Title: The Devil Has Blue Eyes

By: Aina Song

Fandom(s): Gundam Wing

Genre: Yaoi (with some Het thrown in)

Rating: PG-15

Warning(s): Contraband; Fusion; Language; Death; Murder.

Pairing(s): Heero/Quatre (constant mentionings of Het pairings)

Reviews: Yes, please.

Author's Note: (I'm afraid my usual Disclaimer will not be enough this time, so bear with me.) I, Aina Song, hereby acknowledge the illegality of the following fusion fiction, which is based very thickly upon Clara Wimberly's The Jeweled Heart of Rosemont Castle. I do not claim any rights or privileges her book may have earned her, nor due I claim credit for the book itself. This fanfiction follows her plot almost to the letter, with few changes tossed in here and there, but I must again press that it does so without the explicit permission of Ms. Wimberly, her editor(s), or her publisher(s). This fiction was not written for money; I do not profit from this in any way, shape, or form. Please excuse the illegality of it all, and I do hope my own readers will try to look past my unlawfulness and enjoy the fiction nonetheless. Thank you.

Teaser: He did not care that he was the lost heir to a winery fortune - especially since he couldn't remember that earliest piece of his childhood. He only wanted to reclaim the family that had been kept from him. But there was another who was determined to unmask him as an imposter. And, at the same time, a strange cold presence stirred again at his return, anxious to finish what it had started so long ago…

Chapter Four

He was far too restless to sleep. He longed instead to slip out the door and tiptoe along the dark corridors to see what he could learn about the people living here. Had he ever lived here? He felt no connection, nothing to make Quatre think he had.

He glanced around the room.

Normally, it would have amazed him. It was brisk and elegant, containing all the touches of luxury that he had never had. The furniture was dark, with its elaborate baroque carvings, looking suitable for a castle. The bed's posts reached upward toward the ceiling, each inlaid with a multiple-threaded spiral of gold filigree. In fact, everything in the room was upholstered in gold, with only a few pillows of scarlet to accentuate it.

He walked to the heavy curtains at the windows and pushed them aside to gaze out into the darkness. He could see nothing except the rooftops of the castle and the large tower at the end that he'd noticed upon his arrival. He walked the floor, wondering about Sandi and feeling guilty because he'd fallen asleep so quickly in the kitchen without seeing to her. He thought again of Heero Yuy's surprise and his comment about Quatre's little golden mare. Quatre gathered from the man's reaction that she was rare, perhaps even valuable.

Quatre frowned, remembering when Rasid had bought her for him the previous year. It would not have mattered what kind of animal she'd been; the blond would have loved her anyway. But now he wondered: If she were indeed valuable, then where had Rasid gotten the money? Gypsies lived off the generosity of the people - even an entire caravan could never have afforded something of any monetary value.

It seemed that by coming to Rosemont Castle, instead of finding his past, Quatre found more mysteries and questions. He could only hope that when he spoke to Treize Khushrenada he would find some answers. And the fact that the older man had nearly mistaken him for the woman who was his mother was encouraging.

Leia. His mother.

The word meant nothing to him, just as seeing Treize Khushrenada's face had meant nothing. But somehow, being there and hearing her name gave him hope. For even if she had died when he was young, at least he knew she had existed and that she had loved him. And he found that he wanted to learn all he could about her.

He heard a light tap at the door, then it opened slightly and a merry little voice rang out. "Excuse me. I've brought your things."

He turned to the door to see a sprightly red-haired girl with a guileless grin across her face. She was not what one might consider beautiful, but rather wholesomely pretty, with round rosy cheeks and a delicately filled-out figure.

"Come in," he said, returning her smile.

There was nothing tentative about the girl. She stepped right into the room with no shyness and plunked the bag down upon the bed. "I'm Cathy," she said. She opened his shabby bag and began to pull the clothes from it.

"Y-you don't have to do that," Quatre said, for the first time in his life truly embarrassed over his worn and faded things.

"No trouble," she assured, taking the clothes and placing them in a dresser across the room. If she noticed the shabbiness of his clothes, she was too polite to say so. "Besides," she added, cheerfully. "That's my job. I mean, I usually take care of the young ladies on this floor, but we're somewhat lacking in proper valets in this castle. I was asked to assist you as well, because it was agreed that you could very well dress yourself. All I'd be required to do will be to help with the finer odds and ends. Although I prefer the girls, because they like me to do their hair."

She stopped her chatter long enough to look speculatively at Quatre's hair, which he had loosened from its gypsy's tail. "Oh, I could do wonders with you, if you were a girl. You got lovely hair."

Quatre laughed at her openness and her exuberance. Rasid's caravan had rarely stayed in one place long enough for the blond to have friends. But if they had, he thought that this girl, Cathy, would have been just the kind he'd have chosen.

He reached back self-consciously and ran his fingers through his blond strands, which fell wildly behind his shoulders when not tied together. "I suppose I've never given it much thought," he said with a shrug.

"How old are you?"

"I'm… I'm almost twenty."

Her eyes grew wide with surprise. "My, you don't look it. I'm eighteen, and I look older than you."

"It must be my clothes," he said, glancing down at his trousers and frayed shirt.

"Why do you wear those things, anyway?" She asked candidly.

"W-well… It's all I've ever worn. We traveled a great deal, and there was never much money to go around, so…"

"My family's never had much money, either. And there were times I wore my brother's old britches, so I won't deny their practicality. But I prefer dresses. Makes a girl appear more womanly - wouldn't you say?"

"Yes," he stammered awkwardly. "I-I guess so…"

But Cathy had already gone on to another subject as she walked about the room, fluffing pillows and smoothing out the curtains. "What are you doing here, anyhow?"

Quatre shook his head and laughed at her, and for the first time she looked a bit sheepish. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I just ramble on all the time about nothing. I didn't mean to pry. Lady Khushrenada tells me all the time I'm much too sassy and talkative. But I can't seem to stop it… oh, dear." She stopped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth.

He was laughing hard now, for he thought she was quite funny as well as completely charming. "It's all right, Cathy. Really. You're the first person I've met in this place who seems halfway friendly to me… except Sally, down in the kitchen."

"Yeah?" She said with a grin. "Well, you just have to get use to the Khushrenadas. They're a strange family, but not half-bad. Mister Khushrenada, poor man, is almost always drunk - sick, as they prefer us to say. And his wife is purely daft about him. If she wasn't such a helpless do-nothing sort of woman, I'd almost feel sorry for her."

"Why's that?" He asked.

Cathy looked around as though to make sure no one was listening. Quatre supposed she would really have been in trouble of she were caught gossiping about her employers. "Well, I believe Lady Khushrenada loves her husband. But he won't give her the time of day. I've been here only a year, but they say he's always treated her that way. Maybe that's the reason she's so picky and complaining, maybe she's just real unhappy. But Mister Khushrenada, they say he's lost in his grieving for his first wife and their son, that he never got over them leaving."

Quatre was growing more and more curious about what had happened then. And he wondered, not for the first time, how Rasid fit into the mystery. He had assumed the man was a relative of his mother's, but now he wasn't so sure.

"How long ago was that?" He asked. His heart was pounding heavily at her words. Was he really the son she spoke of? The son that Treize Khushrenada still grieved for?

"Oh, sixteen… eighteen years… I don't know for sure. A long time ago, long enough for him to be over it by now. But for some reason he's just stuck in the past, and as I said, poor Lady Khushrenada is left on her own to fuss with the castle and her gardens and spend money on new dresses. If it wasn't for her son, I bet she would have left some time ago."

"Heero Yuy," he recalled.

"Yeah." Her eyes brightened perceptively, and he could see their grayish-green shine in the lamplight. "You met him already? Now, not to say anything against your own pretty looks, but there's a man and a half. Wouldn't mind putting my shoes under his bed." She looked at Quatre with a little expression of shock, but then laughed heartily. "Oh, there I go again. Sorry, sir, I shouldn't be saying such things to you, you being a guest here and all."

"It all right, Cathy," he said. "I won't repeat anything you've told me." But he had to admit he was shocked and amused at her words. He'd never been exposed to a girl like Cathy, outside Rasid's caravan, with so free and happy a spirit and who was open with her speech. Quatre found that he was much more intrigued by it than scandalized.

"You never did say why you're here," she reminded, running her eyes over him once more. He was sure it was obvious to her that he didn't belong in such a place.

"I've come to speak with Mister Khushrenada, but he took ill. I was told I'd have to wait until tomorrow. I only hope I won't have to wait too long."

"Hmm," she pondered. "Well, you never know with him. He's been locked in his room for now for weeks, so I'd say it's about time for a good period… sober, that is, if you understand my meaning."

"Yes," Quatre agreed, feeling sorry for the man. "I do."

"Lord, would you look at the time? I've got to get on to the rest of the rooms or I'll never get my work done."

"Long day?" He asked. "I suppose you're tired."

"Tired? I'm never too tired for seeing a strong, handsome man, and that's exactly where I plan to be in about thirty minutes. Well, goodnight, sir. Good luck tomorrow with Mister Khushrenada. If it's a job you're hunting, I hope you get that, too. Then we'll have plenty of time for talking." She left in a merry little whirl, making the room seem quiet and gloomy without her presence.

The castle had grown still, and Quatre found that the excitement of the past few hours had left him feeling very tired. He bathed quickly at the washstand near the bed, then peeled away his rough, heavy clothes and climbed beneath the soft covers of the elegant bed.

He could hear the wind whistling around the corners and roofs of the castle, could even hear it rattling the door to the hallway. Several times during the night he woke to a noise only to realize it was the wind rattling the doors and windows. But it was not the first time he'd had to sleep in a strange place, and he had learned to sleep through anything. He succumbed to slumber again rather quickly.

~o~

He woke the next morning to a tapping at the door. Eyeing the rich silk robe laid out over a chair, knowing he would only feel uncomfortable if he wore it, he tugged on his clothes from yesterday before answering the door. He was surprised to see Cathy there again so early. But looking at the little clock beside the bed, he saw that it was almost nine. Quatre could hardly believe he had slept so late.

"Come in," he said, stepping back from the door to allow her into the room.

"Well, good news," she smiled, setting a tray down on the table beside the bed. "I've been told to inform you that Mister Khushrenada wishes to see you right away." She nudged Quatre with her elbow; "Didn't I tell you he was about ready for a round of soberness?" Laughing merrily, she poured steaming coffee into a china mug that had been sprigged with twining silver.

In the morning light Quatre could see Cathy's face more clearly. His assumption the night before was confirmed - she was quite pretty. A small sprinkling of pale freckles, but nothing could detract from her sparkling eyes and happy smile. "Don't you want your coffee? Perk you right up."

"I… I don't drink coffee…"

Her mouth puckered briefly in a little pout, but then her smile returned as she motioned to a smaller pitcher on the tray. "Tea?"

"Thank you," he nodded gratefully.

She took the china mug to a window and deftly tossed the steaming liquid out. Borrowing a bit of water from his washbasin, she rinsed out the last of it from the mug, and then returned to fill it this time with a warm orange-brown liquid instead. "There you are," she motioned grandly, giving the blond room to sit upon the bed to eat.

The tea quickly revived Quatre, and as he ate the breakfast she'd brought his mind was in a whirl as he tried to put together what he might say to Treize Khushrenada.

"You're not very talkative this morning," Cathy commented bluntly. "I'd have thought you'd be excited to see the mister."

"I am excited," he said. "It's just that I'm afraid I'll make a fool of myself, or say the wrong thing. It's complicated."

"Complicated? Well, I don't know about that, but I do know you'd best be about before Mister Yuy comes storming in here for you. He and his mother are from the Orient, and I hear the people there have a nasty temper. I'd even overheard him and Lady Khushrenada arguing."

"Arguing? A-about me?"

"All I know is, he doesn't want you to see Mister Khushrenada; neither does she. But where she ends up trying to please the man, her son doesn't always see eye-to-eye. I think sometimes he tries too hard to protect him."

"He doesn't have to protect him from me," Quatre muttered as he set they tray aside, standing. "Could you turn around? It probably wouldn't do for me to show in the same clothes as yesterday."

She nodded, turning her back to him and staring fixedly toward another corner of the room. But she continued to talk as he retrieved a clean shirt and trousers and dressed himself. "I heard Mister Yuy say he didn't trust the boy. I guess that means you. Said he'd worked too hard on this estate to let some little beggar boy come in off the street and carry the place off."

"He said that?" Quatre asked, furious. His fingers began to tremble as he buttoned his shirt.

"Yes, he did. Then Lady Khushrenada said she had a headache and begged him not to make a scene but if I know him, it won't matter what she says. When he gets angry…" Her shoulders gave a delicate shiver.

"You may turn around now," he permitted, tucking his shirt into the waist of his trousers. "Anyway, we'll see. Heero Yuy might not be as clever as he thinks he is."

Cathy grew very still, and she watched him warily. "Now… w-wait a minute, sir. I don't like that look on your face. Don't underestimate that man. He might be a year or five shy of thirty and pretty to look at, but he's no little boy. He can be downright dangerous when he's a mind to be."

"I'm not afraid of him," Quatre declared, gathering his unruly hair into a gypsy's tail and winding a leather strip around it before knotting it tight. He dared not admit to her just how afraid he really was. He truly hoped the man they were speaking about would not be with Treize Khushrenada this morning.

"I didn't say you should be afraid, but don't be foolish, either. He has nothing to lose, and whatever it is you're wanting here, you'd best be careful. He's run this place since he was a boy, and what he says is law here at Rosemont Castle."

Quatre could not tell her the real reason he was at the castle. But he wondered what she would say if she knew. She seemed to know everything else that went on.

Hurriedly, the blond grabbed something from his bag and tucked it into his pocket - one of the few clues Rasid had left him from Quatre's forgotten childhood. He hoped his real father might remember it. It was a remote possibility, but it was all he had left of the little boy he had been.

As Cathy took him to Treize Khushrenada's room, Quatre found his mind attuned once more to what he might say. He hoped to be able to sit quietly and talk to the man, to explain carefully what Rasid had said and ask reasonably if there was a possibility that he was the son that had been lost. And he was afraid he couldn't do that if Heero Yuy was standing there, watching, glaring with those disquieting blue eyes.

But as luck would have it, those very eyes were the first thing Quatre saw as the door swung open. Mister Yuy stood back to let the blond in. And as he felt Cathy's hand pat him softly on the back for reassurance, Quatre walked into the room, feeling as though he'd just entered the lion's den.