funeral when Aunt Jemma is finished with him?” he asked. “We can put him in a boat and launch it out over the River Tweed and set it on fire.”
There was humor in Edward’s words, but William scowled. “Oh, shut up,” he said. “This is serious, Edward. Do you realize what is going to happen?”
Edward nodded. “Aye. And I cannot watch.”
William shook his head, rolling his one good eye. “Your mother is going to go and talk to Paris about this… this idiocy,” he said. “And that will put me right in the middle of it. I can feel it.”
“Then you had better become accustomed to the idea, Papa,” Edward said. “Mother will not back down if she feels she’s right. She said that she has been thinking on this for a while. If she feels strongly about this, she is going to go to Uncle Paris and tell him that he must court Aunt Jemma.”
William shook himself, as if a tremor had just run through him. “God, that sounds unappetizing to the ear,” he said. “Paris and Jemma. It’s madness.”
Edward made his way over to his father, a smile playing on his lips. “As someone who makes his living with diplomacy, do you want me to go and negotiate this situation?”
William looked at him sharply. Then, he started laughing. “Why? Paris will become just as irate at you as he will at me. You cannot save this with your silver tongue, Edward.”
“I can work him into a frenzy and then use you as a sacrifice for his anger when he goes for my throat.”
William could see that Edward, once the shock of the suggestion was over, was having a little fun with this idea because, truthfully, it was laughable. He cocked a dark eyebrow.
“You are not too big to beat,” he said. “This is no laughing matter.”
Edward forced himself to sober because he could see his father was taking no joy in the situation.
“Nay, it is not,” he said. “At least, Uncle Paris’ loneliness is no laughing matter. Papa, you know it has been bad with him for a while. Why did you not do something?”
That seemed to take some of the wind out of William. He was back to sitting, plopping into his chair as he contemplated his son’s question.
Why didn’t he do something?
He didn’t seem to have an answer.
“I have been to Northwood at least once a month to visit with him,” he said. “Lord Adam, the Earl of Teviot, spends a good deal of time with Paris, as does Hector and the grandchildren. He is never really alone.”
Edward could see the denial in his father’s features. “Papa, even if he is not alone, he is lonely,” he said quietly. “You still have Mother. She will be here long after you are gone, so you will never know the kind of loneliness that Aunt Jemma and Uncle Paris know. Can you not put yourself in Uncle Paris’ shoes?”
William looked away. “I do not want to,” he said. “For your mother to be gone… it would kill me, Eddie. I could not and would not continue living.”
“Then you can imagine what Uncle Paris is feeling.
William looked at him. “I am going to say something harsh here, so prepare yourself,” he said. “Paris and Caladora’s story was not one of great love. Certainly, they loved one another, but it was not like your mother and me. What we have transcends this life. It will never end. What Caladora and Paris had was strong enough, but she was not his only love. Your mother has always been only mine.”
Edward lifted his eyebrows. “I will not tell Cassie what you have said,” he said. “But I understand your meaning. And mayhap that makes Mother’s suggestion that much more vital – mayhap it would be a good idea for Paris to find companionship with Aunt Jemma now. They share so much history together. Why not share it with each other?”
William sighed sharply, but at least he didn’t argue. He actually seemed to be considering it. After a moment, he lifted his big shoulders.
“I still think this is a foolish idea, but your mother seems determined,” he said. “You will remain here until I return from Northwood with your wife and mother. Hopefully Paris will return with us, but if not…”
“If not, nothing ventured – nothing gained. The worst Uncle Paris can do is say no.”
William started laughing. “Oh, he can do much worse than that,” he said. “I am taking full armor with me because when I bring this up to him, I am going to have to defend myself.”
Edward’s lips twitched. “Mother will stop him.”
William simply nodded. Wearily, he stood one more time, facing his son and thinking this entire situation was lunacy but refraining from commenting again. No matter what he thought, Jordan and Cassiopeia were going through with it. Grunting, he turned away from his son.
“Christ,” he muttered. “What we do for these women we’ve married.”
With a grin on his face, Edward watched his father go. What he said was the truth, but on the other hand, he didn’t entirely disagree with Cassiopeia any longer. He knew she was concerned for her father. In the same circumstances, Edward would be equally concerned for his.
Therefore, he couldn’t fault her.
But he had to wonder if his father was going to come away missing teeth.
CHAPTER TWO
Northwood Castle
It was autumn.
The trees were starting to change colors along the River Tweed, that great and mighty river that ran through a good portion of Northumberland along the Scottish border. It was the line between the Angles and the Scots, and all along the riverbank at this time of year were little white flowers, or blue, or sometimes pink. He didn’t know the names of them, only that they had delighted his wife on these shortened days heading into winter. She would drag her granddaughters and servants out into the foliage to pick them, only to have her husband scold her for being exposed to the Scots across the river.
He missed those days.
Paris de Norville stood on the riverbank, outside of the walls of the great bastion of Northwood Castle, and watched the river gently flow. It was deceiving; the River Tweed could be deadly, as it had proven many a time over the years that Paris had lived at Northwood.
The beauty was deadly.
But he was standing here because it was a place of comfort for him. Even now, there were grandchildren running around him, chasing each other and playing before the sun set too low in the sky. There was a stone bench not too far to his right, facing the river, a bench he had put there himself. He couldn’t bring himself to sit on it, however, because that was where his wife used to sit.
Caladora.
He’d lost her a little over two years ago. A cancer, the doctors had said, but she’d managed to live another eight years from the time of her initial diagnosis. The last eight years had been difficult, watchi
ng his wife slowly waste away, but Caladora had been strong. She’d hung on longer than the physics thought she would and when she’d finally passed, it had been very peaceful. She went to bed one night and simply didn’t wake up in the morning.
That had been the beginning of Paris’ end.
At first, he’d been strong, or at least he tried to be. Caladora had been buried in Scotland with her family because it was what she wanted and Paris had portrayed the strong but grieving widower because his children and grandchildren were so devastated over Caladora’s death.
But the truth was that he was hollow inside. He missed her so much that it was a physical pain. He’d lost two of his three daughters twenty-three years earlier along with four of his grandchildren. He missed them, too, though the grief had faded over the years. But the pain from all of that loss had caught up to him when Caladora passed on.
The grief was too much to bear.
He’d fought that pain for the first year well enough, but this past year the pain had only grown worse. He’d taken to drinking to ease it, late at night when no one could see him, but it was at the point where it was taking more and more drink to ease that pain.
He was tired of the pain.
And that was why he was standing at the riverbank.
Paris had decided to end his pain once and for all. It had been a rash decision, not one he’d been planning for months and months. The idea had simply come to him. He couldn’t swim, so walking out into the river until he could no longer stand assured him a cold, watery death. He simply couldn’t think of anything else to do. He didn’t want to sully his sword with coward’s blood when he ran it through his belly, and he didn’t want his children finding his cold, dead body. He didn’t want his family shamed by a great knight taking his own life.
It would be easier for them if they thought the man they knew as Bonny simply fell into the river and drown.
Therefore, this was to be his last day on earth. He’d already reconciled himself to that. He found himself looking up at the sky, taking in his last look of that pure blue color. He inhaled the air, feeling it fill his lungs for one of the very last times. But more than the sky and the air, he wanted to be with his grandchildren in his final moments.
He watched them play around him – Hector’s children Lisbet, Adele, and little Aline, all of them with Caladora’s pale red hair. The baby, Lesander, was two years old and a holy terror. Paris grinned as Lisbet, a delicate flower at fourteen years, chased the baby around while her two younger sisters looped together flower garlands.
He was going to miss watching Lesander grow up.
Then, there were Adonis’ children, all of them quite young and being tended to by Adonis’ wife, Wesleigh, as she tried to coax them into coming with her and heading back to the keep. Her oldest was only five years of age, beautiful Angelia, but there was a set of twin boys, Talos and Paris, who were four years of age, and then the baby, Ajax, who had just learned to walk. Paris watched the group with a smile on his face, thinking that herding this many small children was much like trying to herd a swarm of bees. They were darting everywhere.
And he was going to miss all of them.
Caladora never got to see Lesander or Ajax and he looked forward to telling her about her newest grandsons. He had just seen Cassiopeia’s children, as they had recently come to visit him, so he was satisfied in that he’d seen all of his grandchildren before he departed this earth.
All except Hector’s eldest boys, Atreus and Hermes, arrogant and troublemaking lads who would make their marks on the world; Paris was sure of it. In fact, in his possessions in his chamber, he’d left the boys missives telling him how proud he was of them. He had a special place in his heart for lads who were exactly like he had been at their age.
They would get along well in life.
Wesleigh managed to capture her own children, encouraging Lisbet and Adele to do the same with their young siblings. With the children all heading towards the great walls of Northwood Castle as night prepared to descend, Paris stood there and watched them go, waving to little Lesander when he saw his Bonny and wanted to go to him. Lisbet held her brother firm, taking him away, as the smile on Paris’ face faded.
“Are you coming, Bonny?” Lisbet called to him.
“In a moment,” he told her. “Go inside, now. It will be dark soon.”
Lisbet didn’t question him. Her grandfather, known as Bonny because his first grandchildren couldn’t pronounce the much grander name he had chosen for himself – Bon Père – often stood on the riverbank and watched the waters flow by. Sometimes he even fished in those waters, if there was no imminent threat from the Scots. Therefore, it wasn’t anything unusual to leave him standing there.
And Paris was counting on that, but when the children were all gone, he took a deep breath and headed for the river.
He was going to miss these days. He was going to miss his family. But most of all, he was going to miss his dearest and oldest friend in the entire world. He felt like a coward for not at least telling the man farewell, or leaving some kind of note to him, but he wanted William to think what everyone else would think – that Paris simply fell into the river and drowned.
Thinking on William made him feel sick to his stomach. He could feel the tears rising. There had been three friends in their tightly-knit group of knights – William de Wolfe, Paris de Norville, and Kieran Hage. Kieran had died four years ago and William had been devastated. Paris knew what his death was going to do to William, but he was selfish. Selfish that he was more concerned with ridding himself of his shattering pain than what it would do to William.
God help the man, he would be the last one left.
Tears began to form in Paris’ eyes, rolling down his face. Gut-wrenching pain twisted his insides into knots. He would miss everything about this life, but he’d lived too long. It was time for him to move on to the next adventure.
At least, he kept telling himself that. But as he drew closer to the river, flashes of his life passed before his eyes – fostering with William de Wolfe and Kieran Hage at Kenilworth Castle. So many adventures that the three of them shared. Then, his time at Northwood Castle. He’d been here for so long that it was his home even though it didn’t belong to him; it belonged to the Earls of Teviot.
In fact, Paris never had a home to call his own. He always lived in someone else’s. He never had properties or a title, things that his older brother had inherited when their father had passed away. He’d never inherited a thing. In that respect, he was a failure. He felt like a failure.
He’d spent his life as someone else’s servant.
He hoped his children weren’t ashamed of him because of it.
The river was very close now. Another few steps and he would be in it. The rains had come early this year, heavy rains soaking the entire north of England and Southern Scotland, and the rivers were beyond capacity. The River Tweed wasn’t usually a river with heavy currents or wild rapids, but at the moment, it was.
Once he submerged himself, he wouldn’t have a chance.
Tears were blinding him. He knew this was cowardly, but he didn’t care. He just wanted the pain to stop. He wanted the loneliness to end. Plunging into the icy water, he was up to his waist in little time. This was how he was going to go, covered with freezing water. He wondered if it was going to be painful when it filled his lungs. He took another few steps and the rushing current swept his legs out from under him.
Under he went.
But it wasn’t peaceful in the water like he thought it would be. It was noisy. Water went up his nose and into his ears, causing him excruciating pain. It hurt like hell and his chest was starting to burn from lack of air, but it would be over soon. That thought kept him from panicking because there was a small part of him that wanted to save himself.
But not enough.
The pain, the cold, was enveloping him. He tried to force himself to go limp, to stop fighting the water. The burning in his chest was increasing,
demanding he take a breath, but he resisted. He couldn’t quite do it yet. He started to see spots before his eyes.
This is how everything ends, he thought. It’s almost over.
At least, that’s what he thought. Just as everything was fading to black and he opened his mouth to suck in water, someone grabbed him by the arm.
CHAPTER THREE
“Grab him!”
William was thigh deep in a raging river, holding on to Hector, who had just dived in to save his father before the man could slip further downstream. He had Hector by the foot, but as he held tight, several more knights joined him. More young men were jumping in to grab hold of Hector and Paris as they extricated both of them from the swollen River Tweed.
William, realizing that he probably wasn’t doing any good at this point, stumbled out of the freezing water. Jordan and Cassiopeia were on the riverbank, watching the entire scene, and Cassiopeia was sobbing. Jordan was trying to comfort the poor woman, but she left her long enough to go to William, who was staggering out of the freezing water.
“English!” she gasped, grabbing hold of her husband to steady him. “Are ye well?”
William nodded. “I’m fine,” he said, his gaze on Paris’ limp body as Hector carried the man out of the water. “But Paris…”
Jordan nodded, watching Hector come onto the banks with his father dangling in his arms. “I know,” she said quietly.
“Jordan, he walked into that water,” William hissed.
“I know.”
“We saw him!”
“We did.”
William was beside himself. Now that the shock of watching Paris walk into the river had taken hold, he rushed over to the man, draped over his son’s broad shoulder, and slapped him across the face as hard as he could.
“Paris!” he shouted. “Paris, open your eyes and look at me!”
But Paris was unconscious. Hector lay the man down, onto his belly, and began to shove at his ribcage, trying to clear the water from his lungs. William was on his knees at Paris’ head.
The Best Is Yet To Be Page 3