“I don’t believe you need to strike the post a third time,” Fernando drawled from behind him. “It should still be standing straight and tall when the next ice age comes.”
Matthew rested the business end of the maul on the ground and propped his arms on the shaft. He was not sweaty or winded. He was, however, annoyed at the interruption.
“What is it, Fernando?”
“I heard you speaking to Baldwin last night,” he replied.
Matthew picked up the posthole digger without responding.
“I take it he told you to stay here and not to cause any trouble—for now,” Fernando continued.
Matthew thrust the two sharp blades into the earth. They descended quite a bit farther into the soil than they would have if a human had been wielding the tool. He gave the implement a twist, withdrew it from the ground, and picked up a wooden post.
“Come, Mateus. Fixing Sarah’s fence is hardly the most useful way to spend your time.”
“The most useful way to spend my time would be to find Benjamin and rid the family of the monster once and for all.” Matthew held the seven-foot fence post in one hand as easily as though it weighed no more than a pencil and drove the tip into the soft earth. “Instead I’m waiting for Baldwin to give me permission to do what I should have done long ago.”
“Hmm.” Fernando studied the fence post. “Why don’t you go, then? To hell with Baldwin and his dictatorial ways. See to Benjamin. It will be no trouble for me to look after Diana as well as Sarah.”
Matthew turned a scathing glance on Fernando. “I am not going to leave my pregnant mate in the middle of nowhere—not even with you.”
“So your plan is to stay here, fixing whatever you can find that is broken, until the happy moment when Baldwin rings to authorize you to kill your own child. Then you will drag Diana along to whatever godforsaken hole Benjamin occupies and eviscerate him in front of your wife?” Fernando flung his hands up in disgust. “Don’t be absurd.”
“Baldwin won’t tolerate anything but obedience, Fernando. He made that very clear at Sept-Tours.”
Baldwin had dragged the de Clermont men and Fernando out into the night and explained in brutal and detailed terms just what would befall each and every one of them if he detected a whisper of protest or a glimmer of insurrection. Afterward even Gallowglass had looked shaken.
“There was a time when you enjoyed outflanking Baldwin. But since your father died, you have let your brother treat you abominably.” Fernando snagged the post maul before Matthew could get his hands on it.
“I couldn’t lose Sept-Tours. Maman wouldn’t have survived it—not after Philippe’s death.”
Matthew’s mother had been far from invincible then. She had been as fragile as blown glass. “The chateau might technically belong to the Knights of Lazarus, but everyone knows that the brotherhood belongs to the de Clermonts. If Baldwin wanted to challenge Philippe’s will and claim Sept-Tours, he would have succeeded, and Ysabeau would have been out in the cold.”
“Ysabeau seems to have recovered from Philippe’s death. What is your excuse now?”
“Now my wife is a de Clermont.” Matthew gave Fernando a level look.
“I see.” Fernando snorted. “Marriage has turned your mind to mush and bent your spine like a willow twig, my friend.”
“I won’t do anything to jeopardize her position. She might not yet understand what it means, but you and I both know how important it is to be counted among Philippe’s children,” Matthew said. “The de Clermont name will protect her from all sorts of threats.”
“And for this tenuous toehold in the family, you would sell your soul to that devil?” Fernando was genuinely surprised.