The Angel of Blythe Hall

by Darci Hannah

  Be kind to Julius. Keep him on course when he starts to stray. And please take care of Tam for me. He is a dear soul. Our paths crossed when he was a newborn, helpless against the fate of a life unwanted. I intervened, and for his own safety entrusted him to my dear friend Elspeth for safekeeping until he was older. Tam was my angel; I am now his.

  With love, hope, and cherished memories of all my little angels,

  Seraphina

  I folded the letter and gave it back to Tam. The impact of the words was as staggering as it was profound, for I had learned the truth of my birth. Tam, poor soul, had learned, amongst other things, that old Elspeth was not really his granny. We hugged and cried in turns, comforted each other, and when we were finally cried out, I tucked Tam in for the night, leaving him to hold and be comforted by Rondo. I gave them both a kiss, blew out the candle, and left Seraphina’s chamber.

  A while later I found myself in a sparsely decorated room on the third floor, kneeling on a little rug between two beds, in which men lightly snored. I watched as the men slept: relaxed, limp, indolent, peaceful, angelic—every muscle and thought given over to the dream world they now inhabited. The air was heavy with the smell of stale clothing and imported beer. In sleep, as in life, they were both exquisite. My heart and my future belonged to Gabriel; to Dante, I had given a piece of my soul. And I felt entirely responsible for both of them. For how was I to guard Scotland when I could barely manage a castle? These men—the men Julius had handpicked—were to be my sword and shield in a battle I had been unwittingly thrust into the middle of. I wanted no part of it; and I was loath to see these men shed one more drop of blood. Enough had spilled already. I wanted a peaceful life with Gabriel, but I had a strong feeling it was far too late for that.

  A little moan of satisfaction escaped my betrothed’s lips as he rolled to face the wall. He was deep in the middle of a pleasant dream. Dante, with a start, opened his eyes toward the ceiling before slowly rolling his head toward Gabriel. He was, to say the least, startled to see me looking at him.

  “Hush, it’s just me,” I whispered softly. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to make your job difficult.”

  He smiled. “I don’t think that you could, even if you tried. Look at him,” he said with ill-concealed affection, and flopped an arm in Gabriel’s direction. “He drank nearly a hogshead himself, and I fleeced him for ten unicorns. Is he good for it, do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “How about I let you live here, eat my food, and rile my maidservants to foolishness, and we’ll call it even. I need to talk with you.” At this he rolled onto his side, fluffed the pillow under his head, and beheld me with the soft, inquisitive gaze of an eager spaniel. It was then, looking into the eyes, unguarded and vulnerable with sleep, that I started to falter. How could I ever tell this man that I had trouble sleeping at night because of what I saw through him—the darkness, the emptiness, the profligacy, and every injustice he had suffered? How could I ever tell him that I had died too … as a newborn, and that my own mother had given her life in exchange for mine? That because of her sacrifice we both now lived. How could I ever explain how precious was the gift of life, and what his life now meant to me? I couldn’t, so instead I said: “Something … something miraculous happened at Hume. You know that, don’t you?”

  His dark eyes, touched with memory, closed as he slowly nodded.

  “I just came here to say … I just wanted to tell you …” I swallowed, took a deep breath, and began again. “Please,” I whispered, looking into the fathomless, shimmering orbs now filling with liquid, “do not squander this gift, Dante. Like it or not, you are now a brother to me—to us all. It is a bond you cannot escape. Please, in all you do, try to have a care for me.”

  His fine lips trembled with a spectacular show of emotion, and then his head gave a solemn nod. “I have always wanted a sister,” he said, controlling the tremble with a watery smile. “It was a shabby way for me to get one, though. I heard your prayers, Isabeau. I felt the beating of your heart as you fought and pleaded for me. Only one other person has ever done so. How can I not cherish the gift you gave me? But you must have patience with me. I am not a Blythe. I am an unfettered and malleable spirit who is little better than an animal. I am governed by impulses and physical urges.”

  “Truthfully,” I admitted with a wan but heartfelt smile, “so am I.” He raised a brow at this, and then his lips curled indulgently as he let his gaze drift toward the sleeping body in the other bed. “What?” I uttered, my own eyes as moist as his. “Don’t look at me like that. We are, after all, human. I’m not asking for miracles here, just … discretion.”

  “You have my word,” he whispered. “I shall do my best. Perhaps it would help if you were around to remind me?” With a soft smile he reached into the pillowcase and pulled out another one of his handkerchiefs. “Here, look at us. I am very drunk and you are very tired.” He dried my tears, then daubed his own. He then, with surprising litheness, got out of bed and offered it to me. “Come. I know you have a hard time sleeping. Sometimes I cannot sleep either.” He lifted the comforter and patted the sheets. “Come,” he urged again. “Take my bed. We are family here.”

  Unable to resist the overpowering thought of sleep, I took his offer and climbed between the sheets. They were soft, and warm, and had a comforting, familiar male scent about them. It felt right, and I felt as if I could sleep for weeks. I then watched as Dante, with a mischievous grin, pulled the quilt off Gabriel and wrapped it around himself. Gabriel, remarkably, didn’t flinch. “He runs warm,” Dante explained in a whisper. “He is like a rock that has been under the sun all day. I look upon it as a favor.” One more devilish grin, and he curled up on the floor between us, resting his head on the pile of discarded clothing. “There,” he uttered, settling down. “We are like a litter of puppies now—all warm and cozy together. Sleep well, my sister, and dream of pleasant things. I always find I sleep much better when I have a friend beside me—when there is someone to watch my back when the shadows come. And tonight, tonight we are lucky, for we each have two.”

  Chapter 24

  THE TAKING OF VOWS

  IT WAS A GLORIOUS JUNE MORNING WITH A WIDE AND vibrant sky of blue overlaid every now and again by the rogue, billowy white cloud. All the birds of Rosslyn were singing, and all the butterflies that should have been hovering near the succulent greenery were now fluttering in my stomach. I was ecstatic, yet more nervous than I had ever remembered being. This was not in any way because of Gabriel, or my feelings for him. In fact, I couldn’t wait to see him; it had been an entire week since he’d left Blythe Hall, and just the evening before, my train had finally arrived at Rosslyn. It was Sir Oliver’s adherence to foolish traditions that had kept Gabriel from seeing me last night. Truthfully, I just wanted to get on with this day so that it would be over, and Gabriel and I would be married.

  However, instead of the small, private wedding we had originally planned, our little ceremony had blown up into the event of the season. This was in no small part due to the man who was scheduled to hang during the hour before our nuptials. Our wedding in Rosslyn Chapel and the hanging of Sir George Douglas, Lord Kilwylie, in New Bigging Street were the two events that had the whole of the Lowlands buzzing, and that they were being held on the same day was added cause for wild speculation. By now everyone knew some of the story, and fewer still knew the real story. Yet the crier had proclaimed at the Market Cross late on the first of June that Sir William, Lord Blythe’s son, Julius, Master of Blythe, formerly at the horn, had been cleared of all charges of treason, and that Sir George Douglas, Lord Kilwylie, had been charged with twenty-two counts of murder. They had saved his death as a morbid offering and fitting justice for our wedding; for without Julius’s timely intervention, I might very well have been getting ready to become the Lady of Kilwylie. I shivered at the thought.

  “Are you cold, dear?” asked Marion. She also had arrived yesterday with the king and his train, a
nd had been busy all morning directing the maids as to how I was to be dressed. Only when I met with her royal approval did she send them away, insisting on doing my hair herself—a cherished indulgence from our days at the priory.

  “I’m fine,” I assured her, smiling back at her concerned reflection in the looking glass. We had decided on leaving my hair unbound to fall at my waist, adorned with a wreath of spring wildflowers and trailing silk ribbons. As Marion worked the brush, she kept running through the lengthy list of guests who had already arrived. It was an impressive roster; it appeared as if half of Edinburgh and nearly the entire court had come to Rosslyn. And although the thought did nothing to quell the butterflies fluttering away in my stomach, I let her talk. Because Marion had been close to her cousin George Douglas, and she was still coming to terms with what he had done. It would hardly do to let her dwell on the hanging.

  I watched in silence as she ran the brush down the length of my hair a few more times before setting it down. And then, falling silent herself, she picked up the wreath and set it on my head, fanning my hair out beneath it. “Oh my dear,” she said. “You look lovelier than I have ever seen you, and that’s saying quite a lot. I’d hate you, of course, if such a thing were possible.” Her arms came around me, and I saw then the tears in her eyes.

  It was a moment before either of us could speak, and she chided me for crying as well, saying that it would never do to ruin all her hard work with puffy, tear-streaked eyes. Neither of us wanted that. I was going to miss Marion, for our lives, as we both knew, were moving farther apart in our efforts to seek self-fulfillment. We had finally arrived at our longed-for adulthood, and now we were learning to accept and adjust to the responsibilities that our childish dreams had a tendency to ignore. We were both happy; neither of us had a right to complain, yet still, there was something utterly final about marriage, and being a royal mistress came with its own share of duties and expectations. Marion, still silent, still reflective, picked up a strand of my hair and twirled it between her fingers. A soft smile came to my lips then, for Marion had always loved playing with my hair.

  “You’ve such lovely hair,” she whispered. “ ’Tis just like his, you know—only softer. I do so hope my baby has this lovely hair.”

  At the word baby my heart leapt as my eyes shot across the mirror to hers in a mixture of elation and horror. Marion had wondrous eyes, large and expressive, and they were confirming the question in my own. “You … are with child? You … are carrying the royal bastard?” I asked, my gaze intent on hers.

  “I am with child,” she confirmed. “The royal bastard, of course. I’m just saying, would it be so horrible to wish for this hair?”

  It was the way she said it, the soft hopefulness filling the eyes that could, with a look, kill. With caution and a good deal of discretion, I asked, “Marion, how many possible hair colors could this child of yours have?”

  Her lips twitched slightly. “Really, how could you ask such a thing?” I continued to stare at her until she finally admitted: “Just two. There only ever were two. As much as I flirted, as much as I was kissed and fondled behind curtains, Georgie was very adamant that I remain chaste for the king. Every young man at court knew that. This,” she said, running her hands down her still-slender torso, “was his dream. He convinced me that I should be the mother of James’s children. Princess Margaret was in agreement as well. And I was certainly not one to argue with that. Please, don’t misunderstand me, Isa; I do want this. James is a good man.”

  “Then for your sake, and the sake of everyone involved, I shall pray your child has auburn hair! Or at the very least a rich, unquestionable brown. If you want a lock of his hair so badly, then for heaven’s sake, I’ll get you one! But, Marion, dear Marion, please do not wish for this.” But even as I said it, I knew how foolish Marion could be. And the trouble was, she had no idea what she was asking.

  We were startled to silence by a knock at the door. It was a warning knock, and when, without so much as a word from us, the door opened and the man entered, I chose to look at Marion instead. Men, for obvious reason, regarded my friend as simply beautiful. But Marion Boyd was more than that; she was a woman of great courage and deep passion. She was ambitious, and haughty, and yet like me, she had a vulnerable heart. Only one man that I knew of had ever made her blush, and he was standing before us now, looking finer than I had ever seen him. He was dressed for a wedding. The pleated doublet of deep indigo, embellished at the collar and hem with gold stitching, and cinched at the trim waist with a belt of the same gold, was far too fine for a day in the saddle spent wreaking havoc on his fellow man. Under the doublet was a shirt of butter-yellow silk, which could only be viewed through the slashed sleeves. To Marion, judging from the way her eyes lingered on the silk, the prospect of seeing more was obviously tantalizing. But not as tantalizing as the view below the doublet, for there Marion’s gaze fell and settled, her bold brown eyes absorbing every nuance of the pristine white, tight-fitting hose. It was, on Julius’s part, just cruel to have such a tailor. While my friend’s eyes were reluctant to venture above the waist, I was admiring the short black mantle trimmed in sable that matched the bonnet on his head, which was expertly angled to highlight his soft golden curls. It was no surprise that he wore plenty of jewels; Julius only displayed what he wished to convey to his audience. On his bonnet was a beautifully crafted brooch with an alabaster archangel in the center surrounded by the family motto; he also wore our father’s ring, and around his neck hung a thick gold chain bearing a truly spectacular sapphire. Gone was my profligate brother, and in his place was a man of surprising and prosperous mien. I couldn’t help but smile at the transformation. Marion, lifting her gaze to meet the amused twinkle in the eye of our visitor, and mustering her self-possession, affixed a haughty curl to her lips as she said, “Why, speak of the devil and he shall appear. I see you can dress yourself, but do you have manners? You should know better than to barge into a room where women are dressing. You might get more than you bargained for. Is it time already?”

  “Good morning, Marion,” Julius said with easy politeness. “Very nearly. I just came to have a talk with my sister. I felt that someone ought to explain to her what men expect on their wedding night. My God!” he cried with theatrical flair, bringing his full attention to me. He then pulled me from the chair, scanning my body from head to toe, absorbing the fine gown of pale blue and gold trim, a softer echo of his own ensemble, and the wreath of riotous color atop my hair. Unlike Julius, I wore no jewelry. “You look … would it be trite of me to say, like an angel? Truthfully, I can think of no higher compliment than that.”

  Barely suppressing a smile of extreme admiration, I rolled my eyes; Marion, with cheeks still slightly aflame, rolled hers as well and left the room.

  “Tell me,” I said as we sat together on the settle, “how is Gabriel holding up under all of this?”

  “Well, he’s purged himself twice already this morning and has a splitting headache, I’m told, but he cleans up well. By the time he’s standing before the altar you’ll find him looking magnificent. Clayton may wield a cautery iron like an inquisitor on a heretic, and he’s too quick with the bone saw for my taste, but he’s a hand with a tonic.”

  “Dear God, Julius, what are you talking about? What have you done to him?”

  “Gabriel?” he said, looking mildly offended. “Nothing. He did it to himself. The poor lad’s just recovering from a wee bit of affectionate abuse suffered at the hands of his many admirers last night. We’re preparing him for the new set of vows he insists on taking today. After all, one of our ranks has fallen!” he proclaimed with feigned concern. “Another perfectly good man lost to the softness of domesticity. We did what any concerned brethren would do; we took him before the altar of Dionysus, opened his eyes and his mouth, and then, many hours later, he fell to his knees begging to be put to bed—that was after a spectacular thrashing at cards.”

  “So you got him drunk and took his money; how b
rotherly of you,” I chided with mild disgust. “After today, you leave Gabriel alone. Do you understand me? He’s mine now!”

  “Oh, don’t be mad at me, Isabeau,” he said with a smug and suggestive grin. “Gabriel knew what was coming. He’s been preparing himself for weeks now. And whatever is ailing him this morning can easily be fixed with a kiss or two from you. You have the unique power to make him feel better, my dear, and I’m not talking about your soothing touch or your healing tears. Gabriel has no idea about any of that, and he never should. He has loved you forever, Isabeau. He loves you for who you are, and what you two have is exceptionally rare. Be good to him, and for God’s sake don’t do anything strange that will have him tucking tail and running back to that bastion of bonhomie on Rhodes. I’m not fetching him a second time, Isa dear. The first time nearly cost me my life.”

  “So I’ve learned,” I remarked softly, thinking of all I had learned about my brother and the remarkable way I had learned it. And then I promised, “You shall have nothing to fear from me. I shall endeavor to be an exemplary wife. And I will have no more to fear,” I added, holding his gaze in mine, “once I know George Douglas is gone. Our little flock shall flourish indeed.”

  This made him smile, and then, recalling something, he said, “Oh, speaking of flocks, I’ve a wee wedding gift for your husband.”

  “Wedding gift? But you’ve already bequeathed to him Blythe Hall and your title. It was far too much, Julius. We were happy with the prospect of remodeling the old tower. What more could you possibly give us?”

  His face became very still then. Quiet was not normally one of Julius’s moods, but today was special; today was a new beginning for us both. With a deep breath and a heart-wrenching look, he said, “Did you ever stop and think that perhaps you mean everything to me? Ours was not an easy childhood, Isabeau. We were never told what we were; we were never made to understand the gifts we possessed. The day our mother died, our father was changed forever. I understand that now, but I didn’t then. And then came that day, that day you brought Rondo back to life. Everything came tumbling down around us that day. I knew you weren’t lying,” he admitted, his eyes distant and burdened with the regret of memory. “You were never a good liar, Isabeau,” he whispered through a smile. “I just wanted to make you believe it; I wanted you to feel the pain I felt for being different. I was a wicked, wicked lad. I still am. And I’ll ask your forgiveness. All my life I have struggled with the headiness of power, and as much as I restrain myself, I give in to it. But you, you are always an angel.”