“Is that why you made me your daughter—because Champier was coming?” I whispered.
“No. You and Matthew survived one test in the church and another in the hay barn. The blood swearing was simply the first step in making you a de Clermont. And now it’s time to finish it.” Philippe turned toward his second-in-command. “Fetch the priest, Alain, and tell the village to assemble at the church on Saturday. Milord is getting married, with book and priest and all of Saint-Lucien to witness the ceremony. There will be nothing hole-in-corner about this wedding.”
“I just killed a man! This isn’t the moment to discuss our marriage.”
“Nonsense. Marrying amid bloodshed is a de Clermont family tradition,” Philippe said briskly. “We only seem to mate creatures who are desired by others. It is a messy business.”
“I. Killed. Him.” Just to be sure my message was clear, I pointed to the body on the floor.
“Alain, Pierre, please remove Monsieur Champier. He is upsetting madame. The rest of you have too much to do to remain here gawking.” Philippe waited until the three of us were alone before he continued.
“Mark me well, Diana: Lives will be lost because of your love for my son. Some will sacrifice themselves. Others will die because someone must, and it will be for you to decide if it is you or them or someone you love. So you must ask yourself this: What does it matter who deals the deathblow? If you do not do it, then Matthew will. Would you rather he had Champier’s death on his conscience?”
“Of course not,” I said quickly.
“Pierre, then? Or Thomas?”
“Thomas? He’s just a boy!” I protested.
“That boy promised to stand between you and your enemies. Did you see what he clutched in his hands? The bellows from the stillroom. Thomas filed its metal point into a weapon. If you hadn’t killed Champier, that boy would have shoved it through his guts at the first opportunity.”
“We’re not animals but civilized creatures,” I protested. “We should be able to talk about this and settle our differences without bloodshed.”
“Once I sat at a table and talked for three hours with a man—a king. No doubt you and many others would have considered him a civilized creature. At the end of our conversation, he ordered the death of thousands of men, women, and children. Words kill just as swords do.”
“She’s not accustomed to our ways, Philippe,” Matthew warned.
“Then she needs to become so. The time for diplomacy has passed.” Philippe’s voice never rose, nor did it lose its habitual evenness. Matthew might have tells, but his father had yet to betray his deeper emotions.
“No more discussion. Come Saturday, you and Matthew will be married. Because you are my daughter in blood as well as name, you will be married not only as a good Christian but in a way that will honor my ancestors and their gods. This is your last chance to say no, Diana. If you have reconsidered and no longer want Matthew and the life—and death—that marrying him entails, I will see you safely back to England.”
Matthew set me away from him. It was only a matter of inches, but it was symbolic of so much more. Even now he was giving me the choice, though his was long since made. So was mine.
“Will you marry me, Matthew?” Given that I was a murderer, it seemed only right to ask.
Philippe gave a choking cough.
“Yes, Diana. I will marry you. I already have, but I’m happy to do it again to please you.”
“I was satisfied the first time. This is for your father.” It was impossible to think any more about marriage when my legs were still shaking and there was blood on the floor.
“Then we are all agreed. Take Diana to her room. It would be best if she remained there until we are sure Champier’s friends aren’t nearby.” Philippe paused on his way out the door. “You have found a woman who is worthy of you, with courage and hope to spare, Matthaios.”
“I know,” Matthew said, taking my hand.
“Know this, too: You are equally worthy of her. Stop regretting your life. Start living it.”
Chapter Twelve
The wedding Philippe planned for us was to span three days. From Friday to Sunday, the chateau staff, the villagers, and everyone else for miles around would be involved in what he insisted was a small family affair.
“It has been some time since we had a wedding, and winter is a cheerless time of year. We owe it to the village,” was how Philippe brushed aside our protests. Chef, too, was irritated when Matthew suggested that it wasn’t feasible to produce three last-minute feasts while food stores were running low and Christians practiced abstemiousness. So there was a war on and it was Advent, Chef scoffed. That was no reason to refuse a party.