Ragnall & Astraea, 1269-1270 CE

by The Modern Typewriter

Sometimes going home is harder than we think. Family isn't always how we imagine it will be. Sometimes the paths we take in life are simply beyond our choosing. There is more at stake now than ever for the Gonçalves de Clermont scion, and Addison finds herself once again caught up in the rapidly changing tides of history, wondering how on earth she'll make it through to spring.

5. Fall, a Matter of Convictions

Chapter 5: Fall, a Matter of Convictions

Sorley had always been a rambler, no matter the name he wore, or the burdens laid down upon his shoulders. When he was a child, he would often wander, for hours and hours away from his family and his chores. And his father had tanned his hide on more than one occasion for the trouble and concern his absence had caused them.

Now, fully grown, he wished he could say much had changed. But it hadn't. His soul seemed to have been made for restlessness and unending curiosity.

Often when he came to settle in a place, either familiar or new, he resigned himself to a conflict of convictions, and mutable feelings on the matter. Those ever-contrary sentiments of comfort and entrapment. Of wellness, and discontent. His heart could not reconcile the comfort of family with the itch in his spine, and his chest, that would only grow – the one that called him to wander, that whispered to him he had not yet found what he was looking for.

Sorley was haunted by this feeling. He had been all his life.

That is what perplexed him about his tenure in Arregathel. His long stay at Castle Sween. His fealty to an unfit lord, and the village who had suffered for that same man's shortcomings.

He had been called to stay. For far too long he had stayed. And it had never made sense. Not to him. Not to Lindon who had sworn to follow him wherever he may go.

That call for more forever weighed upon him. And the itch he could never soothe – the one that whispered to him that there was more just beyond his reach, that there was something or someone or somewhere just out of sight, just around the bend, calling his name – it urged him to go find them, and in Arregathel it had urged him to stay. Though he had never been able to shake the feeling that someone, or something, or somewhere was waiting for him to wander the right way.

When he met Malvina, so many years ago, that call quieted. The whispers ceased. The itch was soothed. Any urge to ramble fell away from him. She called all desire to leave right to a halt. And with one look, with one chance encounter on a little path of mud, in the tides of their own peculiar history, his body sung for him to stay.

Two strangers met on a road paved by fate, and they knew each other even then as someone significant, and they fell over time in their own particular brand of love. He found himself anchored. A tether in his chest, one he'd always felt, but had no name for, found its rest in her.

Sorley found peace in her.

In this perplexing lass, he found sense. He found the reason for all the restlessness and wandering.

In Malvina, Sorley found a home.

And for a short time, he imagined he could keep her.

In an even shorter time, he found keeping her would be quite impossible.

He failed her, and he failed to die, and then he rambled. He wandered still.

But this time he did not wander alone.

He became someone new. With a new kind of family. A new kind of duty. One, he hoped, he would live up to in a way he had not done before.

This was another thing about Sorley Maclean. A fine warrior, and a good man, a reliable friend, and a person of honor, but he was not adept at following the rules. He was not, and had never pretended to be, a good knight. He had one job in his past life, and that was to do as Suibhne commanded. And the one thing he had failed to do was exactly that. He had subverted his orders at every turn. He had undermined, and outthought, and outtalked, and outmaneuvered every attempt by the man who tried so valiantly, and so negligently, to squander what others so desperately needed. There was always a loophole. Always a way out. Always another option.

He was not meant for knighthood, Sorley Maclean. He had been meant perhaps for less, but Hugh de Clermont saw this and thought him fit for more.

Hugh saw this ugly truth in the young man who became his son.

Hugh de Clermont understood that Sorley was a million things first – and better at them too – than a man who followed the rules.

So, Sorley became more, and Hugh fostered the change. And Fernando trailed behind them wary and resolute, cleaning up their messes along the way. A rambling child with an idealistic father, and a pragmatic shadow at his back... Eric de Clermont could say with hesitant confidence that he had done his best, and so far, was succeeding.

He was a good son. A good grandson. A more than capable warrior. An honorable leader, he'd been told.

But also, a man who could not keep his mate by his side. A man who could not protect the woman he loved from the horrors of the world no matter how many chances he was given. He and Malvina were always meant to find each other, and he was always meant to lose her. Over and over again, it seemed.

Sorley Maclean was a man compelled to wander, too restless to stay still, wading through the muck and the grime of a life long-lived, unable to rest until he found her again.

Reliable. Honorable. Competent.

Wayward.

Home.

He was in his father's tower. In his chambers.

He was home.

The fire was burning in the hearth when he entered.

It cast a flickering shadow on the heraldry that hung above his mantle. The room was warm. But her scent lingered, and the chair was askew in its place by his desk. He knew, as he knew her, that she had probably crept in here, perhaps in the dark of night, when no one was listening.

She'd come searching for him, through the darkness, in the cold.

His heart twinged to know he hadn't been here. That she'd come looking, and there was not but a shadow of his presence left to be found because when she was gone there was no reason to stay.

He laid his cloak out on the chair by the fire, allowing the heat from the flames to dry it. He shed his boots and left them lying where he dropped them and bent to relieve himself of his surcoat and chainmail, thinking back to the servant he had dismissed, wanting for the moment to have some time to himself and his thoughts, but regretting he'd have to remove his mail on his own.

The metal caught in his hair, and Eric released a curse before shaking himself free of it.

Then he stood back to his full height and made his way to the stand in the corner, adorning it with his discarded armor, and checking for chinks or rust. He propped his claymore against the wall beside the stand and gazed out the window as he stripped himself of his travel tunic, watching the guard tower which glowed in the distance with a small orange flame. His eyes swept over the tree line beyond, for once not overcome by the need to go there.

For once, Sorley was content to stay in his chambers. For once he had no itch to go there and stand at the edge of his family's land and look out on the great beyond. For once, he was completely content to be under his grandfather's roof, among the comforts of home, and the familiar faces of family and friends.

And it was all thanks to her.

Fernanda was but a handful of paces away. Barred from him only by a wall and a small set of stairs. Her breath was even as she readied herself once again for bed. And her heart was strong in her chest. His body hummed with the rhythm of her life flowing so near to him.

It settled something in his chest. Warmed something inside of him, in the space where an old tether resided, right there in the chambers of his heart.

Eric rolled his neck and shoulders, relieving himself of the tension that came from long days of travel and nights of hard riding. It had been a long journey from Rome, but he did not regret it.

Her laugh was lilting as she spoke quietly with Jacqueline. Eric smiled. He turned for the decanter by his door and poured himself a goblet of dark red wine. Relishing in the taste of it, and the knowledge that she was safe here. In the comfort of his family home.

That she would be by his side again.

That they could simply resume.

His eye caught a chest of his belongings, still full, and tucked against the wall in the corner – between the hearth and his wardrobe. Eric cocked his head doubtfully. He set his goblet down and turned for the chest.

The maids should have unpacked it long before he crossed the threshold. It should not be where they left it.

The door to his wardrobe was just slightly ajar, and Eric thought that rather odd. Reaching for the handle, he swung it open and stared in at his belongings trying to ascertain whether something was amiss.

An old pair of grieves that had begun to pinch at the wrist, sat at the bottom, along with a good pair of working boots. There were a few spare items of clothing, kept on hand in case he should ever return with nothing else on his person. And of course, Fernanda's dressing gown.

He had snagged it from La Ithuriana, the day he departed once again for Sept-Tours. More than fifty days after she had disappeared, but not long enough to recover.

It had been her favorite dressing gown, and she'd worn it often enough that her scent had become one with its fabric. Long after she'd gone, it carried her memory in its threads and Eric hadn't been able to let it go.

It was here at Sept-Tours that her scent finally faded.

He remembered the day he'd walked into this room to find the very last trace of her in this world had finally gone and disappeared as well.

Eric frowned and ran his finger over the smooth silk vines that colored her sleeves. Before tracing the length of the dressing gown down to a small blue flower. Carefully preserved.

He knelt, and retrieved it, turning it in his fingers with a contemplative frown.

This is not where he'd left the little forget-me-not that he'd plucked so many years ago from the garden beyond the wall. He had left this in his desk. Eric studied the wardrobe, and thought back to Fernanda's lonely scent, the only warm thing in a room she'd found so full of cold.

And then he saw the letter.

---

A knock sounded at Addison's door. She sat up, propping herself back against her pillow to stare at the door in alarm. Jacqueline had left her once again for the evening. Her room was dark, lit only by the flame in the hearth across the room. And the hourglass on her nightstand told her Jacqueline had left some time ago. Even the light from the courtyard had dimmed, and night had truly taken hold. The world was quiet, and she waited.

She waited, wondering if, perhaps, she had somehow imagined the sound.

It wouldn't be the first time she had heard things in the dark of night when she was meant to be alone. It wouldn't be the first odd occurrence she had encountered in this world.

But then another light tap sounded, and then came a familiar brogue.

"It's me, mo chridhe."

The little spool of thread in her belly gave an excited jolt and began to spin wildly in his direction, tugging her by her navel to hurry up and get out of bed.

She threw her covers back and hopped up quickly.

"One second," she called quietly, before adjusting her shift and padding barefoot to the door.

Struck by a sense of the familiar, Addison was reminded of another night six months ago when the two of them had found themselves in a situation very much the same as this. And as though she were walking through a dream, Addison had the oddest sensation that she was seeing things from afar. Her hand reached out for the latch on the door as though of its own volition. As though she was no longer inside of her own body. As though she had left herself just a few paces behind, in her haste to see him.

So elusive, so hard to keep, was the time they had between them. She could feel it even now wasting away, slipping through her fingers, and she wanted desperately to catch every remnant that she could.

Time was an odd sort of thing Addison had long since decided. It felt like only yesterday that she had landed on that road, in the dark of night, with no sense of direction and no way to get home. It felt like a bad dream more than a memory, the cold steel of Godfrey's blade pressed against her throat, the bark of the tree against her back, and the long ride to Sept-Tours on the back of Baldwin's temperamental horse.

Time had passed her once again in a blur. A blur of faces and activity and responsibility and nerves.

It had been weeks.

Now though, in the seconds it took for her door to swing open wide, Addison felt time slow down to an infinitesimal crawl. It inched along between who she was now and who she used to be. Stretched her across eternity and laid her bare for all to see.

He was standing there.

Eric... Sorley ... Her Gallowglass stood before her as though she'd never gone away.

And suddenly Addison couldn't remember where she was or when she was meant to be. Her mind could not separate the sturdy roof of his familial home from the dark canopy of ancient trees. Couldn't separate the bed she'd previously laid in, from his body lounging next to hers in the drawing room on an old settee in a house on a mountain along the Way of St. James.

Addison could not separate the man she knew then from the man she knew now. And she could not fathom how fifty years had been lost since she'd been ripped away last spring.

And she hated. She hated that horrible being that was time. She hated and she raged against it, but looking at him now, she felt only relief.

Time had found a sport in torturing her, but Eric was a balm against the pain. Sorley was the keeper of her memories, the ones too painful to hold onto as history sent her flying every which way.

He was here. And his eyes were soft, and his stance was lazy. He leaned against her doorframe and studied her where she stood. Just within reach. Just close enough to touch.

Addison smiled. And he offered her a sad grin of his own.

And then he held up her letter.

Addison blanched.

She hadn't meant for him to find it.

She hadn't known when or if he would come here. There'd been no way to send him word.

And she had forgotten. In the chaos of the new arrivals. In the chaos of learning how to manage a household. In the utter disbelief that followed his arrival, she'd forgotten—

Addison cringed.

"I... forgot about that," she said.

His lips twisted sympathetically, and he nodded to the room behind her.

"May I?"

"Of course," she said and stepped back, allowing him to step into the room.

He tapped the letter once against the doorframe before making his way into her chambers.

Addison closed the door softly and eyed the stairwell as she did.

"They're not listening to us," Eric said.

Addison turned back to him, looking uncertain.

"How do you know?"

"Half of them have departed for the evening, they'll not return until early in the morning hours. Godfrey remains, but he is across the house and is otherwise occupied with work."

"I see," Addison murmured, pressing her back against the door in uncertainty.

He stood easily in the middle of her room, dwarfing the space that had been allotted for her.

He studied her a moment, and she avoided his gaze.

"I read your letter," he said.

"I figured," she winced.

"Fernanda," he said. And Addison avoided his gaze. "Mo chridhe," he tried again but she shrunk in dismay.

Eric sighed and dropped down into a chair, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

"Malvina," he murmured.

Addison jolted at the old name, entirely caught by his gaze. He was watching her in sadness and sympathy and love, and she wanted to go to him, but she felt frozen there in the doorway. She had confessed every fear and every shame, and every want and he had read it. She didn't know what to say or where to look or what to do.

"Sorley," she said quietly back.

"Come here," he said.

Addison sighed and pushed off the door, approaching him in resignation.

He snorted. "You look like you've been sentenced to the gallows, lass."

Addison's face twisted but she tried not to laugh. He had read everything. She told him almost every stupid insecurity. Her belly twisted and fluttered with nerves, but his quiet laughter shook her of some of her dread. Now, it was all she could do not to succumb to the ridiculousness of their entire situation.

When she reached him, he tugged her closer, wrapping his arms loosely around her hips. He drew her near and Addison draped her arms over his shoulders, allowing herself to droop contentedly when he rested his forehead against her belly.

He sighed, and held her tighter for a moment, before loosening his hold and leaning back so he could look her in the eye.

"What's happening in that mind of yours, mo chridhe?"

Addison rolled her eyes and looked pointedly at the letter. "You already read it," she said. "Don't tell me you've forgotten."

He fixed her with a flat look and cocked his head to the side.

"I'd like to hear it from you, all the same."

Addison smiled awkwardly down at him, shifting her nervous energy from foot to foot, and wondering whether she should step out of his hold.

"There's nothing to say," she said. "It is what it is."

He arched an eyebrow at her odd turn of phrase, and Addison looked away, preferring to study her vanity rather than meet his piercing gaze. Conjuring images of the woman she had created in her mind. The one he had found to love in her absence. The one that was better than her in every way. And prettier. The one who got along with his impossible family.

"Nothing?" he asked her skeptically.

Addison remained silent. Eric gave an exaggerated sigh.

"My fair-haired lover will be saddened to hear it," he said with a shrug.

Addison snapped her eyes back to his in alarm, and then shoved back when his lips twisted into a teasing smirk.

"Oi," he said when she withdrew, trying to hold onto her.

"Let go," she said, annoyed. He released her in an instant.

"Fernanda," he said when she turned away.

She crossed her arms and ignored him.

He chuckled.

"Malvina."

"Don't call me Malvina," she said pettily.

"Mo chridhe," Eric tried again. He came to stand behind her, looking down at her, in her obstinance, before placing a kiss at the crown of her head. "I'm sorry."

Addison frowned. "I should never have written any of it."

"I'm glad that you did," he said in an unguarded voice that didn't suit him. Addison frowned and turned to look up at him.

He wore a soft, clean tunic. His breeches were new, she could tell, and his boots were the ones from the wardrobe in his chambers. They were of a good quality and rarely worn. Eric's eyes were earnest when she met them, and though he offered a smile, his whole being seemed to have been tinged by sadness, as though their reunion had been overshadowed by her prolonged absence and the presence of her doubt.

"Why?" Addison asked. "Why are you glad that I—"

"I have to admit..." he started. "Though I have eagerly awaited your return—"

Addison averted her gaze, waiting for the blow she'd been dreading since the moment she'd been ripped away from him six months before. He'd found someone he loved. He married her. He was here only as a courtesy—

"I feared that we would not have much to say to each other," he said. "Or that perhaps you would have grown bored of me. I feared that I would not live up to your memory or—"

Addison shook her head and looked up at him in alarm. "Bored of you?" she asked, incredulous. "How could you think that I would ever be bored of you?"

He smiled sadly at her and gave a boyish shrug. "Stranger things have happened in the affairs of women and men, mo chridhe."

Addison sighed and found the chair he had vacated, dropping down into her seat and resting her head against the back tiredly. He stood tall where she left him, and his hands hung by his sides. Waiting for her to speak to him, waiting for a sign as to how they were likely to proceed.

"I didn't want to go," she said after a beat. His eyes were heavy, his shoulder's sagged a bit at her admission, and he couldn't beat back the memory of finding her chambers, empty of her, with the ghost of his name on her lips.

"I feared I would not survive it when you did," he admitted, stepping forward to kneel at her feet. Addison accepted him easily, pulling him closer until he could press his face tiredly into her lap. She ran her fingers through his hair with a gentle touch, and closed her eyes, content to let the silence drift over them for a moment.

"Jacqueline says it was a very long time," she murmured after a while. He sighed into the fabric of her shift before lifting his face to regard her.

"She speaks the truth," he said, taking her hands in his own, and running his thumbs over the backs of them. Her skin tingled beneath the cool touch of his skin, and she regarded him, still overcome by uncertainty.

"There was so much I wanted to tell you," she said. "And now I don't know what to say."

Eric smiled and nodded his understanding. "There is time."

But Addison was already shaking her head. "No, there isn't," she said, stomach twisting itself into knots. She leaned forward and squeezed his hands in her own. "There's never any time. Eric—"

She started and stopped, gritting her teeth. "There's never—there's not—For me it's been two years," she cut out. "That's it. Two years. And it's been the longest, most overwhelming couple of years. And I love you. I love—"

She didn't think there was a way to put words to it. She sucked in a breath and stood, releasing him so she could pace about the room. He stayed where she left him, knelt before her chair, regarding her with a knowing expression.

"You make sense to me," she said abruptly instead.

She stopped in the middle of the room, arms crossed defensively over her middle, protecting all her vulnerable insides. Protecting her heart and her lungs and that little spool of impossible thread that had tied itself irrevocably to him.

"You make sense, and you're... you're safe. And I love you and I want you, and I am so—"

Her lip curled and she clenched a fist around the hot, horrible feeling in her chest. "I'm just so fucking—"

"Angry," he said, and the easy look on his face, the soft pull of his voice, the sad twist of his upturned lips contradicted the word so entirely that Addison wanted to scream.

She pressed her lips together to hold it in, and her brow furrowed, and Eric stood.

He stepped forward.

She stepped back.

He was so easy, and so even tempered, and cool. He was as cool as an autumn breeze. How was he so goddamn collected all the time?

He'd rob her of her temper, but Addison hated, and she wanted to hate. She wanted to hate, and it had been so difficult, and she loved him but fuck if she wasn't full of rage.

He arched an eyebrow and took another step. Addison huffed and turned her back.

He chuckled and she felt him at her back, the light from the fire cast his shadow on the wall, and Addison had to fight the urge to lean back against his chest, craving the comfort he no doubt would provide her.

"Fernanda," he said, and clicked his tongue in dismay when she ignored him. "Would you look at me, please?"

Addison's heart lurched, and she turned again to face him. She was squandering precious time. They should be happy. They had six months to hurry up and be happy before once again all of this would get ripped away.

"We have time," he said again.

"We don't," she repeated.

He frowned to match her expression, and she thought this look didn't suit him.

"I have spent fifty years waiting to look upon your face," he said. "Wondering if I was too late. Wondering if I had imagined—"

He cut himself off and turned away. Addison scrunched her brow in confusion, searching for an answer to his hesitation. Looking for the story in his eyes that he didn't want to tell.

"Tell me," she said.

He shook his head and smiled down at her. "Never mind."

"No," she said. "Not never mind, tell me. Please. I want to know."

He studied her for a beat before wincing and giving in.

"The day you disappeared," he said, and his eyes flickered over her face as though he was trying to commit her to memory. "I thought I heard you call for me. I thought I heard—" he grimaced and turned away to the fire in the hearth, to the wall, to the window and beyond. "But I arrived in your chambers to find you gone, and I have been..."

Addison reached for his hand, tugging on it, and swinging their arms gently between them as he spoke. He watched her do this and a smile twitched at the corners of his lips. She met his eyes with a sad little grin, and he let out a halfhearted laugh, a tired laugh, one that spoke of lightness and shadow.

"I have been haunted by that moment, mo chridhe," he said. "I know not whether you called for me or whether I imagined it. I know not whether—"

"It was me," she said, a lump forming in her throat, eyes burning with tears. "I didn't think anyone heard me. I thought I was too late or—"

His eyes were bright and disbelieving, and her chest was tight. He shook his head, and her lips twisted down into a frown.

"It was real?" He asked as though he could not be certain.

Addison sniffed and nodded, letting out a choked-up laugh. "Yeah," she said. "Yes, it was real."

A blood red tear leaked from the corner of his eye, and Eric had to look away. He cleared his throat a few times before turning back to her and pulling her into his embrace.

"I know not how else to say it. I do not know how to appease your ever turning mind," he said, as he tucked her head under his chin. "For me, it's you. It has always been you. Forever."

Addison felt a lightness pervade her chest and she pressed her face into his tunic to hide the satisfied flush that flooded her cheeks. With just a few simple words, her doubts fell away. He held her in his arms, and he told her what she needed to hear, and he soothed the worry right out of her. He'd given her his word, six months ago or fifty years, it did not matter. He'd given it and she'd believed him. Addison had chosen once many years ago, and yet not so long ago at all, to trust him. He had not yet given her any reason to doubt that trust.

"And a day?" she quipped, pulling back to look up at him, unable to hide her smirk.

He laughed and glanced down at her with a warm look in his eyes.

"Forever and a day," he conceded, and then after a beat. "And the one after that."

He pressed his forehead to hers and rocked them back and forth.

"And the one after that one?" she asked.

"That one too," he nodded and pressed a kiss to her nose.

"And what about the one after that?" she asked and gave him a cheeky grin, hopping up on her tiptoes and waiting for him to kiss her on the lips.

"Och see that one I'm afraid I swore to a lass in Balleyboufet," he said and looked down at her with a grimace.

Addison gasped and opened her eyes, shoving back from him, but he only chuckled and kept his hold.

"Take that back," she demanded. He threw his head back in laughter.

"Take it back," she pouted and shoved again.

He shook his tawny head, eyes glimmering with mirth.

"I'm afraid I cannot, mo chridhe," Eric said, his voice little more than a rumble. He was a good hand at attempting solemnity, but in the end was unable to hide the laughter in his voice. "I'm nothing if not a man of my word."

Addison huffed and struggled against him. He chuckled and held her tighter.

"And you best stop your struggling," he said. "You'll not be going anywhere until I'm done with you."

"I'm going to find away out of this," she grunted, twisting in his arms. "You oaf."

"Oh aye," he said, his voice quite calm and placating. "I'm sure you will love. Take your time."

He flexed his hand teasingly at the small of her back and jolted her a little closer, causing her to let out a startled yelp and collide with his chest.

"Now," he said as though she wasn't cursing him under her breath. "Tell me you love me."

Addison gasped at his audacity, and glared up at him, trying in vain to hide her smile. His grin was arrogant and cocky and infuriating and—and—

"Over my dead body," she growled, twisting in his arms to try and break the vice grip he had on her.

He let out a wounded sound and looked down at her with the most pathetic eyes she'd ever seen but she didn't buy the act for a damn second.

"You wound me," he said and pretended to stagger back. She gasped as she staggered with him, still wrapped up tightly in his arms.

"I—" he looked all around him for dramatic effect, eyes glazing over as he stumbled back again.

"Gallowglass," she snapped, but she couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up and escaped her.

"I fear this may be the end," he cried and jostled them a bit as though he were about to go down.

She shrieked and clung to him. "Gallowglass!"

"Tis a mortal wound, my lady—" and he stumbled again, taking her along with him as she yelped and gasped and laughed and snorted with every stupid detail in his stupid diatribe.

This was ridiculous.

Addison screeched as they finally fell. He collapsed backward onto her bed from the weight of his impossible woe. She tumbled down on top of him, still trapped in his arms.

"And now—" he groaned. "I die."

He closed his eyes and Addison, from her perch on top of him, fell quiet. She reached up with her free hand to trace the outline of his face, running her hands gently over the bridge of his nose. She brushed her thumb over his proud cheekbone, and down his cheek, through the rough of his beard to finally reach his lips.

They were full and soft and warm somehow despite the coldness of his body.

She smiled when he cracked an eye open to peer up at her. And when he saw her smiling down at him, he smiled softly and opened his eyes. His arms flexed where they were wrapped around her and Addison wriggled a bit to find a more comfortable position, tapping his chest so he would let her up.

His arms loosened their grip, and he watched through hooded eyes as she sat up more comfortably. She moved to leave him completely, but his hands slid to her hips and squeezed, quietly asking for her to stay.

"Tell the girl in Balleyboufet that she can't have you," she whispered down at him.

His face became quietly serious as he studied her from below.

"There's no one in the world that could come after you."

His voice was rough, and Addison was reminded suddenly of a sleepy lion. She reached out and brushed away his wavy hair which had puffed out around his head.

"Good," she whispered with a contemplative frown.

He tracked the path of her eyes as she studied him from her perch, before closing his eyes and sighing into the peaceful feeling in his chest.

"Gallowglass..." she said, quietly calling his attention back to her. He opened his eyes once again.

She leaned forward to place a kiss on his chin, and then ducked her head lower, sighing into the nape of his neck and pressing another kiss to the base of his throat.

"I love you," she whispered, and closed her eyes when his heart gave one slow, solid beat.

---

The girl was an oddity, Philippe decided. For many reasons, and yet more than he could name. She walked like an amazon – manlike and strident – and he'd think her a member of that long dead tribe of women but for her complete lack of grace or finesse.

She stumbled in her skirts, and stuttered through her sentences, but she did not flinch back from his stare when she met it. And she sought his gaze more than most, even in moments which lacked provocation.

She settled something in his grandson, too.

And if he had reserved any doubts that this girl was Eric's mate, he had no reservations about it now. It was clear as day, from the moment they laid eyes on each other, there would be no other in the world who satisfied either half of this pair.

He watched his grandson lead the girl down the steps of the platform, departing from the high table after she broke her fast, with a quiet anticipation for the day to come. A quiet anticipation for time spent with one another, and Philippe found himself both warmed and saddened by the display.

She was a weakness.

She was mortal and vulnerable and exposed here, and his grandson was bound to suffer for her shortcomings.

A familiar scent, and a flash of blonde hair, caught his eye. Philippe was not surprised to see his wife across the room, lingering in the doorway.

When they reached her, Eric paused and kissed Ysabeau's cheek, and she returned his affections with a secret smile reserved for her only grandchild. Then she turned to the young Gonçalves girl and offered her a cool nod of acknowledgement.

Philippe huffed out a laugh that drew his wife's gaze. She glimmered with mischief and judgment, power, and allure. She was perfect, and brutal, and she did not look at her grandson's mate while the girl curtsied for her.

Philippe shot her a look but refrained from commenting or intervening. His wife had a mind of her own, and it was for Fernanda to learn how to deal with her.

The mortal girl rose back up again, and Eric noted the exchange with a critical look in his eyes. He shot his grandfather a frustrated look, and Philippe returned it with a warning grin. The boy would respect his grandmother, whether she toyed with his mate or not. Impertinence was out of the question.

Eric's eyes darkened at his grandfather's challenge, but the boy wisely held his tongue from across the room.

The young Gonçalves girl spoke to him softly, and Eric deflated at the sound of it, turning his attention to his mate and away from the slights of his grandmother.

Ysabeau approached the high table with grace, aware of the eyes of the guests who tracked her with envy and desire. She glided down the center of the great hall, and then up the steps to the platform, before claiming her seat by her husband's side.

She presented him with her ring clad knuckles to kiss. Philippe smirked to himself, capturing her hand, and bringing it to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her cool, unmarred skin, and then another to the rubies she'd adorned this morning.

Ysabeau turned and toyed with his goblet of blood before taking a contemplative sip.

"He seems rather enamored," she commented blithely.

Philippe studied his wife a moment before turning and eyeing the door where Eric and Fernanda had disappeared.

"Yes," he said. "I suppose he does."

"They're not mated," she said as though this was an opportunity. Philippe shot her a warning look.

"No," he said.

"There's still time—"

"No," he repeated.

His wife's eyes flashed with boredom and a need to be contrary.

"How does she know she desires him?" she asked tempestuously. "The child barely knows how to speak for herself let alone what she looks for in a man. She could hardly be presented at court. And she lacks—"

"Ysabeau," Philippe called her to stop.

His wife licked her teeth and took another sip from his goblet of blood.

"That man's daughter has no place—"

"She was Eric's wife before she was Fernando's daughter," Philippe commented dryly.

Ysabeau rolled her eyes and turned to face him. "Why do you defend her?"

"I do not defend her," Philippe refuted with a laugh. "I speak only the truth of the matter."

"Hmm."

Philippe grinned and looked at his wife in disbelief. "Whatever you are thinking," he said. "I would strongly advise against it, my love."

Ysabeau tsked and shot him a smirk. "I know not of what you speak, dearest husband."

"You are acting out of pettiness—"

"Hold your tongue," she ordered with an arch in her brow and the shadow of a laugh in her voice.

He grinned and leaned forward, capturing her lips with his own, hissing a curse when she bit him and drew blood.

He pulled back and she reclined imperiously in her seat, looking altogether unaffected though he knew there was more happening behind those glittering eyes.

"She reminds me of you," he said after a beat.

Ysabeau scoffed and shoved her chair back, deliberately making it screech across the cold stone floor. The sound echoed through the great hall and all conversation made by guests and servants stuttered to a stop before hastily resuming.

His wife was a breeze at his back and a flutter of fabric before she disappeared. Philippe chuckled and reached for his goblet, scoffing when he found she'd emptied it of all its blood. He set the goblet back on the table, and scratched his chin as he considered his wife, his household, his grandson, and the wound.

Alain appeared in the doorway, and then his squire was by his side. He bowed and passed Philippe a missive.

"Sieur," he said quietly.

Philippe nodded for Alain to continue and turned the missive over in his hands.

"A letter from Lady Freyja," Alain said. "Grand Prince Vasylko Romanovych is dead. And we have received troubling news from Bohemia."

---

They were in Hugh's study. Eric had been quick to reclaim his father's seat behind the ornate wooden desk. Jean Luc was already there waiting. He took up his place behind the young de Clermont, an arm full of missives and a pile of others stacked neatly on the desk to one side.

Addison made her way to the sofa by the hearth, perching herself on the soft cushions, and curling her legs up underneath her skirts. She neither saw nor heard Jacqueline arrive, but she was not surprised when the other girl appeared.

She carried with her several papers of her own as well as a set of scales.

Addison arched an eyebrow as the blonde set up the scales on the table beside the sofa and deposited the paperwork on the cushion next to her lady.

"Another busy day today, my lady," she said.

Just a few paces away Jean Luc had passed Eric his first bit of parchment. "Regarding the loss of Antioch, my lord," Jean Luc had murmured over Gallowglass's shoulder.

Addison smiled at Jacqueline, half tuned into her friend as she rattled on about lessons with Ysabeau, and half tuned into the matters discussed by Eric and Jean Luc.

The clink of metal sounded, and Addison jolted to attention when a series of heavy looking coin purses landed on the table beside the scales. She stared at them in shock before turning her eyes to Jacqueline. Her maid quirked an eyebrow and nodded to the purses.

"Shall we begin, my lady?"

"Begin?" Addison asked.

"With your lessons," Jacqueline supplied.

"I thought I was meant to meet with Ysabeau," Addison said dumbly.

Jacqueline narrowed her eyes.

"Not today, my lady," she said. "Madame de Clermont is very busy. She will not be available to meet with you for the foreseeable future. Circumstances have changed as we approach winter, and the house was not prepared for the arrival of Lord Hugh's staff."

"Oh," Addison said, trying not to cringe. She had a feeling Jacqueline had already told her this. "Sorry."

"Ladies do not apologize to their maids, my lady," Jacqueline supplied before gesturing to the first coin purse.

Addison made to argue that logic, but she was silenced by a look from the older girl. A chuckle sounded and her eyes drifted back to Eric across the room. He caught her look and gave her a knowing smirk before turning back to Jean Luc.

"What am I meant to do with this?" Addison asked Jacqueline, lifting the first purse, and weighing it in her palm.

"You are meant to learn, my lady," the blonde said matter of factly. Addison fixed her with a flat look that she did not nothing to earn her sympathy.

"What am I meant to learn, Jacqueline?"

Jaqueline pulled the string on the pouch and revealed a small horde of gold, it glimmered in the sunlight that drifted in through the windows, and it was all Addison could do not to drop it.

"The currency of the realm," she said. "And several others. We are measuring value today, my lady."

"Value?" Addison asked. "How?"

Jacqueline looked pointedly at the scale and Addison followed her gaze.

"Shall we begin?" Jacqueline prompted her again. Addison nodded and reached a hesitant hand into the purse of gold, pulling out one surprisingly heavy coin.

It was not perfectly round. This was commonplace for the time, Addison recalled vaguely from her days at La Ithuriana. When Fernando had only just started teaching her how to budget on a small scale, she had discovered this odd fact.

The coin had angles. She would argue it was a bit crudely done but for the intricate detailing worked into its surface. There were flowers in each quadrant of the coin, divided by what she ascertained to be a cross. Roman numerals lined the edges. And on the other side was the image of a king.

So, this was the great Saint Louis. Ysabeau had told her of him during their sessions of the last few weeks. King Louis IX of France had united several kingdoms into one. And this, Addison now learned, was the currency of his realm.

"Could you pass me a bit of parchment?" Addison asked Jacqueline. "I need to take notes."

"Notes, my lady?" Jacqueline asked, standing to fetch her the required utensils regardless.

"Umm," Addison cringed. "I need to record what I learn so that I may refer back to it later."

Jacqueline's eyes lit up in understanding. "Of course, my lady."

"Here," Eric said, his chair scraping back against the floors. "Take this instead."

Addison turned to find him rifling through the bookshelf quickly and coming up with a small bound book. He turned to her with an easy grin and made his way over to the sofa where she sat.

Addison accepted the book and flipped it open to the first page. Blank.

"A diary," she said softly, fixing him with a grateful smile. "Hugh won't miss it?"

Eric shook his head, "I doubt he remembers it's even there."

Jacqueline reclaimed her seat beside her lady and handed her a quill and inkwell.

Addison thanked her before taking her notes on the coins in the first purse and placing one on the scale. Watching how the tray tipped and swung for a moment before settling itself, off balance and skewed toward her.

As Addison opened the next coin purse, to a mix of silver and gold coins, Jacqueline continued telling her about her itinerary for the day.

"Betha, the senior maid from the Bourges house has requested an audience with you at your convenience. She needs a budget for the maids' winter clothes so that they may prepare. I know one of the girls will require new boots, for she came to us with a pair already worn down with holes and—"

"That's no problem," Addison cut Jacqueline off, rifling through her paperwork to find the budget she and Jean Luc had worked out days ago for the maids and their daily needs. "Whenever she has a break in her chores, I can see her."

"Very well, my lady," Jacqueline said and made a note on her itinerary.

"Madame de Clermont has asked that you receive a guest just before luncheon today," Jacqueline told her hesitantly. "There is no other member of the family available to greet him at this time, and it would be very rude to leave him without a formal welcome."

Addison cringed. "Who is it?"

"A lesser noble, my lady," Jacqueline said as though this would be some sort of comfort to Addison.

It was not.

She shot a look over to Eric at his desk, but he was either too engrossed in his own work with Jean Luc to notice, or overconfident that she had nothing to fear. Either way he didn't look up and she turned back to her maid in resignation.

"What will I be expected to do?"

Jacqueline offered her a sympathetic look.

"Stand on the steps outside when the guards announce his arrival, offer your hand if you are comfortable and he will kiss it. If you are not comfortable than a simple, 'hello,' should suffice without insult or offense. Guide him into the entrance hall, have a footman relieve him of his cloak. Tell him that Sieur Philippe will be most delighted to hear of his safe arrival, and then have a footmen lead him to his allotted chambers."

"Is that all?" Addison bit out sarcastically.

"You could always offer him refreshment and invite him to keep you company in the drawing room," Jacqueline sniffed back, knowing the young Fernanda would rather die than ever do such a thing.

Addison's lips tilted down into a frown before she nodded.

"Fine."

Jacqueline nodded and made another note on the daily itinerary.

"Next," Jacqueline hummed. "We have..."

"The kitchens," Addison supplied for her, surprised that she forgot.

Jacqueline winced and shook her head. "No, my lady," she said, haltingly.

Eric and Jean Luc fell silent at Addison's back, alerted by the odd tone taken on by the usually collected maid.

"What do you mean? Why not?" Addison asked.

Jacqueline's eyes shifted from Lady Fernanda to Lord Eric and back again. "He... refused... my lady."

"Refused?" Addison asked, genuinely confused.

"On what grounds?" Eric cut in, leaning back in his chair. He studied Jacqueline with sharp eyes. A warning look on his face though not for Fernanda or the maid.

Jacqueline shifted, looking suddenly as though she wished she could be anywhere else in the world. Jean Luc, neutral as ever, nodded for her to answer the question.

"He says that he will not have his food stores run by an infant girl," she said. "That he doesn't care whose daughter she is."

Addison's face stung at the chef's rebuke but was otherwise unsurprised. He wasn't wrong. She had no business running the kitchens of Sept-Tours. She wasn't even offended.

Embarrassed? Perhaps.

Feeling the depth of her incompetency? Every fucking day.

But not offended.

The chef ran a tight ship here at Sept-Tours, and there was little room for incompetence when winter was on its way.

Eric, across the room, had darkened at this revelation. At the insult to his mate. Jean Luc, whose eyebrows had shot into his hairline, cleared his throat, and turned from Jacqueline to Eric.

"Shall I have him brought to you, my lord?"

"Yes," Eric said.

"No," Addison immediately followed.

Both men turned to look at her. She rolled her eyes. "I'll speak with him," she said, trying to sound reassuring. "After all, he has every right to be concerned."

"Right?" Eric asked. "He has no right to go against Ysabeau's orders. He has no right to insult you. He has no right—"

"Gallowglass," Addison sighed. "Please let me handle it. All I meant was that I share his concerns."

"Concerns he should not have expressed," Eric retorted.

"Be that as it may," she shrugged. Eric regarded her warily for a second before reluctantly giving in.

"Do as you wish, mo chridhe," he said. "But one more word out of him—"

A scratch sounded at the door, and Addison tuned Eric out at the sound of it. Rising from the sofa, she stepped around Jacqueline and the table, so that she could turn the latch.

She cracked the door open, and Addison startled to see Balder there, with his back to the doorway, staring down at a familiar growling mastiff.

"Balder," Addison sighed. "Please don't block the doorway."

"The mongrel should've had this trained out of him years ago," the surly Viking gruffed.

"Stop that," Addison scolded. "Bijou is very good at his job."

Balder snorted but didn't move. She gritted her teeth and tapped his back. "Move, please," she said.

Very reluctantly Balder gave up his one-man blockade and allowed the old mastiff to pass him and enter the study.

"Thank you," Addison said primly.

Balder grunted his response. She grinned at his back and closed the door again, snapping for Bijou to follow her back to the sofa. His nails clicked on the stone floor as he walked, and a line of drool dripped from his chops onto an ancient looking red rug.

Addison curled back up on the sofa and watched contentedly as Bijou spread himself out on the ground beneath her feet.

She turned back to Eric, Jean Luc and Jacqueline, startled to find them all staring at her in varying states of shock, amusement and dismay.

"What were we talking about again?" she asked.

Eric chuckled and shook his head, swiping a hand down his face and through his beard. "Nothing, mo chridhe," he said. "You will handle the chef, as you wish."

Addison beamed. "Thank you."

He grinned. Jean Luc cleared his throat.

"My Lord, your presence is required at the northwestern guard tower for routine inspection in just a short time, shall we finish the Antioch missives this evening?"

Eric turned back to Jean Luc and shook his head. "No," he said. "Let us complete them now and be on our way."

"Very well, my lord," Jean Luc said and passed him another document. "Here we have a catalogue of artillery expenses, and the final count of missing men not yet declared among the dead."

Addison jolted and stared at the paper Jean Luc passed from the pile into Eric's hands. What were they discussing exactly? She knew Antioch by name alone, but not its context in history. She opened her mouth to ask, a twinge in her chest at the thought of dead men and those missing, but Jacqueline shifted and caught her eye instead.

"Lastly, my lady," she said. "Jean Luc has informed me that the stablemaster selected a suitable horse for your use. A time has been set aside this evening, after dinner, for you to inspect the horse and thank the stablemaster for his trouble."

A wave of nausea rolled through Addison and lodged itself in her throat. "Uh—"

Jacqueline waited patiently for her response.

"A horse?" Addison asked.

Jacqueline nodded. "Yes, my lady."

"No thank you," Addison cringed.

Jacqueline didn't look surprised. "Unfortunately, that is not an option, my lady."

"But I don't want a horse."

"But you need one."

"I can't even ride."

"Then you will learn," Jacqueline informed her.

Addison blanched and turned to Eric for support, but he and Jean Luc were whispering rapidly between each other over a letter that appeared to be stained with blood. Addison grimaced. No help there then. She tried not to let her mind linger on the blood before turning back to Jacqueline with wide eyes and an exasperated sound.

The blonde was altogether unfazed. The scale on the table tipped when Addison added another coin, this one from the Kingdom of Bohemia by the looks of it. Addison watched as the destabilized item tottered and swayed, trying once again to find equilibrium under all its added weight.

---

Addison was on her way to luncheon when Guillaume arrived in the courtyard.

She turned in shock at the sight of an old familiar face, before whirling around to offer Jacqueline an excited smile. She wondered how long they'd been apart, and whether the distance had been as agonizing for Jacqueline as it would have been for Addison, but she held her tongue. She knew enough by now to know vampires were incredibly private creatures, and Jacqueline did enough for her in a day. She was entitled to her privacy just the same as anyone else.

He dismounted his horse and passed the reins to a stableboy. The blonde tracked her mate's stride with an unreadable look in her eyes and a small twitch of her lips. Addison thought she saw the barest flicker of acknowledgement for the maid from Guillaume, but it was too quick and too subtle for her to be sure.

Balder's boots scuffed the ground at her back, a not-so-subtle reminder for her to get a move on, and Addison rolled her eyes.

She'd seen to the maids and their budgetary needs. She'd seen to the guest and sent him on his merry way. Now, she desperately needed something to eat.

On Jacqueline's arm was a basket of food. And they were on their way out the gates toward the duck pond. Addison, preferring the open air while she could appreciate it, and reveling in the one meal of the day when she could eat without being on public display.

---

The duck pond could be found in the fields that stretched along the path on the way to the village. Between the walls of Sept-Tours, and the blacksmith's forge, with its smokestacks reaching high into a crisp blue sky.

The sun was high when they made it to the expanse of crystalline water. The cool surface flickered clear and brown, with mirrorlike patches of green trees and mountain peaks in the places where the water was still. It lapped gently against the smooth, muddy shores that surrounded it on all sides, and Addison felt her heartbeat slow to match its languid pace. She stood back as Jacqueline laid out a blanket for her to sit on, and then took her seat when the maid was through, patting the space next to her for Jacqueline to follow if she wished.

Balder found himself a rock a few paces away, and dropped down on its surface, unsheathing a dagger and drawing a whetstone out of thin air. He took the opportunity to sharpen his blade.

The blonde sat on the blanket and tucked her legs primly beneath her. And Addison took the rare opportunity to lay flat on her back and stare up at the sky. Shivering as the frost ridden ground sapped her of the heat in her bones, but too tired presently to care.

Bijou grunted and laid down beside her, reclining in just a way that every inch of his body was pressed against her side. She pressed a little more snugly into the great, wrinkly old hound. Leeching his warmth from him as she gave hers to the ground.

The air sung with the sound of metal, the call of birds, and the trickle of water as it lapped against the shore. And the breeze whispered across the valley as it drifted down from the mountain peaks, brushing over her skin and rippling across the water.

"Can we speak with the chef tomorrow?" Addison asked tiredly.

Jacqueline's silence was heavy. "If you wish, my lady."

Addison huffed and rolled her eyes. "You could at least tell me why you think it's a bad idea."

"I did not say that it was."

Addison snorted and propped herself up on her elbows to regard the maid. Jacqueline met her with polite neutrality. Addison rolled her eyes and pursed her lips.

"Jacqueline—"

"I did not say it was a bad idea, my lady," the maid insisted. "Only... I worry that if were to postpone today... we will postpone for all of winter, and never see to it the encounter is through."

Addison sighed.

She understood where Jacqueline was coming from, and she was tempted to agree. The pit in her stomach and the flutter of nerves in her chest that whispered to her of her own inadequacy urged her to consider more than once, going back to her chambers and hiding forever in her bed. She'd come out when winter ended or she was dead, whichever came first.

But Addison wouldn't do that.

More than that, Lady Fernanda Gonçalves couldn't do that.

She'd been on the other side of this story once. She'd been alone, and out of control, and hungry with no hope for food. She couldn't leave the de Clermont household to the same fate. Ysabeau had given her a job to do. And one day, Addison imagined she'd have a lot more on her plate.

"Tomorrow," Addison insisted. "We will speak to him tomorrow. I will not change my mind."

Jacqueline studied her a beat, before losing some of her apprehension. "Very well, my lady."

"Thank you, Jacqueline."

"There's no need—"

"Just, thank you."

Jacqueline pressed her lips together and offered a small smile. "You're welcome."

Addison smiled and laid back again, watching the clouds drift overhead.

The sound of boots approaching on half frozen earth drew Addison's ear. The scraping of whetstone on metal stopped as Balder paused what he was doing to study whoever approached. Addison craned her neck to see who was coming, but the metal resumed, and she felt no need for concern.

Balder knew them.

Jacqueline stood as they got closer and Addison sighed, taking that as her cue to sit up.

The blonde curtsied just as Addison turned and caught sight of Eric only a handful of paces away. Guillaume walked beside him.

Eric wore his light armor today, but there was no sword on his side. His hair was bound back in a leather band, and there was a lightness in his eyes.

"Hello," Addison called softly.

"Mo chridhe," he replied.

Addison made to stand but he waved her off, acknowledging Jacqueline, and calling off the dog, before taking his place by her side. Bijou grunted and dragged himself away and onto the grass, dropping back down and beginning to snore.

Eric wrapped an arm around Addison's shoulders, and Addison leaned into his embrace.

Guillaume approached. His eyes flickered to Jacqueline and her lips twitched only slightly, but they did not speak or otherwise acknowledge each other. Addison frowned, unable to comprehend, but a slight squeeze from Eric reminded her it was none of her business and told her not to pry.

"My lady," Guillaume bowed and offered her a genuine grin.

"Hello, Guillaume," Addison said.

"It is a pleasure to see you well."

"It's good to see you again too," she said. He nodded and stood back to his full height.

"Sit," Addison said to the pair. "If you'd like," she shrugged.

Jacqueline smiled softly at her, and Addison saw Guillaume brush the blonde's hand briefly with his own before the pair took their places on the blanket.

It was then that Balder hauled himself off his rock, sheathing his dagger, and rambling his way over to the group that had gathered.

The surly Viking seemed wholly out of place lounging on a blanket beside a pond, but he managed to pull it off, Addison thought to herself, trying not to smirk. He still wore a grim expression, with dark eyebrows and a near perpetual frown.

"What news of Rome?" he asked Guillaume.

Addison nearly jolted at the question. You could just ask like that? It was that simple?

Eric and Guillaume traded looks, and she turned to study her mate when they did.

"Still no progress," Guillaume supplied. "But we have taken the appropriate measures."

"Have you?" Balder asked with a wry look.

Eric was oddly silent, studying the serene knight with a queer look in his eye. "You didn't."

Guillaume's face was entirely too innocent. "I did only as my lord commanded."

Eric shook his head, slightly agape and disbelieving. "I wasna serious, you deranged—"

Guillame grinned, but Eric was tense and disbelieving though he gave way to incredulous laughter. Addison looked back and forth between the pair before turning to Jacqueline for translation. The blonde smiled at her like she was in on the joke but remained otherwise silent.

"What?" Addison asked. "What happened?"

"Guillaume was meant to oversee the selection of the new pope," Eric supplied.

But Guillaume cut in and corrected him in an easy-going manner.

"You asked me to oversee the selection of the new pope, when you abandoned your duties to come here."

"True enough," Eric shrugged and passed her a grin. "Pope Clement died almost two years ago, see," he said. "And the cardinals are meant to select his replacement. It's never taken this long before and Philippe sent me to hurry things along."

Addison's eyebrows shot into her hairline. She knew, of course, that Eric was a member of a powerful family, but she'd never heard someone so casually namedrop the papacy like that. As though it was completely commonplace to oversee the transition between the leaders of the Roman Catholic Church. Eric, seeing this, gave her a conspiratorial grin before continuing.

"But the Ordelaffi heir refused because he is not favorited by the people of Rome, and he values his life. The eldest Manfredi boy is the favorite, but he does not have the votes of the Guelphs or the Bentivoglios for they are backing the Scaligeri family. But the Scaligeri heir is not an option because of his dealings with the Ghibellines. It's a right mess, but not one we've never been in before. The problem is the gridlock."

"It's a political nightmare," Balder supplied, pulling out another blade to inspect while they spoke.

Her eyes drifted to Guillaume who nodded his agreement.

"So, you just... left?" Addison asked incredulously, turning back to Eric in disbelief. "Won't Philippe be angry?"

Eric snorted. "I'd reckon he's a bit put out," he said. "But I assured him Guillaume was overseeing the transition and he calmed right down—"

"But Guillaume is here..." Addison trailed off, arching an eyebrow in the serene knight's direction.

"Aye," Eric said. "Can't say I hadn't anticipated it eventually."

Guillaume grinned. "I did only as my lord commanded—"

"Aye but I wasn't serious you shi—"

"What did you do?" Addison asked, cutting Eric off and staring at Guillaume curiously.

"I locked them in a room," he said simply. Jacqueline whirled around to stare at her mate in alarm. Addison's jaw dropped. And Balder barked out a laugh.

"You locked them in a room?" Addison asked.

"Yes, my lady," Guillaume said simply.

She snapped her head to Eric. "You ordered him to lock them all in a room—"

Eric cringed. "Technically... yes..." he said. "But I hadna meant it."

"Why?" she asked.

"I was trying to get back to you—"

"That's not what I meant," she shook her head in disbelief. "Why would you tell him to—"

Eric huffed. "At the rate they're going, it'll be another two years before we have a new pope."

"I thought his suggestion quite reasonable," Guillaume supplied. Balder snorted and Jacqueline narrowed her eyes.

"It was incredibly dangerous," she hissed at her mate before remembering herself and shooting a guilty look at Eric. The young de Clermont only grinned at Jacqueline, not taking any offense.

"So, you locked them in a room and left them there?" Addison asked.

"Yes, my lady," Guillaume said.

Her head snapped form Guillaume to Eric. "Well then you have to go back," she said. "Who the hell is going to let them out if you're both here?"

"Och, I wouldn't worry mo chridhe—"

"Gallowglass!" she snapped and smacked his arm. "This is serious—"

"Never fear, my lady," Guillaume supplied easily. "I left Sir Lovel to oversee their release."

"Lovel?" Eric sputtered. "You left him to oversee the transition of the papacy?"

Addison snorted. "You left too," she said. "You're in no position to judge."

"Grandad'll have my head on a pike outside the gates—"

"Serves you right," she commented dryly. "So, are you going to go fix it or...?"

Eric shook his head in disbelief and turned from Guillaume to stare down at her.

"And you," he said. "With the way you're carrying on, I'd think you're trying to get rid of me."

Addison scoffed. "Of course, I'm not," she said. "But you are directly responsible for locking half of the catholic church in a room together until they choose a new pope, and Guillaume has yet to explain how or when anyone is going to let them out—"

"That's easy, my lady," Guillaume supplied. "Smoke."

Addison turned to stare at him in shock. "What?"

"Smoke," he said again.

"Jesus Christ man that was a joke!" Eric exclaimed.

Guillaume shrugged. "It made a lot of sense."

"Smoke?" Addison asked again.

"Bloody smoke signals—" Eric muttered.

Balder barked out a laugh as he finally caught onto their nonsense.

"Smoke signals?" Addison asked, gaze ping ponging off the three men in confusion.

Eric sighed and pressed his face tiredly into her hair. "White smoke for—"

"A new pope," Addison supplied quietly, heart thudding in her chest as she realized what this meant.

Guillaume nodded proudly; glad she understood the system.

"Yes, my lady," he said. "And black for—"

"Nope," she said.

"Pardon?" he asked, not understanding her word.

"White smoke to tell the world a new pope was selected, and black to tell them no decision has been reached."

She pressed a finger into her temple and tried to rub a gathering headache away. She knew this system. She'd seen it before. That was this? That was them?

Eric studied her, sensing the shift in her mood, trying to understand where her mind had gone.

"Indeed, my lady," Guillaume said proudly.

She sucked in a breath and let it out in a disbelieving laugh. "Jesus Christ," she said. "That was you?"

"Yes," Guillaume said, not understanding her meaning.

"Mo chridhe?" Eric asked.

Addison sighed and shook her head, offering him a discomfited smile.

"Leave them," she said, belly tumbling over itself in nerves. "White smoke for yes, black smoke for no. It may take a while but... it'll work."

His eyes flickered with a dawning understanding, and the group around her fell silent at her words. Addison cringed and shrugged. Eric pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to her hair.

"Take care who you say such things to, mo chridhe," he said. "Outside of this group, such foreknowledge can be dangerous."

Addison nodded, and leaned a little more forcefully into his embrace, curling her fingers into the fabric of his tunic and wondering, for the first time really, what it meant to have wandered into history as she had done. Wondering for the first time about her fate, and his, and that of future of the human race as well.

A goose floated on the surface of the water on the far side of the pond, and Addison watched a fish come up to the surface, leaving a ripple in the place of a bug. The wind drifted across the valley from the mountain peaks above them, and Bijou gave a snuffle and shifted where he lay.

And then Balder took to his dagger with a whetstone, and the autumn silence was broken once again by the sound of a sharpening blade.

---

After dinner, Jacqueline left Addison outside the stables so that she could attend to her other chores. Balder and Guillaume were behind Addison, and though no one had said as much in so many words, she had a feeling they would be her shadows for quite some time. Whenever she suggested that they carry on with their lives, attend to something else, leave her in peace and worry over themselves, she was met with blank looks, polite refusals, and a reminder from Jacqueline that both men had made a vow.

A vow to her. In their blood on bended knee, over a blade she had accepted into her hand. Apparently, this was as serious as a vow could get, and her mind drifted back to a similar one she had made in Hugh's study at La Ithuriana with Fernando by her side.

"Wait here," she had told them, needing a moment of peace, and regretting almost as soon as she stepped into the stables.

The doors were open, and it was quiet inside. Her nose itched with the scent of hay and horse manure. Snorts and whinnies sounded from the stalls and several giant horses turned their heads and ears to study her.

The stablemaster came out of a room in the back, wiping his hands on a cloth, and muttering to himself before he saw her.

"My lady!" he called out in surprise before tossing the cloth on a bench and rushing forward to greet her warmly and with a bow.

"Hello," she said and wracked her brain for his name, annoyed to find that no one had told her.

"Ampelius, my lady," he said.

"Ampelius," Addison sounded out uncertainly. This was not a name she had heard before.

He grinned and nodded once. "An old name, my lady," he said.

Addison narrowed her eyes and studied him shrewdly. He seemed human. His skin was not flawless but wrinkled in places and scarred. It was olive like he had spent too much time in the sun and his skin had forgotten how to burn.

His hair was shorn and marked by traces of silver, but his grin was all teeth and far too knowing. And he walked with grace.

She cocked her head, and he smiled as though he knew how her mind was turning.

"An old name?" she asked him.

He chuckled. "Just about as old as I am, I'm afraid," he supplied before gesturing over his shoulder.

"If you'll follow me," he said. "I've prepared your horse for viewing."

Addison swallowed, hands suddenly clammy, and a lump in her throat. She neither wanted nor needed a horse. She had nothing against them from afar, but she'd never had a desire to pet one or feed one or ride one. She'd never really desired to know one in any capacity at all.

They were tall and stinky and unpredictable. And she couldn't fathom how anyone had thought it a good idea to hop on their backs and ride them.

No thank you.

But she didn't say any of this to the stablemaster. Jacqueline made it clear that she couldn't refuse. She was only required to inspect the horse and express her gratitude.

He led her to one of the stalls in the back. There, a horse resided. She was brown with a white mark on her nose, and an intelligent glint in her eyes. She had a long brown mane and was altogether unremarkable.

Addison didn't know why she felt suddenly underwhelmed. It's not like she wanted a horse, why did she care if they gave her the boring brown one?

Why did she care if it was not midnight black or as white as a horse in a fairytale. She bit down the displeased sensation and tried to pay attention.

Ampelius ran a hand over the mare's neck and turned to Addison with a grin.

"This is Penelope, my lady," he said.

Addison's throat was dry. Ampelius, and the brown mare, Penelope, were both looking at her. She forced a smile and swallowed around her discomfort.

"Penelope," she said softly, reaching up a reluctant hand to touch the horse's snout.

But Penelope, sensing her hesitation, whinnied and drew back. Her ears twitched and she stamped restlessly in her stall. Addison drew her hand back and clutched it to her chest, looking from the horse to Ampelius in uncertainty.

His grin twitched and Ameplius became a little more understanding and a little more wary.

He nodded once and opened the stall door.

"Perhaps it would be best," he said, and draped a lead over Penelope's ears and snout. "If we allow you two a moment to get acquainted."

He drew the horse out of her stall.

"Get acquainted?" Addison asked. This hadn't been part of the deal.

Ampelius, sensing her hesitation, nodded and offered her a sympathetic smile. He passed her the lead. Addison stared at him with wide eyes, and shook her head, but he dropped the lead, and she had no choice but to catch it.

"You're welcome to stay in here," he said. "Walk around with her a bit, if you'd like."

Addison shook her head at him. The rope lead was limp in her hands. No. She very much would not like to do that.

"She's a docile thing, Penelope," he said. "Loyal too. Go ahead and check her over. Make sure everything is to your liking, of course. But I am confident, my lady, once you two have a moment to warm up to each other, I'm sure you'll be thick as thieves."

"Uh—" Addison started but he was already bowing and turning away.

"I'll just be over here, my lady," Ampelius said, gesturing to the room in the back where he had been working before she arrived.

Addison's heart hammered hard in her chest. No. He couldn't leave her.

Penelope's hooves sounded hollow on the floor of the stables, and Addison's nose itched with the smell of hay.

She shook her head, but Ampelius didn't see it. His back was already facing her as he disappeared through the doorway.

He couldn't be serious, Addison thought. Restless and clammy, her stomach stalling mid-flip – upside down – while her heart hammered wildly away in her chest. Penelope appeared to feel much the same, for she snorted and tugged on her lead and tried to pull away. Anxiously prancing on nervous feet.

But Ampelius was serious. Very serious. And now she was alone. With a horse. And that was just... not a great idea really.

Penelope snorted and tugged once on her lead before stepping closer to Addison and burying her snout in her hair. Addison near jolted out of her skin, wriggling to get away from the horse's curious nose. Alarmed and desperate to free her hair from Penelope's nibbling teeth.

Now, logically, Addison understood that Ampelius was most likely a vampire. And a very old one from the way he had hinted at the age of his name. She understood that it was not in his best interest to put her or Penelope in danger. And that, for a vampire, that room was not even a millisecond away if he needed to intervene.

But Addison still regarded his abandonment largely as a betrayal, and she wondered idly if this was someone's idea of a joke.

Penelope had an attitude. This, Addison could already tell. And she'd already tried to eat her hair too. Now they were alone and—

"I was told I could find my nephew here," a voice sounded from the entrance behind her.

Addison yelped and whirled around, startling Penelope and sending her prancing backward.

Baldwin de Clermont stood in the doorway. He was a shadow that loomed over her. A mountain, she knew, that was impossible to move. He wore light armor, a red tunic, and a black cloak that was darker than the night that fell around them.

Addison shrugged awkwardly, "I think he said something about new recruits?"

Baldwin took in this information and nodded abruptly, turning on his heel to leave her.

"Baldwin?" Addison called.

He stopped and turned toward her. The stablemaster had yet to reemerge, and Addison cursed the man for her predicament.

"If you're not... busy..." she said, wringing her hands in front of her nervously, encumbered by the taut pull of Penelope's lead. "They've selected this horse for me... and I'm supposed to..."

"Inspect it, yes," Baldwin said in a no-nonsense manner.

Addison cringed. "I don't know what I'm supposed to look for," she admitted. "I've only ever been on a horse the once, with you, and..."

Baldwin sighed and fixed her with a stern look before turning back into the stables and taking the lead from her shaking hands.

He pulled it taut so Penelope would face forward and checked her eyes and her teeth. He ran his hands down her neck and tapped her legs, asking her to lift them and display her hooves.

He felt the horse's back and her haunches and did the same with her hindlegs before taking her lead again and clicking her forward a few paces to see how she walked, and then asking her to do so again in a circle in the middle of the room.

He nodded to himself and turned to her. "She's a good one," he said. "Even tempered too. My brother, Louis, trained her himself from the time she was a foal. He has a way with such creatures. Penelope will not lead you astray."

Addison cleared her throat awkwardly and nodded. "Thank you," she said.

His eyes were inscrutable as ever, but he nodded his acknowledgement and glanced toward the open stable doors. Torchlight fires were being lit in the courtyard, and the sky had taken on the quality of inky blackness.

"The hour grows late," he said. "I think it best if you head indoors."

Addison stared at him curiously, wondering what he knew that she didn't, before nodding and moving to do as he suggested. He called for Ampelius to come and relieve her of her horse and the man did so without question.

Addison jolted at the speed with which he arrived and confirmed quite confidently that the stablemaster was indeed a manjasang.

He offered a bow to the both of them before he led her horse back to her stall.

Baldwin then made, once again, for the doors, in search of his nephew, and Addison curtsied properly at his back before making to follow and find her way inside.

In the courtyard, outside the stables, Baldwin turned to her once more.

"The west wing of the chateau," he said.

Addison waited for him to continue.

"It's best if you leave it unexplored," he said.

"I understand," she said.

He fixed her with a searching look that Addison couldn't read.

"Do you?" he asked.

She shrugged.

"Ysabeau said it's full of dignitaries," she said. "That it wouldn't be proper for me to wander that way."

Another beat of awkward silence stretched between them before Baldwin clipped her another nod and turned on his heel. He disappeared into the darkness, and Addison saw Eric's friends – her new shadows – Balder and Guillaume, lounging on a pile of hay bales, watching their exchange.

She took a deep breath and made her way across the courtyard back toward the entrance.

The two knights fell into step behind her as she walked, and she wondered what the family was really hiding in the west wing of Sept Tours, and why it had warranted so many warnings thus far.

---

The hour was late, and Addison couldn't sleep.

She was hungry again. She didn't know what was wrong with her.

She was sick to her stomach most days, a matter only exacerbated by the rich meats and gamey foods that the de Clermont family preferred to serve at the high table. She was meant to speak with the chef in the morning regarding the food inventory for winter, whether he liked it or not, and her stomach flipped capriciously in anticipation of the faceless man's resistance.

Eric had seemed displeased with the chef's refusal of her time earlier this morning, and Addison thought she understood. Such a refusal was not how things were done here. It was presumptuous and dangerous to the man's standing within the family. It was dangerous to his livelihood and his future to refuse her with such impunity.

This did not sit well with Addison. Not his disapproval, not her power over his fate, not Eric's medieval idea of how such a man should be handled.

But Addison understood it, in a way, she thought, that Eric did not.

She had no business running the food stores. She had no business overseeing the budget or taking inventories. It was laughable and ridiculous that the senior maids had to ask her permission to clothe their peers. And it was even odder to be the person the family sent to greet lesser nobles when they walked through the front door.

Addison was, quite frankly, a mess.

Back in the twenty-first century she could barely keep the lights on. She didn't know which way was up, and life had become impossibly hard. In the past, as Malvina, she'd been useless and ineffective at her job. The only thing she did manage to do right back then was to find and keep Sorley and resign herself to taking anyone out that came between her and him. Or at least, she would have if she needed to, she thought.

Survival was the only thing that had mattered. It was the only thing that did matter still. But...

Addison sighed and her stomach rumbled, and she turned to face the too bright window. The courtyard below was brightly lit and loud this evening. Busy with the shouts and clamor of men.

Survival was becoming less of a concern to her here. She had many questions, and an abundance of concerns. She missed her father. She missed the enigmatic Hugh.

But her chambers were warm, and there was food on the table. Even if she had to pick and choose what she preferred to eat.

An upset stomach was... disagreeable... yes. Uncomfortable? Of course.

She was sick far more times than she'd like to admit to herself, and oftentimes she'd wake in the middle of the night with cramps that took her breath away. She had seen far too much of her chamber pot, and she was loathe to admit that it had seen far too much of her.

But she was hungry.

And dinner had been rabbit. Cooked more completely than usual. This, perhaps, because even the chef understood that some meats really were not meant to be served raw. But Ysabeau had turned her nose up at this, sipping a goblet of blood to chase down her dinner, and claiming with disdain that the meat tasted of nothing but fire and unnecessary spices.

And though none other than Godfrey voiced their agreement, she thought the rest of the family believed very much the same.

Thoroughly cooked meat was fine for the human guests and servants, but the family had delicate tastes, and refined palettes suitable only for creatures of their particular make and matter. Addison was the outlier here.

Her tastes, in the eyes of Godfrey and Ysabeau, were the ones that required change.

One was expected to join the de Clermont family. The de Clermont family was not expected to join anyone but themselves.

Eric had not been there, much to Addison's chagrin.

She had eyed his empty seat mournfully, as she toyed with a honey roasted carrot that tasted delicious but would not hold her over until morning. She had eyed the lower tables mournfully as other humans shared and laughed and ate and drank with glee.

She was quite possibly condemned to a sour stomach regardless of her company, but at least down there among other more relatable people she would be able to laugh and gossip and make friends before her inevitable bout of evening sickness.

Now, it was late. And she'd seen neither hide nor hair of Eric since they'd parted ways hours before. Jacqueline had bid her goodnight and blown out her candles. And Addison had waved her off with a knowing grin.

The maid had mentioned she and Guillaume would go hunting while Addison slept and asked if it would be much of an inconvenience, or if Addison thought she would have need of her. But Addison had waved her off.

The evenings were for Jacqueline as far as Addison was concerned. The blonde was entitled to time for herself too. And to be honest, Addison was relieved.

Jacqueline was far too attentive, and she'd know immediately that something was wrong with her mistress. She already had her suspicions and Addison was grateful for her care, but it was embarrassing.

She'd been on the other end of that chamber pot before. She'd been the one to clean and empty those foul things. It was gross and mortifying and—

Addison sighed and turned again to face the door before sitting up.

Her stomach was growling unhappily. She'd have to eat.

She hauled herself out of bed and shoved her feet carefully into a pair of slippers. She made her way to the chair by the hearth and took up her velvet dressing gown. She slipped her arms into the sleeves. Padding softly across the room, Addison turned the latch on the door and carefully pulled it open. Wincing when the hinges gave an audible creak.

Honestly, she huffed.

Why was it that she was the only one with a creaky hinge in this godforsaken place? God knows, they all could hear her coming either way.

Softly she stepped into the stairwell. It was cold and dark but lit just barely by flickering candlelight from the alcoves along the inside wall.

She closed her door quietly behind her and lifted her skirts just enough so that she would not trip before making her way downstairs.

She tossed a glance over her shoulder but didn't worry too much about bothering Eric. If he'd heard her, he would have come already to find her, but he hadn't so she knew he wasn't in his room.

When she reached the bottom step, Addison was surprised to find Hugh's corridor empty.

Sept-Tours was quiet. Something she hadn't expected of a vampire household at this time of night.

She knew the humans would be sleeping, and the guards of course were busy outside, but there were not too many stray faces left to see at this hour.

It was both disconcerting and blessedly normal.

There was something liberating about traipsing across the expanse of the castle in the dark of night without a million eyes around to see her. There was no one to stare at her in in alarm. No one to take in the sight of the young Fernanda skulking around in her shift and dressing gown. There was no one around to judge or laugh or look on her in suspicion.

She was alone.

And she could breathe.

But the shadows in the alcoves stretched long in the torchlight. And a breeze whipped through the expansive corridors, chilling the halls of the fortress and causing her to shiver. She hugged the fabric of her dressing gown more tightly around her person and rubbed her arms to fend off the cold.

The prickle of eyes on the back of her neck jolted Addison and sent her whirling around to catch her secret observer. But when she turned, the space behind her was empty. There was nothing but shadows and a corridor that stretched long behind her – void of life and full of secrets that didn't want to be found.

The water rose a bit over her head again, and her ears filled with pressure from the void. Her throat constricted and her lungs were tight, and she sucked in air, but it lodged itself in her throat before it could relieve her. Her hands trembled and Addison gulped. She felt as though her chest had been weighed down by a pile of heavy stones.

She shook herself and turned back the way she'd been going, regardless of her nerves.

Padding her way through the entrance hall and then into the corridor between Philippe's study and the great hall, Addison traversed the breadth of the castle.

There, in a small pocket of a hallway, often unexplored by guests and family members, existed a stairwell. One she would have known quite well in her past life as Malvina if she had lived and worked here instead.

It was usually bustling with traffic.

This was the place where you could find servants of all kinds, coming and going as they hurried to complete their chores for the day. It was odd, to say the least, finding the stairwell absent of all life or chaos or noise.

But as she came upon it now, that is exactly what she found.

Quiet. Peaceful. Deceptively empty.

There was a vast network of life and labor hidden by these stairs. Lurking just below in the depths of the de Clermont family chateau.

Without these stairs and the people who used them every day, Sept-Tours could not exist how it did in this world. Down these stairs, was a true display of power, the likes of which no de Clermont could ever wield on their own. Here was a labor force the likes of which many could not ever truly conceive of.

Addison ran her hand over the stone banister before turning around again to study the dark spaces she'd left behind. Almost certain that the eyes she felt before in Hugh's corridor had followed her as she made her journey through the dark in Sept-Tours. Almost certain, but for a whisper of maddening doubt, that she was the subject of someone's gaze.

But she shook it off. Brushed it away as folly.

The walls of Sept-Tours were taller at night. The windows, more austere. The alcoves, which in the day, were full of flowers, and statues and tapestries, now were voids of looming darkness that threatened to reach out and consume her whole.

She skittered past them quickly as she walked, and she refused to gaze into them when she did.

Gusts of wind drafted in through windows and doors that led to places she'd never been and perhaps never would go. They made the house creak and groan as though it were living in a constant state of despair.

And in the great hall, the fire in the hearth that was always burning, now seemed more likely to be the mouth of hell. This, a stark contrast from how it burned in the light of day, when it was place where family members and their guests could warm themselves after long journeys from places far away.

Her stomach rumbled and Addison held it in alarm, startled by the sensation and the sound, before gulping nervously and descending the steps into the servants' quarters.

When she hit the bottom step, she found that here too the corridors were quiet.

It was dark here, though a small hearth was burning. The candles had been extinguished. Chairs pushed in. Floors swept and mopped and flawless. Even here, mess was not allowed.

Addison took in the strange sight of an old familiar space.

She'd only been in the servants' quarters once, on the tour she'd been given by Alain, but she still felt a modicum of homeliness here. She still felt herself settle into a long-repressed skin. The skin of Malvina, the mute. The useless maid she had once been.

There was no one in sight, and Addison had to shake off the feeling that she'd done something wrong. That there was a knight or a senior maid, a head of housekeeping, who would come along and strike her hand for being out of bed after hours. Who would withhold her dinner for creeping around the kitchens in search of food that was not hers to take.

That was not Addison's life now. It wasn't her lot. It wasn't her role.

There would be no scolding. No corporeal punishment. No guilt. No fear.

And yet—

Her belly twisted and her heart climbed its way into her throat, and her were impossibly clammy.

With little else to do, and a hunger she could not explain, Addison followed her shoddy memory to the kitchens. Pushing back against thoughts of Malvina and Castle Sween.

The kitchens of Sept-Tours were a vast network that took up a significant portion of life downstairs.

This was not unfamiliar to her. It had been the same at Castle Sween and La Ithuriana too, but Sept-Tours had a way of doing this more effectively, in a more grandiose manner than the other houses she'd lived in. It was altogether a labyrinth the size and breadth of which she had never seen before. This fortress the de Clermont family had built itself was intended to house an army and equipped to feed one too.

There was the room where they salted and dried freshly butchered meat. There was the room where they dried herbs. And then there were the bread ovens, the room where they roasted meat and folded pies. There was the corner with sweets and honeys. There was the wine cellar, and the place where they made ale and mead. And another room with no name, where Addison knew they took animals to bleed them and feed the vampires who lived here as well.

Addison didn't know what she searched for, but she knew at the moment it wouldn't be meat. She couldn't tell the different cuts apart in this era, and she didn't want to think she'd taken a slice of ham only to find herself munching on a bit of headcheese instead, or tongue.

Her stomach rolled and Addison swallowed down her disgust, before tiptoeing into the bread room, groaning in relief at the sight of a leftover basket of rolls.

She reached in and grabbed two, before turning and making her way to a table down the way that housed several jars of dried fruits. She snagged a bit of apricot and fig before turning to find herself some nuts or cheese, settling for a handful of walnuts that she shoved in her pockets before making her way back toward the stairs.

"My lady?"

Addison froze and turned, startled to see one of the cupboys awake and rubbing his eyes.

"Hello," she said.

"Have you need of service, my lady?" the boy asked.

She frowned. She couldn't recall if she knew his name. Things had been so hectic, and the servants here were larger in number. She had not been introduced to most of them. And easily forgot the names of those she had met, but his face was familiar, and he was young. He should be in bed. She opened her mouth to say as much but a voice sounded before she could.

"Friedrich, child," Marthe sounded. "Off to bed with you."

Addison turned to see the rosy cheeked manjasang standing in the doorway of her workroom. The woman nodded to her and studied her stash before ushering the boy off to sleep.

Addison shifted awkwardly in place where she stood. When Marthe returned, Addison offered her a reticent smile that the woman easily returned.

"Don't mind him, my lady," she said. "He sleepworks, that is all. We once found him dusting an alcove on the third floor, wrapped up in his blanket, with one eye closed."

Addison laughed and shook her head. "I didn't mean to wake anyone—"

"Nonsense," Ysabeau's maid said, looking pointedly at the food in Addison's hands. "Is there anything I can help you with Lady Fernanda?"

Addison flushed and shook her head. "No," she said. "Thank you. I was just..."

She shrugged and held up her stash. "I've been really hungry lately. It happens from time to time, but I don't know why."

Marthe pursed her lips and hummed. "Are you feeling quite well?"

Addison nodded though she knew it was not entirely the truth. She wasn't sick, but she often didn't feel well. As it was, there were no doctors here that she knew about, and no medicine that she'd be willing to try. An upset stomach wouldn't kill her, Addison quietly insisted, though a voice in the back of her mind told her gently that wasn't strictly true.

"I'll just..." she said and turned from Marthe to the stairwell. "Head back to my chambers."

Marthe had an odd look in her eye. Like she wasn't entirely convinced the young Fernanda was as well as she insisted, but the maid held her tongue.

"Of course, my lady," she said. "Would you like me to accompany you?"

"No," Addison said, a touch too quickly.

If Marthe noticed, she remained polite and unfazed.

"No thank you, Marthe, you're very kind. I'll just... go."

"Very well then," she said. "Goodnight, my lady."

Addison shot her a tired smile as she began to climb the stairs. "Goodnight Marthe."

She ascended quickly, feeling the drowsiness from the day once again set in. Approaching the corridor between the great hall and Philippe's study, Addison was startled to hear voices coming from the shadows.

Her stomach flipped and growled. Addison gritted her teeth willing her body not to be so loud. She approached with an abundance of caution and a bad feeling in her gut. She'd have to pass whoever lingered in the hallway to get back to her room.

She was just about to round the corner into the corridor when she recognized the voices of the men who spoke in hushed, angry whispers.

"The matter will be addressed," Philippe said.

Addison sucked in a breath of surprise. From her place at the far end of the corridor, she could not make out their features. But their voices and the tension between them was plain.

They were the shadows that haunted the halls of Sept-Tours.

Only shadows, for all the lightness here had gone away.

"How?" Baldwin asked. "Father, they've deceived you. They forced your hand. It's a disgrace. A dishonor. It's—"

Her heart gave an anxious thud at the vitriol in Baldwin's voice. She pulled back, ducking out of view. With her back pressed against the cold stone wall, Addison shivered. A cold, like ice, permeated her dressing gown and seeped into her bones.

The men fell silent. Their silence stretched long before Philippe cleared his throat and continued, calmer than before.

"Leave the matter to me," he said.

Baldwin's silence was a force in the air around her. It was a heavy thing. It pressed down on her, even from afar, with unspoken emotion. Emotion that had taken on the weight and quality of lead.

"There's no point in hiding, girl, we heard you long before you saw us," Baldwin called out.

Addison gulped, and felt her face grow hot in horror, belly twisting with nerves.

"Come, child," Philippe said. "There's no use in hiding your face."

Addison closed her eyes, burning with mortification, before sucking in a breath and pushing off the wall she'd hidden behind. She turned the corner again and found both men where she'd last seen them. In the shadows of the corridor between Philippe's study and the great hall.

They watched her, though their eyes were hidden by darkness, and she could not make out whether they were upset.

"I apologize," she whispered, voice no more than a croak. "I didn't know anyone would be..."

She stopped and winced, bringing a hand up to her throat in discomfort. She had been about to say she didn't know anyone would be awake, but that sounded foolish, when you considered what they were. Philippe smiled, and his teeth glinted in the torchlight, stark white and dangerous in the shadows of the hall.

"The hour is late, Lady Fernanda," he said. "Are you quite well?"

Addison cleared her throat. "Yes," she said. "Sorry. I'll just..."

She gestured to the path to Hugh's tower. To her chambers and the safety of her household staff.

"Yes," Philippe said. "I do think that would be for the best."

Addison nodded, voiceless and wary, before dipping down into a curtsy and making haste back the way she came, brushing past them quickly. She couldn't bring herself to meet either de Clermont's gaze.

"Rest well, child," Philippe called at her back.

Addison threw him a discomfited nod, and Addison hurried her step when he did.

---

Eric's tread was heavy on the steps in his father's tower. He had reached the age now where each new recruit he encountered seemed younger than the last. Too green and too eager, and far too weak for the perils of war. It was a phase; his father had assured him once. A phase he would soon outgrow.

Young men were meant to live and die by the blade, whether that blade be a sword or a scythe, whether on a battlefield or in a wheat field, it mattered little. And though he knew this, and had lived by this truth, for long over a century, in theory, and in practice, this year it was a hard thing to reconcile.

He was meant to make his peace. He was meant to accept and take heart in the truth that these recruits were volunteers. They were eager to live and work and breathe by the blade he handed them. They were meant to kill and be killed on a path they themselves had forged.

It mattered little their motives.

It mattered little whether they sought this path out of honor and glory, a need for brethren and purpose, or a need for food in their bellies and a place to stay other than home.

It mattered little, Eric knew.

But it mattered some, just the same.

There had always been something admirable, he found, in the courage of human men. True courage, not the stuff of bluffs and bluster. But what was he to admire when he looked on those same men, who years ago would have been comrades, and saw only boys in need of guidance? What was he to admire when, to his eyes, men became boys again? What was he to do when he wished to spare them the fight?

In his father's own words? Nothing.

He was meant to accept the truth that came with human men. He was meant to accept that he would send them always to die. That this was the way of the world, and Eric would one day be the hand that moved it.

So, with a heavy heart and a steady hand, Eric gave an axe to a boy of fourteen with a fighter's build and no clue how to wield it. And he gave a bow to a young man of seventeen who had weak legs but passable arms. He gave a helmet to another, a man of twenty with a child on the way, who knew at least his wife would have a home here whether he lived or died the next day.

And he trained and fought with, supplied and armed, and encouraged dozens and dozens more. Some of whom were born for this life and raised for it by their fathers. And others who had chosen this life and found their opportunity here in the generous pockets and war bred minds of the fighting men of Sept-Tours.

He did all of this, and he tried to remember that he had been much younger than most of these men when his birth father had trained his own body and mind for a path to war.

But still, his efforts to make peace with this part of life, on occasion, fell short of their desired effect.

So, it came down to a choice.

As Hugh had told him it would, so many years ago. It came down to a choice, to accept that he will outlive these boys he trained to be men. To accept that they will live short and die bloody, just as he had done once when he was a different man. Or to lay down his own sword, forsake his given name, and walk away from it all entirely.

Hugh would not begrudge him this, if he chose it, but his life and his family would never be the same.

And a little voice in the back of his mind spoke a truth Eric struggled to accept every day.

Fernanda had told him once, in the gardens of La Ithuriana, that no other life would satisfy him but this one. She, with her eyes of melted bronze that bore straight down into his soul, had sat with him, shoulder to shoulder, and told him a truth he had already known. One he had been eager to deny all his life.

To sit still and live peacefully would never be his way.

And while Eric had long ago accepted his power over the living. His power to choose the dead. Had long ago accepted that he was worth more than many, and that many would die in his stead.

He had always struggled to accept this truth, even when spoken so plainly and so sweetly from Malvina's own lips.

He would never be satisfied by less.

But he hated that more involved witnessing this.

He hated that more meant he could not encourage every one of these men back to their plows. He hated that the plow was not enough for many to live an honorable life.

He hated this, and he hated even more that he had already begun to accept it.

Because he had handed that boy his axe today, and he had taught him how to wield it, and he had looked upon his progress with apathy. Without shame. Bitter, cold neutrality is what he had felt. Another life, another blade, it mattered little the face or name that it belonged to.

And only now, in the dark of the evening, with news of the Mongols freshly turning in his mind did he remember to feel such shame.

Only now in this tower, built for a future he did not know how to meet, did he remember his concern for weaker men.

Only now, did the apathy fade, because how could he feel such apathy toward the fragile lives of mortal men when just a few paces away was the peaceful, sleeping heart of the lass he had loved and died for once, decades ago, when he was human?

He paused outside her door. Considering for a moment rapping his knuckles on the wood and seeing if she was awake but—

He froze and stared at the latch in disbelief. He stared and stared, and he listened and—

There was no breath. No heartbeat. No—

Where was she?

Eric felt disbelief climb its way into his head and his throat. He stared and he couldn't quite believe—

No.

He shook his head.

She was here.

She was here.

He had not imagined her.

She was here, she just wasn't there.

She wasn't there behind her door. Her chambers were empty but that did not mean—

Steps sounded on the stairs below him. A thudding heart and the short, rapid breath of someone in a hurry. And then her scent wafted up toward him, wine and berries, lavender oil, and fear.

Eric turned, and her shadow stretched on the walls of the stairwell.

"Fernanda," he called out, brow furrowed in confusion. He descended the steps to meet her, and she let out a startled yelp.

She was in her dressing gown. Dark velvet and loosely tied around her. Her hair was down. Long dark waves flowed over her shoulders, and down her back. And her eyes – his chest constricted – wide and owl like, liquid metal, and deep enough to drown in.

"Jesus Christ," she breathed out, pressing a bread roll to her chest, and crouching down before him. "You scared the shit out of me."

"Are you well, mo chridhe?"

Fernanda huffed out a laugh, heart still fluttering rapidly as she did, and glanced up at him before shaking her head and reaching for him. "Help me up," she said. "Squatting on the stairs was a bad idea."

He snorted and took her hand, relieving it of the bread roll it held and interlacing his fingers with her own. He pulled her up and she let him, smiling in thanks for his help.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He grinned. "You need not whisper, mo chridhe."

Fernanda cringed and shrugged. She held a roll in her other hand as well. And he detected the scent of fruit though a glance at her told him she must have tucked it away.

"Hungry?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. She winced.

"Yeah," she said. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

He frowned. "Oh?"

"I'm just hungry all the time," she said. "But I can't—"

She flushed and averted her gaze.

"You can't..." he prompted.

"I can't keep it down," she whispered, face burning with shame.

Eric felt his chest pull at the look on her face. Mind turning with worry over her confession. What on earth could that mean?

"I'll have Jean Luc send for a healer," he said and guided her to her door.

Fernanda shook her head, and he felt frustration rise in his chest. "You are not well, mo chridhe."

"I am fine," she said. "I'm not—"

"Don't say you're not ill, when you have just admitted to being unwell."

"But there's nothing they'll be able to do," she retorted, entering her chambers when he opened the door.

Eric followed her in. "It is nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed," she said and shot him a look. One he met with disbelief.

"Eric..." she said. "It's not that I don't want to feel better. It's just that..."

She trailed off and moved to the chair by the hearth, curling herself into it and toying with a dried apricot, avoiding his gaze. She sighed and glanced up at him before turning her face again toward the fire in the hearth.

"I don't trust the medicine here," she confessed in a whisper.

Eric didn't know what he had expected, but he hadn't expected that. He drew back a bit, studied her intently, before thinking very carefully about how to proceed.

"We have some of the best healers outside of the royal courts, Fernanda," he tried to assure her. "There is no need to fear—"

"It's not about whether or not you employ good healers," she cut him off. "It's just that... I know where I'm from... physicians learned from the mistakes made by healers in this day and age. I don't know that I trust their treatments here... I know enough to be wary..." she said, looking as though she wished to sink into the cushions of her chair and disappear before him now.

Eric softened. He made his way over to her and knelt by her side. "But you do not know enough to improve their methods."

Fernanda flushed and offered him a guilty look. "I don't mean to insult anyone or—"

Eric shook his head. "It is a fair concern," he admitted. "And one I had not thought to consider."

He studied her for a moment. With her skin as soft and as unmarred as that of a noble babe. With her mind always turning, sharp and impossible to read. And her hands that had never seen a day of true labor until her time as Malvina, permanently scarred by wire handles, and fear, and struggle and the violence Benjamin one wrought.

He sighed and took her hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs gently over her scars. He brought her palm to his lips and kissed the scar left by the scullery maid in the spring of 1220. He wracked his brain, trying to remember the dead girl's name.

Fernanda closed her fingers around the faded wound and leaned forward instead, resting her forehead against his shoulder.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she said. "But sometimes I don't feel well, and I don't want to make a big deal. If it gets worse, I promise to tell you. But for now, can we just..."

She trailed off, not sure what to ask, but wishing for peace, nonetheless. He frowned and studied her.

"When you go back..." he said.

Fernanda drew back, looking at him as though he'd struck her.

"I don't want to talk about that."

"Neither do I, mo chridhe, but we must."

"No," Fernanda said but Eric was adamant, and he held her fast when she tried to pull away.

"Promise me you will speak with your healers," he said.

Fernanda frowned at him, her brow furrowed in frustration, her lips pressed together in a firm line.

"Let go," she said, voice laced with resentment.

Eric sighed. Feeling his heart sink in his chest at her displeasure. He released her hands, and she snatched them back to her chest. She wrapped her arms protectively around her body and Eric itched to pull her to him, to cradle her close for the rest of the night.

That would be far more agreeable to him than witnessing this. The rapid withdraw she attempted. The closing in on herself into a carefully constructed, self-protective shell. He felt something crack inside of him at the sight, and the defensive look in her eyes. Not with him, he thought with a furrowed brow. Never with him. Not this.

"Fernanda," he tried again. "Please."

"Leave it be, Eric."

He shook his head. "I cannot."

"Please," she whispered.

His lips turned down into a frown, sadness coloring his senses.

"If you do not wish to see a healer here," he said. "If you do not trust the help that I am able to offer—"

"That's not what I meant—"

"No," he smiled softly. "It is not, but that is what it means regardless."

Fernanda shook her head, eyes flooded with guilt and a million emotions he could not read. Eric opened his palms so she could rest her hands in them if she chose. She followed the motion with her eyes before sighing and taking his hands tightly in her own once again.

"Gallowglass," she murmured. "I really didn't mean to insult—"

"There has been no insult given, mo chridhe," he said. "I've taken no offense. But there is a truth here that I cannot deny – and neither can you—"

"What—"

"You require a healer," he said. "And I cannot provide one here that suits your needs."

"But—"

"So," he pressed on, not letting her interrupt him. "As you are fated, no doubt, to return home again in the spring—"

Her lip trembled and she had to look away when he said the ugly thing that sat between them.

"Hey," Eric called her, reaching up to tap her chin, calling her eyes back to his. "Promise me you will seek their help, Fernanda. It does no one any good if you waste away of sickness, hungry but unable to eat."

---

The kitchen maid standing before her had turned green.

Addison took one look at her and knew all she needed to know. Beside her, Jacqueline frowned.

Two other girls looked up to see where their companion had gone and blanched at the sight of her.

Lady Fernanda Gonçalves, and her maid Jacqueline, were standing in the kitchen entry looking altogether expectant and displeased.

One of the kitchen maids nearly dropped the bowl she was holding. The other paused with her hands full of dough that glooped through her fingers and slid down her arm.

Then the first girl, who was still looking quite sickly, remembered herself and dropped down into a deep, uncomfortable looking curtsy.

Addison took them in, told the curtsying girl to stand, and exchanged a glance with Jacqueline.

The blonde manjasang maid took in the state of the kitchens, the absence of the chef, and the nerves of the girls with sharp eyes and a displeased tick of her jaw.

Addison cleared her throat and offered the kitchen maids her most compassionate smile.

"Hello," she said.

"M-my lady," The first girl said, still a little green in the gills, and fidgeting with her apron where she'd found a loose thread.

"I'm looking for the chef," Addison said, glancing between the three. "He's meant to be here."

"He's not here, my lady," said the girl who had nearly dropped her bowl.

A flash of annoyance shot through Addison's chest, and she had to redirect her gaze to the back wall of the kitchens so as to not roll her eyes in the direction of the maids. She bit the inside of her cheek at the chef's dismissal and tried not to let her ire show.

It was Jacqueline who spoke. "Fetch him, then," she ordered for her lady, voice sliding into a hiss.

The girl who was holding the dough, had reached for a cloth to clean herself up, and startled at Jacqueline's tone.

"We cannot, Miss Jacqueline," she said. "He's gone to the village, and the servants have yet to receive their luncheon."

She nodded toward the giant pot of stew over a flame, and then the bowl in her fellow kitchen maid's hands which contained a series of freshly chopped vegetables.

Addison turned to Jacqueline, who seemed to feel the chef's insult more deeply than Addison, herself, did. Jacqueline licked her teeth in aggravation, and Addison gestured for her to contain her anger.

The blonde's nostrils flared but she did as her lady asked of her. Fixing a polite smile on her face, Addison turned once again to the maids.

"We completely understand," she said. "I can see that you are all hard at work. Don't let us interrupt you."

The maids traded an anxious look, but Addison only shrugged at them sympathetically. She looked to the first girl, who had finally regained a more natural color.

"What's your name?"

"My name, my lady?"

"Mhmm," Addison tilted her head, trying to appear as genuine as possible and resisting the urge to elbow Jacqueline who was shooting daggers at the wall.

"Mary, my lady," the maid said.

"Of course," Addison replied. "A beautiful name."

The maid blushed and thanked her, averting her gaze.

"Mary," Addison said. "Could you do me a favor?"

Mary looked up from the floor to meet her gaze, aflutter with curiosity. "Of course, Lady Fernanda."

Addison smiled. "When the chef returns from the village," she said. "I want you to come and find me."

Mary's eyes widened and she risked a glance to her fellow kitchen maids before gulping and turning back to the young Lady Gonçalves.

"Shall I tell him before...?"

"No," Addison said with a sharp little grin. "No, Mary, that won't be necessary at all."

Mary gave her a pained look, but a glance at the fuming Jacqueline had her collecting herself rather quickly.

"Of course, my lady," she said. "I will find you when he returns."

"You have my gratitude, Mary," Addison said earnestly and then she turned to offer her thanks to the other maids as well. "It's been lovely to meet you. We'll let you get back to work now. It smells wonderful."

The girls flushed and shared startled looks, scrambling to curtsy for Addison when she turned and made her way back upstairs. Jacqueline lingered a moment, studying the other maids shrewdly, before offering them a nod and following her lady upstairs.

---

Addison carried on with her day after that, with Jacqueline two steps behind her silently seething at yet another unpleasant exchange. Or lack of exchange with the man who had taken it upon himself to wage a silent war with the young Lady Gonçalves.

Addison had laughed and waved off Jacqueline's concerns, trying to maintain a cool head and some semblance of understanding, but she had to admit she was frustrated by the dismissal. The insult, this time, had been felt.

He was acting like a child. A misogynistic, petty, infant of a man who could not let go of his pride long enough to meet her. That's it. That's all he had to do. Meet her and tell her what to do. Neither of them had a choice in the matter.

She was told to take on the inventory of the food stores. That was her lot. Her job to do. And it was his job too. It was her burden as much as his, and Addison was feeling the stress of the delay.

Jean Luc would surely intervene on her behalf if she spoke to him. Eric had made it clear she was meant to tell them if the chef acted in such a manner again. He had been visibly upset yesterday in Hugh's study when Jacqueline related the chef's sentiments on the matter to her. He had wanted to deal with it then and there, and she was confident the matter would have been done after that. He would have finished what the chef so childishly started.

De Clermonts were used to getting their way. Even Fernando, she knew, would never tolerate such a rebuke from someone beneath him.

It just wasn't the way of things here.

But Addison didn't want them to know.

They would overreact and she didn't want any of this getting back to Ysabeau.

She was hardly oblivious to the scrutiny she received from the matriarch of the de Clermont family.

Gallowglass's grandmother was not keen on Lady Fernanda Gonçalves at all. She had shown no indication that she liked Fernanda in any capacity. She had been hospitable. She had taught her the ropes. She had explained the law and required that she go to church. She had done everything she was expected to do as hostess and as a sort of diplomatic figure in the world of family politics, but she had done no more than that. And while Addison didn't think Ysabeau's sentiments toward her were strong enough to warrant dislike, she was under no illusion they'd be fast friends.

They were not made of the same stuff, Fernanda and Ysabeau. The core of who they were was fundamentally different, and it showed.

Ysabeau didn't think Addison was worth the trouble she was putting the family through. She most likely wanted Eric to find someone else to love, someone who could be present for his life. Someone who could benefit the family either financially or politically. Someone with resources that Addison didn't have.

She was on her way to her chambers when Eric intercepted her in the entrance hall.

"Fernanda," he called out with a grin.

"Gallowglass," Addison smiled.

Jacqueline politely dropped a few paces back, allowing the pair an illusion of privacy.

"How was your meeting with the chef?" he asked.

Addison crossed her fingers in her skirts and hoped he wouldn't sense her partial lie.

"I've decided to postpone it until after the servants have had their luncheon," she told him.

He narrowed his eyes, and Addison did her best not to fidget under his scrutiny. She cleared her throat.

"And you?" she asked, bumping him with her arm and eyeing him curiously.

She had to admit, she was surprised by how busy his days seemed to be. She hardly caught a glimpse of him since they parted ways after breakfast, and Jacqueline had warned her that she may have to compare schedules with him in advance if they intended to have moments together between breakfast and dinner.

"I'm off to the inspect the fencing around the pastures," he said and gestured toward the doors where two footmen stood waiting for the young de Clermont's approach.

She nodded and turned to Jacqueline. The maid read the silent question on her mind and studied Fernanda's itinerary quickly before nodding at her lady in agreement. Addison smiled her thanks and turned back to Eric.

"Would you care for some company?" she asked.

Eric grinned. "I'd love your company, mo chridhe," he said and offered his arm.

Addison gratefully accepted and wound herself seamlessly into his side. She glanced at Jacqueline and nodded toward the servants' quarters.

"I'll be fine with Eric for now," she said. "Feel free to see to your other chores for the day, if you'd like."

Jacqueline arched an eyebrow and studied the pair before dipping into a practiced curtsy. "Very well, my lady," she said. "I'll see if they need any assistance in the kitchens."

Addison shot her a look that Jacqueline returned just as haughtily before they turned from each other and went their separate ways.

The footmen opened the doors, and Eric and Fernanda made their way down the steps into the courtyard.

"That was a bit odd," Eric rumbled, glancing down at her, searching for answers.

"What was odd?" Addison asked absently, as she watched a group of men haul a giant wooden beam up a scaffolding.

"Jacqueline," he said. "In the kitchens?"

"Hmm?" Addison turned to look at him. Eric narrowed his eyes and offered her a confused little grin.

"What are you up to?" he asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied.

"Why is Jacqueline working in the kitchens?"

Addison turned to face forward again, watching the world part for them as they made their way through the gates and down into the village.

"I don't know," Addison shrugged. "I didn't think to ask. They were short staffed earlier. Maybe she wants to lend a hand."

Eric was silent for a beat before he let out a disbelieving hum. Addison huffed and bumped him with her hip.

"Don't worry about Jacqueline," she told him. "She's perfectly capable of taking care of herself."

---

Addison didn't know exactly when Balder and Guillaume had found them, but they had, and she'd been the last to know.

One minute, she and Eric were walking down the path toward the village. All by themselves and enjoying a moment's silence.

And the next she looked behind her and nearly leapt out of her skin.

"When the fuck did you get here?!" she screeched.

Guillaume smiled at her sympathetically. Balder arched an eyebrow and Eric snorted, placing a hand on the small of her back and bringing her closer to his side.

"They've been behind us for a while," he murmured.

Addison huffed and tried to calm her rapidly beating heart. "It would have been nice if someone had told me," she grumbled.

Eric chuckled.

"Apologies, my lady," Guillaume supplied quietly from a few feet away.

"Why are you following me now?" she called over to them, not bothering to stop walking or look back in their direction.

"It's their job, Fernanda," Eric told her lightly as he had done a million times in the last few days.

Addison shot him a disgruntled look. He shot her a cheeky grin in return. Addison rolled her eyes.

"They could at least make a noise," she grumbled.

"Duly noted, my lady," Guillaume said amicably.

Addison narrowed her eyes.

They entered the village. Eric and Fernanda, and her perpetual shadows, and they walked largely in silence. Occasionally Eric would point out a landmark, or a building of some significance, or share a story with her about something that had happened here once in the last half century. And Addison contentedly listened and followed along, asking questions, and making comments and feeling altogether light and comfortable for once with her new lot and her new position here in the Auvergne.

It was not perfect, but with Gallowglass by her side, it felt like home.

She liked this side of him. He spoke to her much the same as he had done once as Sorley, but now, they shared a common language between them, and she understood every word he said.

When they passed the church, his brow furrowed, and he turned to study the doors and windows with a mistrustful eye. Eric cleared his throat and glanced back at Balder and Guillaume.

"Either of you seen Matthew?" he asked.

Addison frowned and looked up at him. There was a chorus of no's at her back and Addison turned her face to glance at the pair of knights who followed behind them. Trying to read their expressions and compare them to Eric's.

"Saw his horse in the stables this morning, though," Balder gruffed out.

Eric nodded and reached for Addison's hand, giving her a reassuring squeeze. Though she had no need of it, and he was the one who seemed nervous. Addison furrowed her brow.

"Yes," Eric said. "I saw that too."

The men fell quiet, and Addison's mind spun at the abrupt change in their tone, but she didn't ask, and they didn't offer any explanation. Eric guided her toward a less traveled path at the edge of the village, toward the fences and fields that lay between them and a forest full of trees.

---

They wandered for a while there in the pastures. Among the sheep and the goats and the occasional cow. This wasn't the only field where the animals went to graze, and she knew the ones on the other side of the estate were full of horses and cattle and the occasional donkey too.

Eric's mood had altered just slightly from their time in the village. The church had darkened something in his eyes, and the mention of Matthew had been odd.

Addison ascertained he was talking about his uncle. Ysabeau's middle son. Matthew, a de Clermont in name rather than blood. But she didn't understand his reaction.

So what if Matthew was here? It's not like his other uncles hadn't come and gone since she arrived weeks before.

Godfrey and Baldwin were permanent fixtures at Sept-Tours it seemed. At least for the time being, anyway. And Gallowglass had told her plenty of stories from his early days as a manjasang, traveling with Matthew across the breadth of the continent. He sounded like a decent enough guy, at least from what she'd been told.

Addison had wandered away from Eric while he worked. He and a peasant farmer as well as Guillaume were bent over a rotted fence post that would need to be replaced before winter. And the farmer was relating to them other posts that would require inspecting and mending before the snows came.

She was kneeling among the sheep, running her fingers over the wool of a particularly old one that wouldn't make it through November by the looks of it. Balder stood a few paces away, in an empty patch of grass, that the animals had wisely given a wide berth to.

The sheep snuffed at her hand and its head bumped her leg. Addison let out a soft laugh before standing and brushing her hands on her skirts.

Eric called for her and gestured toward another post down the way. She dusted herself off and made to join him.

The peasant and Guillaume wandered ahead when she did, discussing the state of this year's crop and how the shepherds were feeling about their flock leading into winter. Eric and Fernanda trekked a little more slowly behind them, enjoying a quiet moment between themselves, still feeling quite deeply the loss they'd suffered at the hands of time.

Further behind them was Balder who preferred to stick to his own devices and grump at the back of whatever group he was in, no matter the circumstance. Or so Addison had guessed as she'd gotten to know him. A bit of a loner, that one was, not that she minded. The surly Viking had grown on her as time went by.

The breeze stole her scarf from her hair while she walked, and Eric was quick to snatch it before it flew away, handing it back to her with a shadow of a grin.

"Hey," he said, catching her attention.

Addison looked up at him, bringing her hand up to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun.

"You know not to go in the west wing of the castle, right?" he asked.

Addison nodded, but she couldn't hide her bewilderment. This was the third time someone had asked this of her.

"I do," she said.

Eric nodded. "Good," he said. "Good."

"Why though?"

"Pardon?"

"What's in the west wing?"

Eric blanched, as though he hadn't anticipated this question, and shook his head.

"Nothing," he said. 'Just..."

His face went blank, and he offered her a sheepish look. "It's just best that you give it a wide berth."

"Because..."

"It's undergoing repairs."

"Repairs?"

"Yes," Eric said, and reached for her hand. "Just promise me you won't go there."

Addison frowned and studied their joined hands.

"Ysabeau said I should avoid it because of dignitaries," she said, quietly.

"What?" Eric asked.

She looked up at him in scrutiny, drawing them to a stop. The peasant and Guillaume kept walking. Balder, wisely, did not.

"Dignitaries," she said. "Ysabeau wanted me to avoid it because there are so many strange guests there."

Eric's mouth popped open in shock for a moment before he collected himself and nodded his head.

"Right," he said. "Well, she spoke true—"

"You house your guests in a wing that's undergoing repairs?" she asked doubtfully.

Eric sighed. "Trust me, please," he said.

"Only if you tell me the truth," she replied.

Eric frowned. "For now, it is best to leave it be."

"You don't get to determine that," she said in earnest.

He looked guilty, but it did nothing to soothe her ire, when he shook his head and said, "but I do."

Addison's face burned with anger and mortification.

She couldn't believe he'd said it. And it didn't matter how gently he tried to soften the blow. Even more, she hated that he was right.

He was the young de Clermont and she was not. She was the young Gonçalves, and she had few allies here. Certainly, none that would obey her if it meant disobeying him.

He could do and say what he wanted, and she had to hold her tongue and stay where people could keep an eye on her.

His family set the rules, and her family followed them.

It was a simple question. A reasonable one. If they were so worried about it, she had every right to know.

But he wouldn't tell her. She asked, and he wouldn't tell her, and it was information he had every right to withhold.

She clenched her jaw, and felt it tick.

What the hell was so fucking dangerous about the goddamn west wing?

She opened her mouth to tell him as much when the sound of a horse drew her ear, and a call came for Eric from a familiar voice.

"My Lord," Alain called out and slowed his horse to a walk. "Sieur Philippe has summoned you to his study."

Eric squeezed her hand once, a silent apology perhaps, but she knew not whether it was for his lie, his ability to lie, or the fact that he would leave her now in the middle of their disagreement.

She gritted her teeth and dropped his hand, turning away from him and raking her fingers through her hair, hissing when they caught in her braid and ruined the plaiting.

She turned to face away from Eric and Alain only to see that Guillaume had joined Balder in standing quietly a few paces away. The peasant had wisely disappeared. And Addison felt her frustration grow. Her chest was hot, and her eyes stung with aggravated tears, because not only had he hurt her, but he had done it in full view. Nothing was private here and they had witnessed her and Eric's display.

She glared at them, and they had the grace to pretend they didn't notice.

She could feel Eric's eyes boring holes into the back of her head, but she was angry, and he had lied, and he didn't seem to give a fuck about it either way and she just—

"Mo chridhe," Eric said softly, tinged with regret.

Addison licked her teeth and turned back to him.

"I must go," he said.

She crossed her arms and shrugged, quirking an eyebrow, and nodding him toward Alain. "You hardly need my permission."

She can't say what she wanted of his response.

Part of her wanted to see the sting of her words on his face after she said them. Part of her wanted the flash of hurt her words had caused him since his words had hurt her.

But part of her felt immensely guilty for desiring it, and part of her stung even more, because that's not what happened at all. His eyes, which had been tinged with regret, softened quickly into neutrality. He studied her a moment, still Sorley, still the man she loved, and yet utterly leaning on basic de Clermont formality. His eyes flickered to Balder and Guillaume, and whatever he saw in them lightened him a little. He turned back to her, offered her a curt bow of his head, and turned to follow Alain.

"Sir Guillaume is required as well," Philippe's squire said softly.

Eric stopped, his back rigid, but he did not turn to regard his friend. Addison watched his back and felt a pit in her stomach at how quickly he had gone so cold.

She didn't know what she had wanted, but she hadn't wanted this.

Guillaume moved passed her to join Eric and Alain on their journey back to Sept-Tours. And Balder remained her shadow, a few paces away, strong, and silent at her back.

She watched them go, silently wishing Eric had chosen to stay.

---

She had killed as much time as she could, as far away from Sept-Tours as she could manage, but eventually Addison had to admit defeat and make her way back indoors.

She and Balder made the long trek up the hill, through the village, and past the gates as slowly as she could get away with. And if Balder sensed she was stalling, he had the grace not to say so.

The courtyard was bustling as per usual. She noticed Ampelius just outside the stables, knelt before a stableboy who had a bandage wrapped around his wrist. Behind him a horse stamped angrily in its stall, and two of the older stableboys were doing their best to calm it.

An off-duty guard was exercising his sword arm, swinging a blunt weighted blade lethally against a wooden post that had seen better days.

The traffic of the courtyard flowed around her, and Addison moved toward the great metal plated doors of Sept-Tours, unencumbered by the traffic that seemed to bog everyone else down. Not a single person got in her way.

She shot a glance at Balder who was careful to keep a neutral face, and then she jogged up the steps, nodding to the footmen who pulled open the doors and bowed her way.

Addison had only made it a handful of paces into the busy entrance hall when she was intercepted by the most displeasing face in the history of all faces.

"Come with me," Godfrey said and reached out a hand to grab her.

Addison skittered back and out of the way, pressing closer to Balder and staring at Hugh's youngest brother in alarm.

A flash of annoyance passed through his eyes, but his face was grave, and his voice lacked the usual dickishness she'd come to associate with him. She recalled the day he found her outside the gates, in the gardens. He seemed oddly flustered now. Disheveled and paranoid.

"Why?" Addison asked him warily.

"Because I've lost something—"

"I didn't take it," Addison scrunched up her face.

"I didn't say that you did," Godfrey hissed.

His eyes flashed to Balder and then back to her, and he looked as though he was considering snatching her from her guard. "It would be in your best interest to come with me, until I can determine if it has been misplaced or stolen."

"But why?" Addison shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself in uncertainty.

Godfrey sighed and looked down at her, and he suddenly seemed very, very old.

"Trust me, child," he said. "Just this once. Come with me and I will explain if and when I can."

Addison regarded him warily before turning to Balder. "Find Gallowglass," she said.

Balder looked down at her for a beat before looking back up at Godfrey with an arch in his brow.

Godfrey fixed him with a flat look. "If I'd wanted to harm the girl, I'd have done it when I found her. On that blasted road in the dark of night. Not here of all the bloody places."

Balder's eyes were unmoved by Godfrey's crass reassurances, but Addison nodded again for him to go, a pleading look in her eyes. Finally, he bowed for the pair and turned to do as the young Fernanda had asked of him.

Godfrey extended a hand and Addison thought about refusing him, but the look in his eyes unsettled her, and his lack of attitude made her spine sing with paranoia. Something was wrong.

She offered her hand, and he grabbed it, tucking it resolutely under his arm and hurrying her along.

They entered the corridor that housed the tower he lived in, and he ushered her toward the stairs, all the way up to his private study. He rushed her through the door before settling her in a chair, against the far wall, near a window but carefully out of view.

"Stay there," he said.

Addison watched him in trepidation. The only other person in the room was Godfrey's retainer. A nondescript man with brown hair and a stocky build. He was unremarkable and she did not know his name.

No one bothered to introduce Godfrey's manservant, and Addison didn't ask. She could feel the tension that had permeated the room, coating everything in an unsettling fog. She kept her mouth carefully shut.

The retainer was hastily sifting through document after document, making sure to scan each one thoroughly as though to check nothing had attached itself to the back, or that they hadn't missed whatever they searched for in an oversight or panic.

Godfrey was doing much the same, opening books to turn them over and shake out the pages. Unfolding letters and giving them a once over. Searching – searching desperately – for something he had lost. Something important. Something regarding her.

"Can I help?" Addison asked after a beat.

Godfrey's lips twitched into a frown, but he didn't snark at her as he usually would.

"Silence for now, young lady," he said but he sounded more like a tired schoolteacher than Hugh's annoying younger brother.

This was odd, and unlike him, but despite the flash of concern that shot through her, Addison quickly tired of de Clermont dismissals. This was something she had willfully forgotten about from her time at La Ithuriana last fall. The silence, enforced by Hugh and Fernando. The secret comings and goings that the whole household refused to explain.

Eric's lie earlier about the west wing of the chateau still chafed, and Addison was tempted to take it out on Godfrey now. God knows he deserved it. He was a right prick most of the time.

But he was flustered – too flustered – and it was entirely unsettling. She considered him, with her arms crossed, and her ire growing, waiting for him to say something before she lost it. Her mind ticked and she quietly wished he would speak and speak soon.

"The law changed," Godfrey told her through gritted teeth.

"It changed?" Addison asked.

"Yes," he said and sifted through a pile on the floor.

"What does that mean?"

"It means," Godfrey said, tense and trying not to lose his temper. "That I made a mistake. Fifty years ago, I deposited you very neatly into a legal grey area. It benefitted all of us at the time, and I saw no reason for further concern. You took your oath. Your father took his. Everything was closed up rather neatly. No further cause for concern. When Fernando saw my father again, he bent the knee as was expected. No one needed be any the wiser to your role, or your unique set of circumstances, unless Fernando's efforts fell through—"

"Fell through?" Addison asked, stumbling to keep up with his rapid speech.

"In the event my father rejected his vow."

"Rejected his vow?"

"Killed him," Godfrey gritted out, waving his hand at her for quiet.

Addison choked on her words and stared at Godfrey in horror. Had Fernando really been that close to death because of some stupid words he'd said over a blade?

"Had that happened, your vow would have been the thing to protect you," Godfrey continued, oblivious to her rising dread. "We would have told Philippe of the oath you took, and your induction as the ninth knig—"

"If he..." she cut him off, mind still back on Godfrey's sick revelation. "If he killed my father?"

Godfrey's eyes snapped up to stare at her as though he'd just registered his own words, and the tone of horror she had adopted. His face was grim, but unapologetic.

"He knew what he was promising."

"That doesn't make it any better," she breathed, suddenly lightheaded.

Addison swallowed around the lump in her throat and closed her eyes. Her hands shook and she felt as though the room was shrinking again. The water was rising, and the room was shrinking and—

Where was Fernando? Where was he? Why wouldn't anyone let her see him?

"Where?" she asked Godfrey.

He stared back at her in confusion.

"Where is he? Where is my father? Why hasn't anyone contacted him? Why haven't you—why—where is he?"

The door burst opened, and Gallowglass strode in. His boots were heavy on the stone floor, his face like thunder. Behind him, Balder stood, surveying the situation from the doorway. He caught one look at Godfrey and wisely stepped out of the room, closing the door tightly behind him when he did.

"Fernanda?" Eric asked, kneeling before her, and caressing her cheek. "Breathe, mo chridhe."

Addison sucked in a breath, but it lodged itself somewhere in her ribcage and got caught. She stared at him in horror, and he frowned. He shook his head and told her to try again.

Addison took a breath, and he tapped her chin, nodding for her to continue.

"Good," he murmured. "What's happened?" he asked, turning from her to his uncle.

Godfrey opened his mouth to respond, while his retainer deftly sorted through more piles of documents.

"Where is my father?" Addison asked with tears collecting in her eyes. "Why hasn't anyone contacted him? Is he—did they—" she shook her head and couldn't say it. "He's not..."

Eric's brow furrowed in confusion. What was she asking?

"He's not dead," Godfrey said quietly, sounding almost apologetic, if such a thing could be believed of him.

"Dead?" Eric snapped, turning to stare hard at his uncle. "Who would suggest such a thing?"

Godfrey cringed but remained silent.

"Why can't I see him then?" Addison bit out, her voice tight and constricted. "Why won't anyone let me—"

"He's in Marrakesh," Eric told her gently, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair back behind her ear.

"Marrakesh?" she croaked; eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Aye," he said. "His work is sensitive. None but a very few know that he is there."

"Oh," Addison said. "Can I write to him then?"

Eric smiled apologetically at her.

"It's unlikely anyone will deliver your letter, love," he said. "For now, it would be best to wait for him to come to you."

"But how will he know?" Addison asked hopelessly. "He doesn't even know I'm back. No one will tell him where I am and—"

"He has his ways," Eric assured her. "I promise you. We can't reach him, but Fernando knows how to reach us. And I wouldn't worry about him not knowing about you—"

"Why not?" Addison snapped, feeling tired and defensive. "It seems like an entirely justifiable concern."

Eric snorted and grabbed her hand, pressing a kiss to the back before giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"He's been counting the years, mo chridhe," he told her with a sad smile. "Trust me, if you didn't come back in fifty years, Fernando was going to find a way to come to you."

Addison let out a startled laugh, leaning forward to press her face into his shoulder, soaking his tunic with her tears.

"Now is that all that's the matter?" he asked, rubbing circles on her back.

"No," she sniffed.

"No?" he asked.

"I think we broke the law," she cried tiredly into his shoulder.

"Oh?"

"Nephew," Godfrey cut in.

Eric turned to look at his uncle, still holding his mate close to him as he did.

"The matter is rather serious, I'm afraid," Godfrey told him.

"Tell me," came Eric's reply.