In the end and until that day he’d left her, the idea of being safe had been a tenuous one at best. Like standing on moving sand that eroded to the pounding waves of the sea of his parents’ control.
She shouldn’t have done those things with Balthus, and there had been that moment when it seemed he’d braced himself to receive her umbrage. But ever since she’d heard his feverish words, seen the light in his grey eyes when he’d felt only relief, she’d wanted him. So she’d taken off her gown. She thought he understood what was between them. Thought he felt it, too. But while the warmth they’d shared still coursed within her, he’d struck her with the truth: she was his brother’s wife.
Hurt. Embarrassed certainly. After all, if that was how he saw her she shouldn’t have throw herself at him. And why wouldn’t he? It may have been six years since she’d seen her husband, but for all she knew, Balthus had seen him within the last few months.
Had he truly broken away from his parents and bound himself to Reynold’s cause? If so, why trust her with that truth and then mention Ian? Was she also part of the cause because she’d broken away?
Did she want to be? It was too unbelievable to be true, and yet she believed him. She couldn’t imagine such a life, facing danger, fighting, all over chasing a treasure. That was a life as far from studying books and tapestries as could be. No, that wasn’t the life for her or the one she wanted for her children. She’d never understand this family. She didn’t want to...but her children were at risk. She must help.
So though she wanted to stay away from Balthus, she rode beside him. Worse, they rode toward a keep she hated. All to obtain a parchment which could, perhaps, defeat his parents. All those moments she’d felt a closeness with him, had he...lied? Had it all been to seduce her so he could get the parchment? The irony of it wasn’t lost on her. Hadn’t she healed him to use him? She could see now that was a foolish belief.
Thus, he’d get his parchment and instead of forming some alliance with him, she needed to stay away from danger and disappear once again.
‘Why is your family the way they are?’ she asked. ‘Why do they do what they do?’
Balthus slowed his horse and looked over at her. His expression was inscrutable. Nothing in his grey eyes gave her any indication that he’d heard her, let alone understood what she was saying. She wasn’t certain she understood what she was trying to convey. Her family had noble blood, they wanted wealth and power, and she couldn’t say their marriages and schemes were not conducted in order to gain more of both. But they were also generous and gave to the arts, to the villages and the abbeys. They were generous with their children up to a point. She hadn’t wanted to marry a Warstone, but even they couldn’t refuse such a good match. Still...
‘Why have there been no consequences against them?’ she added, because that was what she truly wanted to know. There were consequences for everyone who ever came into contact with them, and yet they never suffered.
Balthus rode quietly beside her. As her questions continued, his gaze slipped past her shoulder and out to the trees beyond. Not to avoid her, though; she knew that now. There was much under the surface when it came to him. No, in the little time they’d spent...since that moment in the stables, there were fissures in the darkness he cloaked himself in that allowed her to see a truer Balthus. But once this was over, what then? Nothing. There was no future for them.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’d like to say there were books written by my ancestors, or that my parents regaled us with stories of their childhood that would explain what they do. I don’t even know if one was more deceitful than the other and by being together they grew worse, or if there was a horrific event that made them that way. I do know our wealth spans generations on both sides, which leads me to believe the roots were planted long before they bore their sinister fruit.’
That kind of familial history she could believe. How else to have as much as they did if it hadn’t been acquired over generations. How else to be so adept at planting massacres and chaos if the roots weren’t already corrupt?
A cry pulled their attention to the right where Clovis and Pepin rode behind two of the villagers, both with their willow sticks that they pointed to each other. From Clovis’s mutinous expression it was clear Pepin’s stick must have struck. From the expression of the men they rode with, it was equally apparent that the game had lost its appeal.
‘They never stop.’ She sighed. ‘I keep hoping that perhaps they’ll grow out of it, or Clovis will realise Pepin is younger, or Pepin will stop competing or...something.’
‘I think that is typical in any family,’ Balthus said. ‘My parents had intentions for us, but there were rare instances where we were siblings like Clovis and Pepin. Once there was this hive. I don’t know who challenged whom or why anyone would rise to it. We were all laughing, even Guy, who was running into the lake because the hive focused on him.’
‘He likely deserved it.’
Balthus chuckled. ‘No doubt. I do wish... I do wish I had been kinder to Reynold, who is different, but I didn’t appreciate it then.’
‘You’re younger than the rest. How could you know?’
‘He did. I, however, never questioned a mother holding her sons’ hands to a flame, or a father forcing their guards to hold the inside of a ladder until time was called or their shoulders dislocated. Depending on his mood, he’d either grant mercy to the poor soul or spear him through the gut. I’d like to say the ones who got the swords had other weaknesses, so they were no good as Warstone guards, but that wasn’t so. I watched good men die at the whims of my father, who affectionately helped with the fitting of my first coat of plates.’
‘You’re saying you can’t hate them, though you have allied with Reynold,’ she said.
He looked around them. ‘All of this is new. The betrayals, the—I don’t doubt that as the years continue there will be enough deceit to bury me in hate for them. There’s enough they have already done...’
‘Your hand.’
‘That truly was my doing to prove my loyalty to her. I held it too long.’
‘There’s something else you’re not telling me.’
‘Weeks went by with it not healing. When I saw her again, she held my hand as if she cared, and then broke my fingers while it was still wrapped.’
What could she say? She loved her family, she tried to instil that love in her children. She was horrified but not surprised. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Again, I was only aware of the unusualness of my household when I was old enough to know better, but I did nothing as I was a Warstone who gained from their games. You may feel sorry for me, but I had a part in their cruelty.’
Ian had been aware of their cruelty, had hidden her away, but he’d frightened her all the same. Balthus didn’t, but he might be different around his family.
‘They are cruel,’ he said.
‘I know.’
His hand gripped the reins. ‘Did she ever...?’
‘That day she grabbed my wrist was the last time she ever touched me, but there were threats when I was carrying Ian’s children. I feared for them. Do I need to fear for their future again? I’ll go to the abbey, exchange coin for the books I left, but afterwards what certainties do I have?’ She knew she’d hide again, but she couldn’t do it for long.
Balthus sighed. ‘You’ve eluded them for years and taken their grandchildren. They’ve been under the impression, I was under the impression, that you were terrified in some hovel in some other country. But instead you’ve been right under their noses, going from village to village, spreading their wealth freely without expectations, and have gained trust and loyalty.’
‘That was only a few people, some servants I asked for help, and they gave it. They love the children, and saw how Ian treated me...and... Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘You don’t understand. I’ve tried to tell you. You
left two servants of a Warstone household that are no longer loyal to Warstone but to you, and not only that, you give them wealth and an order to create a place to hide away from Warstones or their guards. No two servants could build enough on their own, so they encourage and trust a few others, and so on. You may have left Sarah and Imbert here, but it was the whole village who protected you from me, wasn’t it?
‘Do you think they have family and friends they told?’ he continued. ‘Of course they did. You created an army that at your mere word would rise against my family.
‘In the meantime, their own sons are collaborating against them. If we gain the power of the Jewell of Kings, that’ll keep them in check, and then...time will do the rest. They’ll die, and their legacy will be over.’
His words. Resolute determination. Unfaltering conviction, and that visceral rawness he carried with him. That no matter how much he had to scrape to carry out these deeds, he would.
And for once Séverine thought she saw a sliver of light at the end of this for her and her children.
‘They’re your mother and father,’ she said. Under all the plotting and cruelty, that was what affected her most.
‘Though they are the grandparents to Clovis and Pepin, it changes nothing.’
‘But...’
‘Say it.’
‘Ian is loyal to them. I remember you from before...you are loyal to them.’
‘I cared for them as a child would any parent. My parents and the people who support them must be defeated.’
‘Your brothers?
‘Any betrayal by them that you worry about for the future...has already been done. I am not a good man, Séverine, though...’ A muscle spasmed in his jaw and his raw grey eyes stayed on hers. ‘Though I wish I could be.’
Too much.
Balthus turned away from her, his gaze elsewhere, his attention on their surroundings, but it was too much. Not only for the relationships around her, but for this man and his family. For Ian her husband, too, she had to remind herself.
But Ian had become... He wasn’t true to her anymore. She’d never wanted to understand him like she did Balthus, but, further, he had never revealed himself. An inexplicable sadness settled against her heart because although it was the logical decision to go against the Warstones, there was a sense of loss there, as well.
Though what Balthus, Ian, what her children had lost was lost long before they were born. That loss of...love. Looking at the man who rode beside her, she wondered if he knew what it even was.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Another day to travel, another day of lying to the woman he loved. The further they rode, the further he knew he wasn’t worthy of her, the more he tried to create barriers to keep himself away from her. And...as wrong as it was, it was Ian, her husband, his dead brother, who was the last barrier.
She’d been a dream, a fantasy to him all his adult life, and over the last days of knowing her he’d given her his heart. That night in the stables when he had been permitted to hold her, it had been everything and not enough. Wrong and yet right.
He’d ruined it by mentioning his brother, and yet he’d saved them both because he had. He needed to stay away from her. He wasn’t worthy of her. Even if he wasn’t lying now, he’d lied in the past, killed, was cruel.
There wasn’t enough forgiveness in all the world to wipe his soul clean. And he wouldn’t, shouldn’t soil Séverine’s soul by trying. And her boys. Whether because he felt the tension in his mother, or because Séverine was desperate to keep the boys apart, Pepin rode with Séverine, almost on her lap.
And because he was desperate to spend more time with them, he offered to take Clovis, which immediately didn’t go well.
‘I don’t see how this helps you.’ Clovis took Balthus’s hand and swung himself up.
‘With balance. Your teaching me how to tie my boots will only get us so far.’
Although whether Clovis was pleased with that decision, he didn’t know. The boy held himself apart.
It was time to have his own horse, and he knew it. The village hadn’t had enough horses to spare, though, so the boy rode stiffly and awkwardly with him.
‘Where’s your family?’ Pepin called out.
‘Pepin,’ Séverine warned.
Balthus didn’t need to be warned. Though he’d had the conversation with Clovis, it was still Séverine’s decision.
‘I have a mother,’ Balthus said.
‘Does she like playing hide-and-seek, too?’ Pepin asked.
His mother liked her games, but that wasn’t one of them. ‘She...hates fruit,’ he answered.
‘Is she our grandmother?’ Clovis said.
He felt that question as well as heard it. From Séverine’s wavering eyes towards him, she had felt it, too.
‘She can’t be our grandmother,’ Pepin said. ‘We have Mama, and Sarah and Imbert.’
‘Sarah isn’t our grandmother,’ Clovis said.
‘I have brothers,’ Balthus offered, but only because he was desperate. He realised immediately his mistake. How could this conversation be so hard? A few moments of travelling, not even time for a midday meal, and already he wanted to hand them to someone else.
‘Where are they?’ Clovis said.
Gone. Balthus looked at Séverine. She looked worried but resigned. She was coming to the same conclusion as him. How much to tell? ‘Far away.’
‘Why aren’t you with them?’
‘Because I’m here,’ Balthus said. ‘I miss them. My mother loved my eldest brother, Ian.’
‘Why did she love Ian?’ Clovis asked. His voice was too keen. Did he guess Balthus was talked about his father? Perhaps. He had mentioned he knew him.
‘He was the first. My father loved him, too. He didn’t like fruit, either.’
‘I won’t like fruit,’ Clovis said.
Séverine made some noise of discomfort.
‘Sorry, Mama,’ Pepin said. Then he looked at Balthus. ‘I have a hard head.’
Balthus chuckled.
‘Is this man our father?’ Clovis blurted.
Utter silence. Balthus held his breath.
‘Why would you say that?’ Séverine’s voice wavered.
‘He keeps following us. Our father would follow us.’
‘He’s not,’ Pepin said. ‘’Cause Mama pushed him in a pit.’
‘But she wrapped his arm,’ Clovis said.
He needed to change the subject. Something safe and yet trustworthy. Something that wouldn’t be about his family, or any feeling of belonging or that he wanted to be these boys’ father.
‘I forgot I had something of someone’s,’ Balthus said.
Clovis craned his neck to look as Pepin shouted, ‘What is it?’
He realised his mistake too late. While riding, he couldn’t get into the pouch attached to his horse without a hand.
‘It’s in this pouch here.’
Clovis looked down at the pouch. ‘You don’t have anything.’
‘Oh?’ he said, enjoying teasing the boy. It made the time and effort of searching a dark pit worth it. ‘It’s about this round, this flat and—’
‘My treasure!’ Pepin said.
‘Careful!’ Séverine said.
‘Sorry, Mama,’ Pepin said, a huge grin on his face.
‘It’s not your treasure,’ Clovis said.
‘Yes, it is. I dropped it in the pit.’ Pepin looked at Balthus. ‘That’s where you found it?’
‘Right there in the darkest part.’
‘It’s not yours because I’m the one who found it,’ Clovis said.
‘By the stream!’ Pepin said. ‘That doesn’t count. There are loads of stones by the stream. The one you found is different.’
‘How can a stone be a treasure and you two fighting over it?’ Séverine said. �
��Is it made of silver?’
‘Your mother doesn’t know how to skim stones, does she?’ Balthus said.
Clovis snorted and Balthus grinned. The boy may have more of his mother in him than he’d thought.
‘It’s very, very rare,’ Pepin said. ‘Clovis didn’t like it that I found it first. Do you skim stones with friends?’ Pepin asked.
It went quiet and Balthus realised the question of friendship was aimed at him. A few months ago, he could never have envisioned this much happy conversation. Neither could he have imagined that the answer to the question of friendship would be positive.
‘I have a friend,’ Balthus said.
The boys went quiet, so did Séverine. It was surprising to him, too, that he could announce such a thing. Other than his family, he had had no close ties with anyone. It was also surprising to talk of friendship, but Balthus would confess to a thousand odd things as long as they kept away from anything important.
‘His name is Louve. He used to live in this place called Mei Solis.’
‘An odd name,’ Séverine said.
‘Very. He didn’t name it.’ As if that was important as to whether they could have a friendship. If Louve knew he was having this conversation, Louve would think he was odd.
‘Where is he now?’ she asked.
Ian’s home. Hers, if she had stayed. ‘Warstone Fortress.’
Séverine looked at Clovis, and Balthus tensed, but the boy didn’t say anything, and Pepin had lost interest. Did they not remember or know their name? A feeling of loss hit him. To have family, and not. To desire to claim them, and he couldn’t.
‘Why do you talk in the past when it comes to your family?’ she said.
‘Pardon?’
‘You always talk about them in the past. Not now, but often.’
He must have when he’d talked about Ian, and she’d noticed. ‘I’m away from them.’
He could feel her eyes on him, so he kept his gaze ahead. Watched their small group travel. Big enough to be noticed but too small for anything defensive. Imbert with no skill for fighting and him with only one hand and who would easily tire if attacked. He’d vowed he’d protect her and on their first venture out, he was a poor example.
Harlequin Historical May 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 Page 62
