"Baron! Sir! Peeves is - "

In a flash, the baron was out of his chair, nose to nose with Nick before the nearly-headless idiot had a chance to flinch.

"Nicholas," he breathed. "What is my name?" Nick looked terrified.

"Sir..." Fire flashed in the baron's eyes and fury danced across his face.

"No! What is my name, Nicholas?"

"Gustave," Nick stuttered. "Gustave deForet."

The rage vanished from the baron's face. It was like looking at a completely different man than a moment before. He even came close to smiling.

"Did you know, Nicholas," the baron said quietly, "that no one has called me that since the year 1390? Yes, when old Professor Sonoro died. More than six hundred years ago."

Nick's eyes widened as a real smile appeared on Gustave's face, something Nick had never seen before.

"I hope," the baron continued in the same soft voice, "that it won't be another six hundred years before I hear that name again." He nodded to Nick and resumed his seat by the fire.

Nick fled the room, completely forgetting his reason for coming there in the first place. Fierce anger from the baron was one thing. This brief glimpse of humanity was entirely too much to handle.

1348

The other barons had gone an hour ago, and Gustave still sat in the council chamber, thoughtfully tracing the grain of the table. The door creaked open and Branwyn entered. Her hair hung loose down her back and her face was red and splotchy. She stood behind Gustave and put her hands on his shoulders.

"You hurt me, husband," she whispered. "To speak to me so..."

"I care for no one but you, Branwyn," Gustave said in a raspy voice. "I'll not risk your welfare for some idiotic sense of duty. I have loved you since I first laid eyes on your face."

"And I you, Gustave. When you were naught but a plain, frightened child, lost in the shadow of a cruel father." She sighed. "Do you not see why I bicker with you so? I see your father in you at times, and it frightens me. He was a cold, unfeeling man who cared nothing for you or anyone else. It would break my heart to see you become such as he was. 'Twas a great mercy that he died when he did."

An old, fierce loyalty to his sire flared up in Gustave's heart, but quickly died out again. What she said was true. His father had been cruel. Every part of Gustave's being rejected the thought of ever becoming like Stefan deForet. He stood and wrapped his arms around his wife.

"I am sorry I spoke harshly to you. Can you forgive your boarish husband for his foolishness?"

"I can, and I will. Will you please consider sending aid to the villages?" Her eyes pleaded with him as she turned her face to his. "It would pain me to see our child raised by a father with no regard for others."

"Oui, mon cherie. I will - " he stopped short and stared at her. "Child? Our child, Branwyn?"

"Oui, my husband. Our child." She placed a hand on her abdomen and beamed.

"A child." Gustave's face lit up and tears clogged his throat. "How long have you known?"

"I have only been sure for a few days. I couldn't find the right moment to tell you, with everything that has been happening."

Gustave clasped Branwyn to him and spun her around the room, laughing joyfully. Suddenly, he stopped and looked seriously at her.

"This is but one more reason that we mustn't come in contact with this plague that is infecting the villages." He held up a hand when she began to protest. "We will send what medicine we can spare, but otherwise, no one leaves or enters the manor. Now, run along and tell that to Mrs. McKenna. I've business to attend to. She nodded and turned to go. He caught her by the wrist and spun her back into his arms, kissing her gently. He pulled back after a long moment.

"Don't overtax yourself, love. And be sure to eat something. You had no breakfast, and the child needs food," he said breathlessly. She smiled again and left him alone.