“To save my family, I’ll do what I must.”
“It’s done,” Matthew said, putting down his phone.
It was the sixth of December, one year and one day since Philippe had marked Diana with his blood vow. On Isola della Stella, a small island in the Venetian lagoon, a sworn testament of her status as a de Clermont sat on the desk of a Congregation functionary waiting to be entered into the family pedigree.
“So Aunt Verin came through in the end,” Marcus said.
“Or Gallowglass.” Fernando hadn’t given up hope that Hugh’s son would return in time for the christening.
“Baldwin did it.” Matthew sat back in his chair and wiped his hands over his face.
Alain appeared with an apology for the interruption, a stack of mail, and a glass of wine. He cast a worried glance at the three vampires huddled around the kitchen fire and left without comment.
Fernando and Marcus looked at each other, their consternation evident.
“Baldwin? But if Baldwin did it . . .” Marcus trailed off.
“He’s more worried about Diana’s safety than the de Clermonts’ reputation,” Matthew finished.
“The question is, what does he know that we don’t?”
The seventh of December was our anniversary, and Sarah and Ysabeau baby-sat the twins to give Matthew and me a few hours on our own. I prepared bottles of milk for Philip, mixed blood and a bit of milk for Rebecca, and brought the pair down to the family library. There Ysabeau and Sarah had constructed a wonderland of blankets, toys, and mobiles to entertain them and were looking forward to the evening with their grandchildren.
When I suggested we would simply have a quiet dinner in Matthew’s tower so as to be within calling distance if there was a problem, Ysabeau handed me a set of keys.
“Dinner is waiting for you at Les Revenants,” she said.
“Les Revenants?” It was not a place I’d heard of before.
“Philippe built the castle to house Crusaders coming home from the Holy Land.” Matthew explained. “It belongs to Maman.
“It’s your house now. I’m giving it to you,” Ysabeau said. “Happy anniversary.”
“It’s too much, Ysabeau,” I protested.
“Les Revenants is better suited to a family than this place is. It is really quite cozy.” Ysabeau’s expression was touched with wistfulness. “And Philippe and I were happy there.”
“Are you sure?” Matthew asked his mother.
“Yes. And you will like it, Diana,” Ysabeau said with a lift of her eyebrows. “All the rooms have doors.”
“How could anyone describe this as cozy?” I asked when we arrived at the house outside Limousin.
Les Revenants was smaller than Sept-Tours, but not by much. There were only four towers, Matthew pointed out, one on each corner of the square keep. But the moat that surrounded it was large enough to qualify as a lake, and the splendid stable complex and beautiful interior courtyard rather took away from any claims that this was more modest than the official de Clermont residence. Inside, however, there was an intimate feeling to the place, in spite of its large public rooms on the ground floor.
Though the castle had been built in the twelfth century, it had been thoroughly renovated and was now fully updated with modern conveniences such as bathrooms, electricity, and even heat in some of the rooms. Despite all that, I was just winding myself up to reject the gift and any idea that we would ever live here when my clever husband showed me the library.
The Gothic Revival room with its beamed ceiling, carved woodwork, large fireplace, and decorative heraldic shields was tucked into the southwest corner of the main building. A large bank of windows overlooked the inner courtyard while another, smaller window framed the Limousin countryside. Bookcases lined the only two straight walls, rising to the ceiling. A curved walnut staircase led up to a gallery that gave access to the higher shelves. It reminded me a bit of Duke Humfrey’s Reading Room, with its dark woodwork and hushed lighting.