CHAPTER NINETEEN
With Dashiell in her father’s solar along with the other important warlords that had so recently arrived, Belladonna was left at the dais with Aston, whom Dashiell left behind to oversee the men and the fortress while he was in conference. When Aston left the great hall to go to the gatehouse, Belladonna also left to go see to her sister. She very much wanted to tell Lily about the betrothal, excited to share such wonderful news with her sister.
It was such a surreal moment in Belladonna’s life. Finally, she was betrothed to the man she loved and even as she made her way to her sister’s chamber, she felt as if she were walking on air. It was still storming outside but, to her, it was the most beautiful day she had ever experienced. Nothing could change that.
So many non-important things were crossing her mind as she headed to Lily’s chamber – what dress she would wear for her wedding, for example, and how many children they would have. Belladonna had always wanted a large family, so she thought eight or nine sons would be a good number. But then she giggled when she thought that she might have to adjust that number after having given birth for the first time. She’d seen servant women in labor to bring forth their children, and it seemed to be quite painful.
Aye, perhaps she would decide how many more children to have after the first one.
Thinking of children turned her thoughts back to Lily, who was now expecting her first child. Belladonna wasn’t as frightened as she had been when she’d first been told, now more concerned with what needed to be done about it. She knew that Dashiell would do the right thing, for all concerned, so she didn’t worry anymore.
She trusted Dashiell completely.
Lily was awake when Belladonna arrived in the chamber, and Belladonna spent several minutes telling the woman about everything that had been discussed that day and of the important visitors at Ramsbury. Lily was groggy and still not feeling well, so her happiness with Belladonna’s betrothal was minimal. She simply wasn’t up to it.
Still, Belladonna knew Lily was happy for her even if she wasn’t able to fully show it. She briefly thought of Acacia, expressing to Lily that she wished she could share the news with their middle sister. They spoke of Acacia for a few moments, wondering how she was getting along at Amesbury and trying not to speak ill of her. After the anger and the fighting had died down, they found that they missed their sister.
In the end, she was still part of them.
Odd how time and distance had eased their fury with her; no matter what Acacia had done, she was still their sister. Her blood was their blood. Lily made the comment that Clayton was unworthy to separate her from her sister, which sounded to Belladonna like she was willing to forgive Acacia somewhat.
But time would tell. Given the situation, Belladonna wasn’t entirely sure she could forgive Acacia. The woman had seemed more than willing to side with Clayton, on everything, and that was something she couldn’t seem to get over.
But it was of little matter. In truth, Acacia hadn’t sinned against her, only Lily, so she would do whatever Lily felt was best. Belladonna was just about to leave Lily to her rest when they both heard servants scuffling in the passage between the rooms and raised voices that sounded concerned.
There was thumping, as if something had dropped, and they heard more voices, now lifted in panic. Having no idea what was happening, Belladonna left Lily with the assurance that she would return to tell her what was going on and followed the sounds of the servants. Very quickly, she realized that the noise was coming from her father’s chamber.
The door was wide open and there was a great deal of commotion going on. Entering her father’s room, Belladonna immediately witnessed her father lying on the floor and Drusus pounding on the man’s back.
Startled, she ran to her father as the man lay on his stomach on the floor. Drusus pounded on his back a couple of times before rolling him onto his back, and that was when they both saw the man’s face.
It was blue.
Belladonna screamed.
“What has happened?” she cried, laying her head on her father’s chest. He wasn’t breathing, but she could hear rattling. “Drusus, what has happened? Why isn’t he breathing?”
Drusus was in a panic. He began to push on the duke’s chest, as hard as he could, and Belladonna screamed at him to stop.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked. “He is not breathing!”
Drusus had sweat pouring off of his bald head. “He is choking!” he told her, rolling the duke onto his side again and pounding the man on the back. “He shoved great pieces of bread into his mouth and could not swallow it all. He is choking on it!”
Belladonna was horrified. She stumbled back, ending up on her buttocks, as Drusus continued to pound on the duke, but to no avail. The man wasn’t breathing, and his face was blue as his sightless eyes stared off into space. She wanted to help but didn’t know how.
He was choking to death in front of her.
With a grunt of determination, of effort, she helped Drusus roll the duke back onto his stomach so the man could apply pressure to his back, trying desperately to use whatever air was in Edward’s lungs to push the lodged food out of his throat. Five or six heavy pushes, and nothing was coming forth. When Belladonna didn’t think he was working hard enough, she shoved him away and practically jumped on her father, trying to force him to expel what was in his throat.
But there was no movement, no matter how hard she tried. Belladonna realized that she was watching her father die.
“No!”
It was a scream heard throughout the keep. As Belladonna dissolved into hysterics and continued pounding on her father’s back, the sounds of thunder could be heard. It was a stampede, the sound of boots against the wood flooring and a herd of armed men suddenly bolted into the room. Belladonna looked up to see Dashiell leading the charge and she pointed to her father.
“Help him!” she cried. “He is choking!”
The group of men swarmed over them. Belladonna found herself pushed out of the way as the group of them lifted the duke up, using their strength to hold him aloft and point his head downward while Dashiell beat on the man’s back, struggling to dislodge what was in his throat.
But it was to no avail.
“What is he choking on?” Dashiell demanded.
Drusus was near tears. “Bread, my lord,” he said. “He shoved it all into his mouth before I could stop him, and he could not swallow it all.”
Bread. When mixed with water, or saliva, it formed a hard ball that would be difficult to remove. But Dashiell and the others tried; God help them, they tried for long minutes upon long minutes. They even started shaking the duke, trying to shake it loose, but the more time drained away, so did the duke’s life.
It was a horrifying scene.
Belladonna had no idea how long they had been trying to save her father from choking. It seemed like hours when it was really only minutes. She sat on the floor, weeping as she watched the terrible scene, realizing that Lily had wandered into the room also and now stood over by the open door, sobbing at the sight.
Belladonna staggered to her feet and rushed to her sister, and, together, the two of them clung to each other as they watched Dashiell, Bentley, and several other men try to save their father’s life. Bric MacRohan even punched Edward in the gut with his big fist, hoping that would dislodge the mass, but there was no response at all.
Finally, after a good deal of shaking and thumping on the man, they lay him back to the floor where Dashiell put his ear to Edward’s chest and listened.
There was nothing.
With a heavy sigh, Dashiell closed his eyes tightly for a brief moment before lifting his head and looking to the anxious faces around him. He shook his head, a brief movement, but one that conveyed to them that Edward de Vaston, Duke of Savernake, was no longer a part of the living. They had been unable to save him. When Langton realized his old friend was dead, he bowed his head and began to perform the last rites over the supine body.
It was a solemn moment, flooding the room with enough grief and despair to fill a moat. Bric, Gavin, Christopher, David, Gart, and Marcus stood over the duke, deeply regretting that they’d been unable save him. For men used to victory, and success, it was a difficult thing to come to terms with.
But the truth was that Edward was already dead when they came into the room; it had been the hero spirit in all of them that had tried to snatch Edward back from the jaws of death. Feeling guilty even though they shouldn’t have, they bowed their heads as Langton intoned the ritual over him, but Dashiell and Bentley were looking to the women standing in the doorway, weeping and clinging to each other.
It was a shattering sight to see. It was Dashiell who finally moved, heading towards the pair, his sorrowful gaze was on Belladonna.
“I am so sorry, lamb” he whispered. “He is gone.”
Belladonna broke down into painful sobs, falling into his arms, as Lily went to her father and knelt beside him. Taking one of his hands, she clutched it against her chest, trying not to look at her father’s purple face.
“Go, Papa,” she whispered. “Go where you can be strong and proud again. Go where your mind is sound again. We will miss you, but it is better this way.”
Such painful words, words not lost on the warlords gathered around Edward’s body. As Lily wept softly, with her father’s hand clutched to her chest, she felt a big hand rest on her shoulder, trying to give her some comfort.
It was Christopher, his heart breaking to see the daughters of the duke so distraught. Having daughters of his own, he was rather partial to them. He felt deeply for their loss.
“I am sorry, my lady,” he muttered. “This is a difficult loss to accept, for us all.”
But Lily lifted her tear-stained face to him. “That man we came to know the past few years… that was not my father. He would not want you to remember him that way.”
Christopher removed his hand from her, sympathy in his expression. “I will remember Edward de Vaston as a man with a quick laugh and a kind manner. But on the field of battle, there was no one greater.”
Sniffling, Lily struggled to her feet, helped up by Christopher and David. “I think my father began dying three years ago when his madness overcame him,” she said, looking down to his cooling corpse. “Every day, his mind left him just a little more. It was a very long farewell for a man I loved dearly. As much as I have been dreading this moment, now that it is here… I am actually relieved for him.”
“Why?” Christopher asked.
She looked at him. “Because our family motto is mors in victoria,” she said. “I cannot explain my feelings except to say my father has found victory over death. Victory because death has set him free from the madness that trapped him.”
It made perfect sense to them all. Lily’s tears returned as she stood over her father and silently wept. The men moved away to give her some privacy, but Langton remained, whispering prayers over the body of his old friend. But as Lily stood there, quite alone, Bentley walked up beside her.
He knew he shouldn’t. God knows, he was well aware of it. But he couldn’t simply stand by and watch her grieve alone. He had to comfort her, in some way, so he simply came to stand beside her.
After a moment, he reached out and took her hand, holding it tightly. When Lily looked up and saw that it was Bentley, her beloved Bentley, her tears returned with a vengeance and she buried her face in his chest.
Bentley hesitated for a brief moment before wrapping his arms around her. To hell with propriety.
He was going to comfort her.
The only sounds in the room now were those of the gently snapping fire in the hearth, and Lily and Belladonna’s weeping. Everyone else was stone-silent, seemingly frozen in place, stunned at the swift and unexpected passing of the Duke of Savernake. But as the shock began to wear off and reality settled, it was Christopher who finally looked over at Dashiell, standing in the doorway with Belladonna in his arms.
“We were only just speaking of this,” he said hoarsely. “Discussing the duke’s passing and what must happen when he does. Christ, did we somehow curse him by even speaking of such a thing? Did we do this?”
Dashiell knew it was more a rhetorical question than an actual plea. Faintly, he shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “We did not do this. It was an accident. Speaking of his death did not cause it.”
“But now he is gone,” Langton said, his gaze fixed on Edward. “It is true. We were only just speaking of the future without Edward and now, suddenly, we must face it. Are we ready to?”
Dashiell knew exactly what he meant; Clayton. Someone had to go tell Clayton that he was now the duke. God, Dashiell didn’t even want to think about it with the duke not even cold at his feet. But it was either accept Clayton as the new duke or John would regain control of Savernake, and Dashiell would not allow that while there was breath left in his body. As distasteful as it all was, now, they had to face it.
This had been a day of monumental decisions and life-changing events, and Dashiell was struggling to process it all. But one thing was for certain; he couldn’t dwell on it. He had to make decisions and make them quickly. Quietly, he shut the chamber door and faced the men in the room.
“And so, it comes,” he said, struggling against his grief. “What we have feared has come to pass. Clayton is now the Duke of Savernake. But we will not tell him so until morning, until the army is ready to leave the gates. Bentley, find Aston and the two of you began preparations. I want every able man armed and ready to depart by dawn. Is that clear?”
Bentley nodded sharply as he released Lily. “Aye, my lord.”
“Good. Be on your way.”
As Bentley quit the chamber, heading off to rouse the mighty Savernake army, Dashiell turned to Langton.
“You have given my lady and me permission to wed,” he said. “I will ask you then to marry us now, without delay. The lady and I shall be husband and wife when I tell Clayton he has assumed the dukedom. I will not leave that detail to chance.”
Langton understood. “Very well, du Reims,” he said. “I will perform the mass before this night is out.”
“You will perform it now, if you please. There is no time to waste, and my night is full from this point forward. I have a duke to bury, another one to swear fealty to, and an army to muster.”
Langton looked to Belladonna, who was looking rather surprised by Dashiell’s declaration, but not resistant. In fact, she looped her arms through Dashiell’s right arm, her cheek resting on his bicep affectionately. Although there wasn’t time for the proper procedure that usually accompanied a wedding, that didn’t truly matter in the end. Langton would speak the words that would make Dashiell and Belladonna man and wife, a union that would bind them together, forever. He looked to de Nerra, standing near Edward’s supine body.
“Will you bring me my prayer book?” he asked. “It seems that I have a wedding mass to perform and I do not know where my possessions have been taken.”
Gavin swiftly and silently left the chamber, leaving the others lingering over a dead body, now whispering among themselves about what was to come. It was fortunate they had a plan, which was most fortuitous considering Edward’s sudden death left them all shocked and saddened. Dashiell finally sat Belladonna into a chair near her father’s hearth and returned to the others, gathered around Edward’s body.
“Help me put him onto his bed, if you will,” Dashiell said quietly. “Let us get him off the floor.”
Between the six of them, they gently picked Edward up and put him onto his bed as Drusus, still weeping softly, smoothed the covers for him. Dashiell closed the duke’s still-open eyes, pulling the coverlet over his face so his purple features wouldn’t disturb Belladonna. She’d already seen too much, and the lingering state of her father’s corpse wasn’t something she needed to continue to view.
“What would you have us do, Dash?” Christopher asked him quietly. “Does anything need to be done that we can assist with?”
Dashiell tried to think beyond the immediate needs of the night. “I would like to bury Edward before we leave on the morrow,” he said. “I will need help with the arrangements. There is a small chapel to the southern side of the hall where generations of de Vastons have been buried. If we put men on digging the grave, we can bury him before the sun rises. I do not want to leave his burial for his daughters to handle because we have gone off to war.”
Christopher and David both nodded. “We’ll put men on it,” Christopher said. “We shall also see about a temporary coffin of some kind. Edward can receive a grand burial some time when you return and there are no wars but, for now, let us get him in the ground with proper prayers. That will have to suffice.”
“Thank you,” Dashiell murmured sincerely, putting a hand on Christopher’s arm.
As his cousins moved to arrange for the duke’s burial, Gart and Marcus were left standing with Dashiell.
“And us?” Marcus asked. “What do you need of us, Dash?”
Dashiell looked at the old warriors, men that had seen so many years of so many battles. His respect for them was fathomless.
“I have asked Bent and Aston to muster the men, but it is a big army,” he said. “Your help would be deeply appreciated in helping assemble them and making sure no detail is forgotten. I am to be married tonight and I fear my focus will be on my bride for most of the night. Come the dawn, however, we shall all make our way into the vault to inform the new Duke of Savernake of his title and of our expectations. But until then, we’ve a busy night ahead of us.”
Marcus nodded and turned away as Gart put a meaty hand on Dashiell in a show of sympathy. As the two of them lumbered from the chamber, Bric wandered up beside Dashiell.
The big Irish knight stood silently next to him, a mute support of Dashiell and what he had faced that night. Dashiell turned to look at the man; Bric had hair that was so blond it was white, and eyes of a blue color so pale that it was silver. Those silver eyes were looking at the women on the far side of the chamber.
“It has been quite a day for you, Dash,” Bric finally said. “You are a man of great strength, greater still when in crisis. Even so, I am sorry you had to go through this, lad. ’Tis most shocking for the daughters.”
Dashiell was looking at the women, too. Lily was over with her sister, once again, as the two of them sat before the hearth, holding hands.
“They are strong,” he said quietly. “You have no idea how strong they are. They’ve had to be strong since their father lost his mind and Lily’s husband has been trying to kill him. Truthfully, I blame myself for everything we have gone through.”
Bric looked at him, surprised. “Why would you say that?”
Dashiell glanced at him. “I should have killed Clayton the minute he came through the gates of Ramsbury. He was looking for hospitality and I should have given it to him with the end of my sword.”
Bric grinned. “You may still,” he said. “We are heading into another battle, Dash. Much can happen when the fighting starts.”
Dashiell knew exactly what he meant. “That is what I am afraid of after arresting Clayton and holding him in the vault for so long. I am afraid that, once released, he will have a sword aimed at my back.”
Bric’s smile faded. “Not as long as I am around, lad. I’ll run him through if he so much as looks in your direction. And that’s a promise.”
A weak smile creased Dashiell’s lips, a smile of gratitude. Bric slapped him on the shoulder before departing the chamber, off to assist Marcus and Gart with preparations for the army.
In spite of the horror of the day, Dashiell felt truly blessed by his close circle of family and friends. He was so much more fortunate than most. But that feeling of gratitude was tempered by the sight of Lily and Belladonna, huddled together in their grief.
The sight gave Dashiell such sadness, but with that sadness was also the joy in knowing he would soon be a married man. He only wished that it would be under better circumstances, but that couldn’t be helped. He would take Belladonna for his wife this night and, for at least a few hours, he was going to block out everything else.
For tonight, and for everything he and Belladonna had fought so hard for, they deserved at least that.
An hour later, in Edward de Vaston’s lavish solar, the Lady Belladonna de Vaston married Dashiell du Reims, Viscount Winterton, in front of friends and family, all of whom had waited for this day nearly as long as Belladonna and Dashiell had.
It was a bittersweet and tender moment in the midst of a day that all of them would remember for the rest of their lives.