“Curses, like chickens, come home to roost,” Philippe murmured.
“It was the Congregation who ordered my abduction, and a witch named Satu tried to force the magic from me. When she failed, Satu threw me into the oubliette.”
Matthew’s hand strayed to the small of my back as it always did when that night was mentioned. Philippe watched the movement but said nothing.
“After I escaped, I couldn’t stay at Sept-Tours and put Ysabeau in danger. There was all this magic coming out of me, you see, and powers I couldn’t control. Matthew and I went home, to my aunts’ house.” I paused, searching for a way to explain where that house was. “You know the legends told by Gallowglass’s people, about lands across the ocean to the west?” Philippe nodded. “That’s where my aunts live. More or less.”
“And these aunts are both witches?”
“Yes. Then a manjasang came to kill Matthew—one of Gerbert’s creatures—and she nearly succeeded. There was nowhere we could go that would be beyond the Congregation’s reach, except the past.” I paused, shocked at the venomous look that Philippe gave Matthew. “But we haven’t found a haven here. People in Woodstock know I’m a witch, and the trials in Scotland might affect our lives in Oxfordshire. So we’re on the run again.” I reviewed the outlines of the story, making sure I hadn’t left out anything important. “That’s my tale.”
“You have a talent for relating complicated information quickly and succinctly, madame. If you would be so kind as to share your methods with Matthew, it would be a service to the family. We spend more than we should on paper and quills.” Philippe considered his fingertips for a moment, then stood with a vampiric efficiency that turned a simple movement into an explosion. One minute he was seated, and then, the next, his muscles sprang into action so that all six feet of him suddenly, and startlingly, loomed over the table. The vampire fixed his attention on his son.
“This is a dangerous game you are playing, Matthew, one with everything to lose and very little to gain. Gallowglass sent a message after you parted. The rider took a different route and arrived before you did. While you’ve been taking your time getting here, the king of Scotland has arrested hundreds of witches and imprisoned them in Edinburgh. The Congregation no doubt thinks you are on your way there to persuade King James to drop this matter.”
“All the more reason for you to give Diana your protection,” Matthew said tightly.
“Why should I?” Philippe’s cold countenance dared him to say it.
“Because I love her. And because you tell me that’s what the Order of Lazarus is for: protecting those who cannot protect themselves.”
“I protect other manjasang, not witches!”
“Maybe you should take a more expansive view,” Matthew said stubbornly. “Manjasang can normally take care of themselves.”
“You know very well that I cannot protect this woman, Matthew. All of Europe is feuding over matters of faith, and warmbloods are seeking scapegoats for their present troubles. Inevitably they turn to the creatures around them. Yet you knowingly brought this woman—a woman you claim is your mate and a witch by blood—into this madness. No.” Philippe shook his head vehemently. “You may think you can brazen it out, but I will not put the family at risk by provoking the Congregation and ignoring the terms of the covenant.”
“Philippe, you must—”
“Don’t use that word with me.” A finger jabbed in Matthew’s direction. “Set your affairs in order and return whence you came. Ask me for help there—or better yet, ask the witch’s aunts. Don’t bring your troubles into the past where they don’t belong.”
But there was no Philippe for Matthew to lean on in the twenty-first century. He was gone—dead and buried.
“I have never asked you for anything, Philippe. Until now.” The air in the room dropped several dangerous degrees.
“You should have foreseen my response, Matthaios, but as usual you were not thinking. What if your mother were here? What if bad weather hadn’t struck Trier? You know she despises witches.” Philippe stared at his son. “It would take a small army to keep her from tearing this woman limb from limb, and I don’t have one to spare at the moment.”
First it had been Ysabeau who’d wished me out of her son’s life. Baldwin had made no effort to hide his disdain. Matthew’s friend Hamish was wary of me, and Kit openly disliked me. Now it was Philippe’s turn. I stood and waited for Matthew’s father to look at me. When he did, I met his eyes squarely. His flickered with surprise.
“Matthew couldn’t anticipate this, Monsieur de Clermont. He trusted you to stand with him, though his faith was misplaced in this case.” I took a steadying breath. “I would be grateful if you would let me stay at SeptTours tonight. Matthew hasn’t slept for weeks, and he is more likely to do so in a familiar place. Tomorrow I will return to England—without Matthew, if necessary.”
One of my new curls tumbled onto my left temple. I reached up to push it away and found my wrist in Philippe de Clermont’s grip. By the time I had registered my new position, Matthew was next to his father, palms on his shoulders.
“Where did you get that?” Philippe was gazing at the ring on the third finger of my left hand. Ysabeau’s ring. Philippe’s eyes turned feral, sought out mine. His fingers tightened on my wrist until the bones started to give way. “She would never have given my ring to another, not while we both lived.”
“She lives, Philippe.” Matthew’s words were fast and rough, meant to convey information rather than reassurance.
“But if Ysabeau is alive, then . . .” Philippe trailed off into silence. For a moment he looked dumbfounded before understanding crept over his features. “So I am not immortal after all. And you cannot seek me out when and where these troubles began.”
“No.” Matthew forced the syllable past his lips.
“Yet you left your mother to face your enemies?” Philippe’s expression was savage.
“Marthe is with her. Baldwin and Alain will make certain that she comes to no harm.” Matthew’s words now came in a soothing stream, but his father still held my fingers. They were growing numb.
“And Ysabeau gave my ring to a witch? How extraordinary. It looks well on her, though,” Philippe said absently, turning my hand toward the firelight.
“Maman thought it would,” said Matthew softly.
“When—” Philippe took a deliberate breath and shook his head. “No. Don’t tell me. No creature should know his own death.”
My mother had foreseen her gruesome end and my father’s, too. Cold, exhausted, and haunted by my own memories, I started to tremble. Matthew’s father seemed oblivious to it, staring down at our hands, but his son was not.
“Let her go, Philippe,” Matthew commanded.
Philippe looked into my eyes and sighed with disappointment. Despite the ring, I was not his beloved Ysabeau. He withdrew his hand, and I stepped back, well beyond Philippe’s long reach.
“Now that you have heard her tale, will you give Diana your protection?” Matthew searched his father’s face.
“Is that what you want, madame?”
I nodded, my fingers curling around the carved arm of the nearby chair.
“Then yes, the Knights of Lazarus will ensure her well-being.”
“Thank you, Father.” Matthew’s hands tightened on Philippe’s shoulder, and then he headed back in my direction. “Diana is tired. We will see you in the morning.”
“Absolutely not.” Philippe’s voice cracked across the room. “Your witch is under my roof and in my care. She will not be sharing a bed with you.”
Matthew took my hand in his. “Diana is far from home, Philippe. She’s not familiar with this part of the castle.”