Dark Moon (The de Russe Legacy Book 6)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  It was a vile thing to say, hatred beyond measure. It was an effort for Dane not to react to it because he would have liked nothing better than to snap the woman’s neck.

  “Your husband is alive and healthy,” he said. “But your words tell me just how evil you truly are, Adela. I have never seen anyone with a heart as black as yours.”

  Adela threw up her chin. “What do I care what you think? You are interrupting my party.”

  Dane lifted a hand. “We do not have to,” he said. “We can be quickly done with this. We want to know how much we can pay you to disappear. You are a disgrace to the House of de Russe and a shame for my brother to bear. Do you think he does not know about the men you bring to Penleigh? I am sure there are a few whore mongers among those friends you have brought into my brother’s house. How many will you take to your bed tonight?”

  Adela was turning red again and she lifted the poker in his direction. “You will not say such things to me!”

  “Then deny it. I dare you.”

  She bared her teeth at him. “You are a swine,” she growled. “Like your older brother, you are a disgusting excuse for a man and I loathe the sight of you. Get out of my house, do you hear? Get out and never return!”

  Dane was unimpressed with her anger. “It is not your house,” he said, “and if you do not name your price, you will be very sorry.”

  “I said get out!”

  “Nay.”

  With a furious cry, she took a swipe at him with the poker. Dane was fast enough to grab it, yanking it from her grip. Unfortunately, the momentum of her swing, and his grab, caused her to topple over backwards and, with the weight of her dress, she wasn’t able to catch herself. As Dane and Cort watched, Adela fell back into the hearth, right into the blazing flames.

  It was a shocking event and she had been unable to catch herself. Unfortunately, her dress, with all of its jewels, was made of very flammable material, and she went up in an instant. Within a second, her entire skirt was in flames, tearing into her undergarments. That which wasn’t in flames was seared against the flesh of her lower body, which also started to burn. Very quickly, everything but her face and arms was on fire, and Cort rushed forward to pull her out of the hearth, but Dane stopped him.

  “Nay,” he said, watching the woman as she was rapidly consumed with fire. “It is too late. She is already badly burned. You cannot save her.”

  Nor did they truly want to. Engulfed in yellow flames, Adela’s screams were muffled as smoke and fire traveled down her throat. No longer able to cry out, she tried to push herself out of the hearth, but her entire body was on fire. Everything was burning. Soon enough, she could no longer move, and she simply collapsed into the hearth in a burning mess. The room began to fill with dark, black smoke, and the great tapestry above the hearth went up in flames, as did the entire side of the room. It was a shocking sight.

  “Come,” Dane said, realizing there was nothing they could do. “We must get out of here or we, too, shall be ash. Come!”

  Cort, horrified at what he was seeing, followed his brother as the man kicked out the windows overlooking the bailey. As the two of them bailed from the chamber, the entire thing went up in flames. The wooden walls, the fabric drapery, and the tapestries made it a tinderbox. They’d barely jumped from the window before flames began shooting out of it.

  With one chamber up in flames, the floor above it began to go up in smoke and flames also, and Dane and Cort backed away from the blaze as they watched the entire side of the house catch fire. The structure was not made of stone, but from wattle and daub, which was pieces of tinder-dry wood layered with things like lime and chalk, sometimes mud, but whatever the house was built with went up like a torch. On the interior, with all of the expensive woods and furnishings, and the ingredients used to treat the wood, it only made more fuel for the fire.

  With their attention still on the fire that was rapidly spreading, Dane began to head towards his horse, pulling Cort along with him. They ended up running to their animals just as some of the Breton soldiers in the courtyard began to see what was going on. As they rushed for the house, Cort and Dane vaulted onto their steeds and headed for the open gatehouse, pausing to watch as the fire spread over the upper floor. They could see it through the windows, with smoke pouring out and fingers of flame licking at the walls.

  The guests at Adela’s party were alerted to something being very wrong as the hall deep in the house filled with smoke. Dane knew the layout of the house – beyond the entry was a large gathering room and then beyond that, a great dining hall. They could hear the screams of party guests as they tried to get clear of the heavy smoke, which was filling the house at an alarming rate. It wasn’t so much that the flames were blocking their exit; it was simply that the heavy smoke was overwhelming them.

  Dane and Cort continued to watch from the gatehouse as the house was overrun by the flames, and they saw one man emerge from the entry and collapse on the dirt of the courtyard with his clothing smoking. Perhaps they should have gone to help him, but considering how much hatred Adela had brought about, neither one of them made a move. Especially Dane. In his view, this was rightness served.

  “Should we try to help, Dane?” Cort finally asked.

  Dane didn’t reply for a moment. When he did, it was to shake his head. “Nay,” he muttered. “That woman wished our brother was dead. You heard her; she was hoping for it. You heard all of the vile things she said about our brother and our family. Were we burning, she would have laughed and cheered. Therefore, I will not help, not even a little. Let her evil die in those flames and consider it God’s good justice.”

  Cort didn’t disagree with him, but it was the chivalrous knight in him, the one with the strong sense of duty, that had asked the question. Yet, the brother in him agreed with Dane completely.

  Let her evil die.

  They could hear screams as floors collapsed. And as the flames shot up into the night sky, they remained there until the entire top portion of the house collapsed and no one save a few Breton soldiers and the man with the smoking clothing made it out alive.

  For Dane and Cort, they watched until there was nothing left to see, until Penleigh House was a giant bonfire burning brightly into the night. There was a sense of finality to it, of cleansing, and as Dane said, of justice. The wickedness and hatred that had filled the halls of Penleigh House were being purged, never to rise again. They’d come to do anything they could to save their brother from his horror of a wife, to somehow bring the tormented man some healing, but in the end, Adela’s wicked actions had brought about her own demise.

  And no one was sorry for it.

  Before the night was out, Dane and Cort were heading to Wellesbourne Castle.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Wellesbourne Castle

  “My lord, you summoned me?”

  Ranse was standing in Matthew’s solar, arriving swiftly at his lord’s summons, as Matthew knew he would.

  He had a particular reason for summoning him this morning.

  Trenton was still at Wellesbourne. Matthew knew that because Gaston, and Alixandrea, had told him, but Alixandrea had also told him that Lysabel had turned Trenton away when the man had begged her to run off with him. Astounded, Matthew had listened to his wife relay the tale her daughter had told her, how Trenton had begged her to leave with him, and how Lysabel, for the sake of family honor, had refused.

  Truth be told, Matthew was shocked to hear it. Shocked, but deeply relieved for his daughter’s sake. It was as if a massive weight had been lifted off of him. He honestly hadn’t known if Lysabel would make the right choice, but it turned out she had. The right choice for her, and for all of them.

  But one that broke Trenton’s heart.

  That’s what Gaston had told him, anyway. Trenton was holed up in his father’s chamber, and since the previous night had ingested at least three big pitchers of wine. As of this morning, he was sleeping off his drinking binge, which was why Matthew had summo
ned Ranse.

  He had to move quickly in this situation. He felt rather subversive about it, but he had little choice. Better to move on with his plans to betroth Lysabel while Trenton was incapacitated, before the man sobered and perhaps made another try at convincing Lysabel to run away with him. He wasn’t so sure his devastated daughter would be as strong the second time around.

  Therefore, this conversation with Ranse had to take place now.

  “I did,” Matthew said after a moment. “Please close the door.”

  Ranse did as he was told, closing the solar door and then going to stand before Matthew rather formally.

  Matthew’s gaze moved over the man. Ranse had been with him for a few years and was a solid, dedicated, and talented knight. He was also obedient to a fault. Matthew barely had to lift a finger with Ranse around because the man anticipated him in almost everything. He was so proactive that even William, the ne’er-do-well son, had noticed and teased Ranse endlessly about it. Whenever Matthew would come around Ranse, William would start whistling to the knight as if he were a dog. He called Ranse the “guard dog” because of his obedience to Matthew, but it was all in good fun. The truth was that William admired Ranse a great deal, and as the only Wellesbourne son remaining at Wellesbourne to serve his father, he had learned quite a bit from Kenilworth Castle-trained de Troyes.

  He was a good man.

  Therefore, Matthew had no qualms about making him one of the family. He only hoped Ranse felt the same way.

  “Ranse, you have been with me for several years now,” he said after a moment. “I hope it has been as good a relationship for you as it has been for me.”

  Ranse nodded smartly. “It has, my lord,” he said. Then, he added, “When William isn’t annoying me.”

  Matthew started to laugh. “That cannot be helped,” he said. “He annoys everyone. It is the unfortunate part of your job.”

  Ranse fought off a smile. “I jest with you, my lord,” he said. “William is the life of Wellesbourne. Without him, it would be a sad and dull place. Present company excluded, of course.”

  Matthew waved him off. “I agree with you completely,” he said. “Your patience with my youngest has been much appreciated. You do like it here, don’t you?”

  “Aye, my lord. It is my home.” Suddenly, he looked at Matthew with some trepidation. “Are… are you considering sending me away, my lord? Is that why you are asking?”

  Matthew shook his head. “Not at all,” he said. “Sit down, Ranse. I must speak with you.”

  Quickly, Ranse found a chair and sat on it, stiffly, his gaze on Matthew still full of trepidation in spite of Matthew’s reassurance that he wasn’t about to send the man away. Matthew went to sit across the table from him, his expression pensive.

  “What I am about to tell you must not leave this room, at least for now,” he said quietly, seriously. “You must hold it in the strictest confidence. Is that clear?”

  “It is, my lord.”

  Matthew sat forward, his hand on the table, thinking how to phrase everything. He’d been thinking about it all night but, now, the time was upon him and he had to put his thoughts into words. He proceeded carefully.

  “You know that we were all greatly saddened by the passing of your wife last year,” he said quietly. “Her death affected Lady Wellesbourne greatly.”

  Ranse’s formal manner took a bit of hit, but he did nothing more than take a deep breath and force a smile. “I know, my lord,” he said. “Lady Wellesbourne was at my wife’s side during the birth. I have taken great comfort in the fact that she was holding my wife’s hand when she passed on.”

  Matthew nodded, remembering that bleak point in time. Alixandrea had cried for two days afterwards. “Serving me as you have, we tend to look at you as part of the family, but the truth is that you are not; not really.” He paused. “Have you thought about remarrying, Ranse?”

  Ranse seemed to falter a bit. “Nay,” he said honestly. “I was happy with my wife. I’ve no wish to replace her.”

  Matthew considered that. He sat back in his chair, his focus intense on Ranse. “I am asking you these questions for a reason, Ranse,” he said. “There is something you should know. Benoit de Wilde is dead. The circumstances of his death are not important, but what is important is that my daughter is involved in it. The circumstances were beyond her control, believe me. As I have come to discover, de Wilde beat my daughter for years. He seriously abused her, and she is only now starting to heal. It is a good thing de Wilde is dead, for if he wasn’t, I would kill him.”

  Ranse’s eyes were filled with both shock and disgust. “The blackheart,” he muttered. “I had no idea.”

  “No one did.”

  “But Lady de Wilde seems well,” Ranse said, hope in his voice. “I have seen her several times since her arrival here and she seems very well.”

  Matthew nodded. “She is,” he said. “As I said, she is healing, but I believe a strong and kind man will help her with that process, a process that no woman should have to go through alone. She is an heiress, you know. When I die, my eldest son, James, will inherit my titles and lands, but Lysabel will inherit Rosehill Manor in London. It has been in my family for many years and it is a very wealthy inheritance that includes the Syon Lordship, which is from my maternal grandmother. In any case, Lysabel brings a good deal with her to any marriage and would be a fine match for any man.”

  Ranse was nodding until he began to realize that Matthew might mean him. But then he thought he was imagining things because even though he was from a fine family, as the House of de Troyes was a powerful family around Bolton, north of Manchester, the fact remained that Ranse was the third son of Lord Tottington, a very powerful warlord affiliated with the Earls of Carlisle. He’d grown up having to fight for everything he had against two aggressive older brothers, which is why he loved Wellesbourne so much – he was a man all his own, without having to submit to two older brothers who only wanted to kill each other for the Tottington fortune. He’d grown up believing he was subservient to the rest of his family.

  So, clearly, Lord Wellesbourne couldn’t mean him.

  … could he?

  “I believe she would be, my lord,” he agreed after a moment’s pause. “She and her daughters would be a fine tribute to any man.”

  “She is pregnant with her third child. Benoit’s child.”

  Ranse’s eyebrows lifted, but only for a brief moment. “I see,” he said. “But it is of no matter. The man she marries can simply raise the child as his own, better still if it is a son.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Matthew said. “Ranse, I would like to offer you my daughter’s hand in marriage. I would like to see you become part of the Wellesbourne family, and when she inherits Rosehill, you will make a fine Lord Syon. Is there any reason why you cannot accept this offer?”

  Ranse thought that he was prepared for the offer. He wasn’t. In fact, he did something at that moment that, under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have done. He stood up and turned his back to Matthew, pacing away from the man, pondering the extremely generous and attractive offer he’d just been made.

  He was shocked.

  “Nay, there is not,” he finally said, turning to look at Matthew. “But how does Lady de Wilde feel about it?”

  Matthew stood up. “She does not know,” he said. “I have not yet told her. I thought to seal the contract with you before telling her. She does not know you, Ranse, but you are a likable man. I know you will endear yourself to her and her children, with time. But know… know that she has some personal issues, all relating to the death of Benoit. It will take her time to overcome them, but I am certain that with your help, she can.”

  Ranse nodded, wondering very seriously what those issues were. “My lord, since you have asked me to marry the woman, will you tell me how Lord de Wilde died? I feel as if I have a right to know this. You said she was involved – did she kill him?”

  Matthew shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “
Trenton de Russe killed him when he caught him beating Lysabel.”

  This time, Ranse couldn’t keep the shock off his face. “Is that why de Russe escorted her to Wellesbourne?”

  “Aye. He brought Lysabel home and remained to make sure she was well. He is an old family friend, you know. His concern was not unusual.”

  Ranse nodded quickly. “Of course not,” he said. “It was quite chivalrous of him to do so.”

  Matthew wanted off the subject of Trenton. To tell Ranse the reality of the situation between Lysabel and Trenton might very well make the man refuse the marital contract and, in this case, Matthew felt it was important not to tell him. Lysabel had rejected Trenton, so whatever existed between them was finished. Ranse didn’t need to know about something that didn’t concern him.

  At least, he hoped that was the case.

  Alixandrea had voiced her concern about the betrothal, telling Matthew that it wasn’t fair to put Ranse in the middle of the lovers, but Matthew had to believe that whatever had flared between Trenton and Lysabel was over with. His daughter had rejected the man, and if there was an ounce of honor in Trenton, he wouldn’t cause trouble. Matthew was thankful that Gaston was at Wellesbourne to curb his son should the need arise.

  But whatever happened, Matthew had to do what was best for his daughter.

  And this was the best.

  “Trenton is a good man,” he said after a moment. “But the fact remains that my daughter is in need of a husband, and you are in need of wife. I realize it is a great deal to ask of a man to accept a woman, her two children, and a pregnancy, but I hope you will consider it. I can think of no better man to entrust my daughter to.”