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 feeling 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.”
Gaston still didn’t understand. “Father Otho de Tormo died many years ago,” he said. “In his death, he helped me more than he ever did in life. Did you know him?”
Raphael nodded. “I do.”
“You do?”
Raphael bent over, pushing Gaston onto his back on the big bed. There was something intense about his gaze, but his movements were gentle. It was clear that he was a caring and considerate individual. As he pulled the coverlet over Gaston, he spoke.
“Sometimes, men do not always live a life they are proud of,” he said. “You, great lord, have lived a life to be proud of, in all ways. Dane has said you are a man of principles. He has spoken of his great love for you, and of your family’s great love for you. If I knew nothing else about you, knowing of your family’s powerful love for you would tell me everything I needed to know. Fear not for the past, or of the reputation as the Dark One. Men change, as you have. You have a legacy to be proud of.”
Gaston was looking up at the man. Odd how a stranger’s words should impact him so, but the man seemed to know a great deal about him. For most, that would have been off-putting, but for Gaston, he felt strangely kindred with the man.
“Did Otho tell you all of this?” he finally asked.
Raphael smiled. “He did,” he said. “But there have been others, men who have known you over the years. Great lord, you have been ill for some time, and pain wracks your body, and that is a sign that God is near. Tell me something; if you could ask one thing of God, what would it be?”
Gaston didn’t know why he considered the question seriously. He really didn’t. He thought this physic was a little too religious for his taste, but there was something about the man that made him unable to look away. Perhaps he was tired; perhaps he was weak. Whatever the case, he found himself responding to the question.
“I do not want to leave my family,” he said, his eyes welling with tears he fought to keep away. “I grew up lonely. I never had a family until I met Remington, and now… now, if wealth was measured by love, I am the richest man in the world. I have strong sons and beautiful daughters, and many grandchildren. I have a life that men dream of. What would I ask of God? That I could known good health again. I cannot stand my wife and children seeing me this way. I feel old and feeble, and that is no way for a warrior to feel. Once, I was the strongest knight in the realm. I want to feel that way again. That is what I would ask of God.”
Raphael nodded in understanding. “As I suspected,” he said. “You would not ask for wealth or glory, only health.”
“A man’s health is more valuable than all the gold or glory in England.”
Raphael smiled. “All men should be as wise as you, great lord,” he said. “Mayhap, that which you ask for shall be yours.”
“Only if a miracle occurs.”
Raphael simply moved away from the bed and back to his satchel. “Sleep, now,” he said. “I have done what I was sent to do.”
Gaston watched the man tie off his satchel and collect it under his arm. His gaze then drifted to the windows, which had the oil cloths peeled back. He could see a light dusting of snow beginning to fall.
“It is this night when men feel closest to God,” Gaston muttered, his eyes heavy-lidded now. “Someone told me once that it is on Christmas Eve when angels walk the earth because it was on this very night that the angel appeared to the shepherds in the field to tell them of the birth of the Christ Child. I saw such a star tonight, in fact. I wonder if it is a sign that an angel has appeared somewhere.”
Raphael pulled his cloak around him, his gaze lingering on Gaston. “Would you believe me if I told you that one has?”
Gaston’s lips twitched with a smile but, by then, sleep had claimed him. He could not reply.
Pulling his cloak more tightly about him, Raphael quit the chamber and slipped down the servant’s stairs, going out the way he’d come. Out into the snowy night, he headed for the gatehouse, slipping out just as the sentries were sealing it up for the night. They saw the man go and called to him to return, but he waved them off, heading into the flurried darkness.
As he disappeared into the night, the bright and shining star overhead,
which had been the only thing visible as the snow clouds rolled in, began to fade away. More clouds covered it, and the light gradually went away, a phenomenon not unnoticed by the sentries at the gatehouse. They, too, had noticed that brilliant star that had appeared at dusk. But now, it was obscured by the clouds.
Or, so they thought.
It was a star they would talk about in years to come, but a star they would never see again.
It was a star that had served its purpose.
Part Four:
The Best Christmas of All
It was a cold, bright, and fresh morning, and Dane had just received a snowball on the side of the head, launched with precision by Cort, who was now running for his life as Dane charged after him. Everyone was screaming and laughing as Dane tackled Cort, who slipped on the ice, and the two of them went plowing into a snowdrift.
But Dane wasn’t alone. When next he realized, children were piling on top of him and on top of Cort, egged on by Trenton and Matthieu. It was Matthieu’s four boys who were the first ones to pile on, followed by an assortment of other children. Dane started laughing, so hard that he could barely breathe, but he managed to grab a fistful of show and rub it into Cort’s face.
It was bedlam.
Somehow, Dane made it out of the pile of men and children, wet and covered with snow, but he hardly cared. Christmas morn had dawned bright and beautiful after a storm overnight, and it was a winter wonderland for everyone to play in. Not surprisingly, the first ones out into the snow had been Boden and Gage, and they’d awakened the entire keep by pounding on doors, awakening the children, announcing that it was Christmas morn.
They had taken their lives in their hands doing so.
Matthieu’s sons had been the first ones to join their uncles, joined by more children as the parents couldn’t keep them still. All eleven of Adeliza and Arica’s children emerged, bundled up and ready for the morning, and it was Boden and Gage who herded the children down into the bailey where great piles of fresh snow awaited. Screaming, happy children filled the morning.
A de Russe Christmas Miracle (de Russe Legacy Book 8) Page 4
