Dane kissed her hands, feeling emotional about the reunion with his beloved mother. Her pride meant everything to him, and he didn’t realize until this very moment how much he’d missed her. Until Gaston had come into her life those years ago, it had always been just Dane and his mother for the most part, but her sisters had also been part of that equation. They had lived together at Mt. Holyoak Castle in Yorkshire, a property that still belonged to Gaston, but one Dane hadn’t seen in years. He had been born there. But it wasn’t his home.
Deverill was.
“I love you, too,” he said. “I have missed you so much. I have missed Father, too. Is… is he awake that I might at least greet him?”
Remington tried to smile but she couldn’t quite manage it. “He has gone to sleep,” she said. “The physic has given him poppy powder for the pain in his throat, and it always makes him sleep. You will see him in the morning. I know he wants to see you very much.”
Looking into her eyes, Dane could see the agony there. Gaston was her whole world. Certainly, the woman had children and grandchildren, but those did not replace a husband, and Gaston and Remington were closer than most. They had a relationship that men could only dream of, and as worried as Dane was about his father’s health, he knew his mother was far more worried. Dane couldn’t help feeling even more worried as he looked at her.
“Trenton says he is not eating these days,” he said. “How is he, Mother? Please be truthful.”
Remington swallowed hard; Dane saw it. Then, she forced a smile and reached out to Trenton, who was still standing next to Dane. She held both of their hands, her gaze moving back and forth between them.
“When I met your father, God only knows, I was terrified of him,” she said. “Do you recall, Dane? The first time you met him was at the base of Mt. Holyoak Castle, when he was returning from a trip. I do not even recall what it was. But I do recall the look on your face when you first saw him. Do you?”
Dane nodded, a smile playing on his lips even though there was a lump in his throat. “I do,” he said hoarsely. “I had never seen such a frightening man.”
Remington’s smile grew. “Your aunts were terrified of him, also,” she said. “I cannot count the times your Aunt Jasmine fainted at the sight of him and your Aunt Skye would cower. Only Aunt Rory showed no fear of him. Whether or not that was smart, I do not know, but she showed no fear. Gaston always respected her for that, although he would not admit it. Her death those years ago in the ambush that took her life hit him harder than he cared to realize, almost as hard as Arik’s death hit him.”
Dane remembered that incident, years ago, when his sixteen-year-old aunt, Rory, was caught in an ambush perpetrated by Gaston’s enemies. Also killed in the ambush had been Gaston’s dear friend and right-hand man, Arik Helgeson. Dane’s sister, Arica, had been named for the tall Northman as a way of keeping his memory alive.
“I remember,” Dane said. “That was a very terrible time for us all.”
Remington nodded, her smile fading as she thought on her long-dead sister with the flaming red hair.
“Please do not tell your father what I am about to tell you,” she said as her eyes began to glimmer with tears. “I can tell the two of you, but I would not tell him because I do not want him to fret. I know your father will die before I will. I know he will leave me behind. But the only thing that gives me comfort is knowing that Rory and Arik will be waiting for him when he crosses over. He will close his eyes and go to sleep, and when he awakens, Rory and Arik will be there to greet him, keeping him company until I can join him. Although I do not want to lose him, at least I know he will not be alone. I am at peace because of it, and when Gaston takes his last breath, he will hear my voice in his ear, telling him that he has my permission to go.”
Tears spilled over in Dane’s eyes and he lowered his head, quickly wiping them away. Trenton was less discreet; he didn’t even lower his head. He simply wiped at his eyes. But Remington wasn’t crying. She watched her eldest boys, two of the most powerful men in the realm. But to her, they would always be those little boys who liked to get into trouble. And they were boys who loved their father very much.
Taking a deep breath to fight off the solemn mood, Remington squeezed Trenton’s hand and kissed Dane on the cheek.
“Now,” she said firmly. “Let us not reflect on sorrow this night. All of my children are here and I want to rejoice. And your wife, Dane? I’ve not even met the lovely Grier yet. I am so anxious to know her.”
Dane forced a smile, but it was difficult. His mother’s words had him shaken but he fought it. Taking her by the hand, he led her over to the hearth where the women and children were gathered, and where Grier still had Trenton’s baby in her lap. But a touch to the shoulder from Dane caused Grier to look up, seeing a woman at his side who looked a good deal like him.
And with that, Grier handed the baby back to Lysabel and met her mother-in-law for the very first time. She was greeted sweetly and gently, and already, there was love and approval in the air. Within two minutes, Grier felt as if she’d known Remington all her life.
It was magic.
While Grier and Dane and Remington became acquainted, and the de Russe family gathered in the hall for a night of celebration and reflection, a visitor in an off-white cloak made his way into the gatehouse of Deverill.
He’d come all the way from the village, walking in the snow. Once he entered the gatehouse, he was directed by the sentries to the great hall where other travelers had stopped to wait out the freezing weather. Deverill never turned away travelers in search of shelter, and especially not on Christmas Eve, so the man thanked the guards at the gatehouse and made his way to the great hall to wait out the storm that was gathering overhead.
At least, that was what the guards at the gatehouse thought.
Because of his pale cloak against the snowy bailey, the guards failed to see the man as he moved for the keep, which was open this time of night as servants moved through not only the front entrance, but also through the smaller rear entrance, which would be left open most of the night so the servants and guards could come in out of the bad weather.
The visitor in the white cloak moved easily towards the small rear entrance to the keep, disappearing before anyone ever saw him.
Overhead, the clouds began to gather, but the bright and shining star remained strong.
Part Three:
The Stranger
Gaston wasn’t asleep.
He should have been, and he knew his wife had give him a poppy powder prescribed by the physic, but he was fighting it. He knew that Dane had arrived because he could see the remnants of the Shrewsbury escort in the bailey down below. That was both the curse and the advantage of having windows that faced out over the bailey; he could see everything that was going on.
And that had him restless.
Even so, he was exhausted to the bone, which was ironic consider he didn’t do anything these days. He stayed to his chamber, he drank the warm milk his wife gave him and ate the pea soup with bits of pork fat in it that he liked. He pretended to be more invalid than he really was because it kept Remington with him longer, tending to his every need, and then he felt guilty because he could see the grave concern in her eyes.
But the truth was that he was concerned, too.
Whatever was tearing up his throat had moved into his lungs; he could feel it. He’d very nearly lost his voice and there were times when he coughed so hard that blood came up. The physic told him that was because the cancer had moved into his lungs, but Gaston swore the physic to secrecy on that. He didn’t want Remington knowing that because she had enough to worry over. Sometime soon, he was going to leave her with only his memory to keep her warm, and that was tearing him apart. He didn’t want to leave her and, these days, she had enough to worry over.
Which was why he didn’t go running downstairs to see Dane. As if he could actually run. He hadn’t run in months; probably years. He knew the moment he went to
the hall, Remington would be stricken with worry, and he didn’t want to cause her any undue grief. But he very much wanted to see Dane, and his other children, and his grandchildren.
There were times when Remington would forbid the grandchildren entry into his chamber because they would jump all over his bed, but he would send Trenton to sneak them up the servant’s stairs when Remington was occupied elsewhere. Trenton had become his cohort in crime, but it had brought the two of them even closer than ever. His eldest son, who he’d been intermittently estranged from until last year, had become his closest friend.
He was grateful for small mercies.
So, Gaston stood at the window, watching the clouds gather overhead as a snowstorm threatened. It was Christmas Eve and, given his health, he wondered if it would be the last one he ever saw. That thought caused him to summon his courage about going down to the hall; he wanted to spend all the time he could with his family, even if moving and talking was a great labor for him. He didn’t want to miss anything. Remington would fuss at him, but he hoped she would understand why he was exerting himself.
As he began to look around for his heavy robe to protect against the cold drafts of the castle, there was a gentle knock at the door.
“Come,” Gaston rasped.
The door creaked open and timid footsteps entered. Gaston had just found his robe, turning around to see a stranger enter his chamber. He eyed the man as he swung his robe over his shoulders.
“Who are you?” he asked.
The man took another step into the chamber and closed the door. He was very tall, sinewy, with blond hair and pale blue eyes. He was quite pale, in fact, made more pale by the white-woolen cloak he wore.
“My name is Raphael,” he said. “Dane has sent me. He says that you are ill, great lord.”
Gaston grunted. “Raphael,” he repeated. “I have a grandson by that name. You are a physic, you say? Did Dane bring you with him from Shrewsbury? Never mind. The last thing I need is another physic.”
Raphael took another step, coming nearer to the enormous bed as Gaston fussed with his robe. “Dane is quite worried for you,” he said, his voice soft and higher-pitched. “He says that you are ill.”
Gaston eyed him before opening his mouth to speak, but he was overcome by a series of heavy coughs which shook his big body. He was forced to grab for a handkerchief, coughing into it because blood was coming up. The coughing was so violent that he ended up plopping onto the bed until the coughing died off. By that time, Raphael had come around the corner of the bed and was standing over him.
“I suspect you have been ill for some time,” he said quietly. “You were ill before you even told your wife and family because you did not wish to worry them.”
Gaston took a deep breath, looking at the bloodied handkerchief before putting it on the table next to the bed.
“Did Dane tell you that?” he asked, raspy.
Raphael smiled faintly. “Nay,” he said. “He did not have to. You are a selfless man when it comes to your family.”
Gaston simply lifted his eyebrows as if to agree. The coughing fit had left him weak. “Well,” he said after a moment. “I suppose I cannot turn you away if Dane has brought you all the way from Shrewsbury. If you are to give me a potion, then get on with it. But I will tell you that there is nothing you can give me that the best physics in London have not already tried.”
Rafael flipped his cloak back, revealing unbleached woolen breeches and a heavy tunic, and a small satchel in his hand that was made from an unfamiliar material. It glistened weakly in the light, but Gaston wasn’t really looking at it. He was looking at the tall, graceful man as he became somewhat curious about him.
“When Dane sent me a missive telling me that he would be here for Christmas, he did not mention bringing a physic with him,” he said.
Raphael opened his satchel and began rummaging around. “Mayhap, he’d not yet decided I was needed,” he said. “Mayhap, he did not wish to upset you.”
“We are speaking of Dane,” Gaston reminded him. “He could not upset me if he tried.”
Raphael was pulling something out of his satchel that Gaston couldn’t quite see. “He spoke of a man with the reputation as the Dark One,” he said. “He also spoke of a man who saved him and his mother from a man who was truly wicked.”
Gaston looked up at him, somewhat surprised as the subject veered away from his health and onto his reputation and past.
“He told you about Stoneley?” he asked.
“Aye.”
“Why should he do that?”
Raphael was pouring something into a small cup; Gaston could hear the liquid. “I suppose he wanted to explain what kind of man you were and what you meant to him.”
Gaston’s gaze lingered on him a moment before turning away. “What he spoke of was long ago,” he muttered. “Dane’s father by blood and the Dark One… that was long ago.”
“You sound as if you are not proud of your past.”
Gaston grunted. “I have done nothing in my life that I have regretted,” he said. “Mayhap that is not repentant enough, for all men sin, and I am certain I have done my share of it. But it does not matter now. One cannot change the past.”
Raphael paused a moment before turning to him. “In your case, I am not sure you should want to,” he said. “I have heard the story of your greatness from others. Long ago, you saved innocent women and a child from a man who was possessed by a demon. There is much wickedness in this world, great lord. You thought you had seen all of it until you came to a fortress in Yorkshire where the inhabitants lived in fear of a monster. It was you who saved them. You were their angel of mercy.”
Gaston shrugged. “Mayhap to Dane, I was.”
Raphael turned to him, cup in hand. “It was not Dane who told me that.”
Gaston looked at him with interest. “Who told you?”
“A man who was there.”
“Who?”
“One named de Tormo.”
Gaston’s brow furrowed. “De Tormo?” he repeated. “Which de Tormo? If you refer to the priest at St. Denys, he was not there, but his older brother… he was, indeed, there. He is a man I owe a great deal to, but you are too young to have known him.”
“I am older than you think.”
Gaston looked at him rather doubtfully. “How old are you?”
Raphael extended the cup, his pale eyes glimmering. “Drink this, great lord.”
He completely avoided answering the question and Gaston found himself with a cup in his face. He eyed it.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It is blessed and pure. It will not harm you, I promise.”
Gaston sighed heavily before reaching up to take the cup, peering at the contents. “I suppose it cannot hurt me,” he said in resignation. “One more potion is not going to make a difference.”
With that, he tossed it back, smacking his lips as he handed the cup back to Raphael. But then, he looked at the man rather strangely.
“That was water,” he said.
Raphael nodded. “It is, indeed,” he said. “It is holy water.”
“You had me drink holy water?”
“As you said, it cannot hurt you.”
He had a point. Gaston cleared his throat, coughing a little, and thinking about trying to make it down to the hall again.
“You can tell Dane I took your potion,” he said. “For coming all the way to Deverill from Shrewsbury, I thank you.”
Raphael grinned. “I have come much farther than that.”
Gaston wasn’t sure what he meant by that statement but he didn’t ask. He was more concerned with going down to the hall but, suddenly, he began to feel rather sleepy, as if the poppy powder his wife had given him had just begun to take effect. Or perhaps it was all of the coughing. Whatever the case, he was beginning to feel quite tired.
“For your effort, I thank you,” he said again. “You will forgive me for not showing you out, but I find that I am feeli
ng rather weary.”
He started to remove his heavy robe and Raphael stepped forward, helping him pull it off. Gaston’s movements were slow, lethargic.
Old.
It was clear from Raphael’s expression that he felt pity for the man. There was great compassion in his actions.
“I will go. But before I do, I must tell you something,” he said. “In spite of the earlier life you lived, as a knight bent on death and destruction, your fears on whether or not you shall ascend to heaven are for naught. You have feared that, have you not?”
Gaston looked at him as if confused by the question. “Why should you ask that?”
“Is it true?”
Gaston paused. He saw no reason to deny the obvious; it was of little matter, even to speak of it to this perceptive stranger.
“I think that is something all men fear, whether or not they shall go to heaven when they die.”
Raphael smiled at his honesty. “You redeemed yourself the moment you fought to save your wife and her son and her sisters from a man who was the embodiment of evil,” he said. “You did not know it then, but you were filled with the power of the archangels during that time. Most men would have left them to their fates, and although your actions at first were driven by lust, the love that consumed your heart for Remington and Dane cleansed you of all sin because it was pure. Pure of intent, pure of composition. Good overcame sin, you see. God could see into your heart, and it had been redeemed. You needn’t worry whether or not you shall ascend to heaven; there is a place for you there, great lord. Do not be troubled.”
Gaston simply shook his head, staring at the man with wide eyes. “How could you know that?” he asked, awed. “How could you know all of that? Who told you?”
Raphael’s smile grew. “I told you,” he said. “De Tormo has pleaded on your behalf to Our Lord but, in the end, he did not need to. When you are ready to join us, we shall be waiting for you. But it shall not be tonight.”
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