"Peeves!" the baron shouted. Peeves fell out of the air.

"Y-y-yes...yes, your bloodiness, sir?" he recovered his balance and saluted.

"Let the children go, Peeves." The baron indicated the closet and Peeves immediately began fumbling with the lock.

"NOW!" the Bloody Baron roared, causing all present to flinch. Peeves yelped and finally got the door open. The pale, frightened first years stumbled out of the closet and scurried away.

The Fat Friar patted the baron on the shoulder as Peeves zoomed away.

"Thank goodness we have you around, sir. You have quite a way with him, and goodness knows he won't take any orders from the rest of us. I wonder why he fears you so?"

"If you knew what Peeves knows, you would fear me as well." The baron locked his wide blue eyes on the friar and watched the fat man squirm.

1348

Cornflower blue eyes were the first things Gustave saw each morning. A sweet smile greeted him and the first words he heard were "I love you". Branwyn was everything he could ever have wanted. Her flowing hair was a deep, glossy black and her skin was as pale and smooth as new cream.

She was Welsh, but she spoke English perfectly, with a soft lilting accent. She spoke no French though, so Gustave was able to curse at the servants without Branwyn's reproachful stares. She was set upon "gentling" him, and had made a point of weeding out his bad habits since the day they had wed. Gustave sensed there was more behind it than simple annooyance at his foul language or contemptful actions, but he didn't ask. He let her believe that he was becoming "civilized" because it made her happy. He liked to make her happy. She was the joy of his life, his only pleasure in the dreary manor.

This particular morning, he awoke with soft lips upon his own. His mouth curved into a smile and he lifted his hands and plunged his fingers into her silken hair.

"No, don't!" she cried in dismay, pulling away from him, her hands flying to steady her complex coiffure. "Rosalind has just finished and and she'll scold me if I ask her to fix it so soon. Now, get up and dress yourself. It's past 10 and they'll be here soon." She brought him his clothes out of the press as he blinked in the sunlight. God preserve me, he thought. I can't tolerate those ridiculous dandies who call themselves lords. The other barons in the area had called some sort of meeting, and the deForet manor, being in a central location, was chosen as the meeting place. Lord, let it be over quickly. He dressed slowly, watching Branwyn fuss over her hair and remarking inwardly how fine she looked in the rose colored silk he'd purchased a month ago. She hummed softly as she peered into the looking glass. At least one of us is happy, he grumbled to himself. He had been up too late the night before and sleep was still heavily upon him.

Gustave was finishing breakfast an hour later when he heard the front gates open and riders enter the yard. Let this be over quickly, he prayed again.

Lord William Stephens was the first to arrive. Branwyn greeted him at the door with a smile. He bent over her hand and kissed it enthusiastically. Gustave appeared behind her and the slight man stepped back abruptly.

"M'lord," he stuttered. "It is a pleasure to see you." Gustave said nothing, but gave a curt nod and turned back to the great hall. William and Branwyn trotted to keep up with him.

The seven other barons arrived within the next hour and the meeting began. Gustave sat at the head of the table and listened as the twits chattered among themselves. Finally, he called for order.

"Now, what exactly are we here to discuss?" He let his irritation show and the other men stared at their hands until Roland spoke up. He was Gustave's nearest neighbor.

"Have you had no news from the villages?" Gustave shook his head. Roland went on, "There is illness in the the country, Gustave. A horrid sickness that kills most that it touches. That is what we are here to discuss." The other barons nodded as one.

"What is there to discuss, gentlemen?" Gustave glared at each in turn.

"What are we to do?" Alain raised his head at last.

"It's obvious, isn't it? We must band together and help those that we can!" William exclaimed. "We must ration what medicine we have and take care of the peasants that have nothing!" He stood and pounded the table with his fist. Gustave stood as well.

"Nonsense! We must do no such thing! We have no obligation for those who will not care for themselves. We are responsible only for ourselves and our own. I, for one, plan to stay in my home and wait until this illness has passed. I have no desire to court Death by mingling with sickly serfs." He sat down again as the room exploded with noise.

"Gustave!" Branwyn was at his side in a second. "You must not do this! What kind of leader are you if you will not put aside your own conceit to do what is right?"

"You understand nothing, woman. Please, leave our welfare to me and go to the garden. I will meet you there when this foolishness is through." He waved his hand at her and failed to see the tears that welled up in her eyes as she ran from the room.