“The circumstances of your own rebirth were not so different, as I recall.” De Clermont’s aristocratic black eyebrows shot heavenward.

“Hugh sired me after the heat of battle was over, when he was picking through the field looking for dead friends,” Gallowglass said. “This boy is too young to have seen battle. You found him loafing about on some corner, I warrant, and took the stray in.”

“The boy has seen more than you know,” Matthew said in a tone that discouraged further conversation on this point. “Besides, the war is all but over. Both armies are riddled with fever and tired of fighting.”

“And Gil? You didn’t just leave him there?” Gallowglass swore a blistering oath. “You had two jobs, Matthew: see to it the colonials won the war, and return the Marquis de Lafayette to France in one piece.”

“Pierre is with him. Baldwin is among the jaegers. And John Russell has a place in Cornwallis’s staff and the terms of surrender in his pocket. I’ve done my job.” Matthew straightened the seams on his gloves. “The morning is upon us. To business, Gallowglass.”

Gallowglass led them to a small cabin belowdecks that had a view of the water through a wide rectangular window. The room was sparsely furnished with a desk, a few stools, a heavy-bottomed chest, and a hammock strung up between two posts.

“Your letters.” Gallowglass opened the chest and drew out a small oilskin pouch. He tossed it to de Clermont.

De Clermont loosened the ties and riffled through the contents. He drew out a few pieces and hid them away in the breast pocket of his coat.

“You missed one.” Gallowglass plucked out another that was sealed with a heavy daub of red wax. “Mademoiselle Juliette sends her regards. And here is Granddad’s post.”

The second bag Gallowglass pulled from the chest was considerably larger than the first and full of interesting bumps and bulges, one of which looked like a bottle of wine.

“Madeira. For General Washington,” Gallowglass said, tracking Marcus’s wandering attention. “Granddad thought he might share it with Mrs. Washington after he’s back home.”

Marcus knew that the Marquis de Lafayette was dear to General Washington, but had no idea there was a connection between the chevalier de Clermont and the commander of the Continental army.

“How kind,” Marcus said, filing this bit of intelligence away for further reflection.

“Oh, I doubt it,” Gallowglass said cheerfully. “Philippe will want something in exchange. He always does.”

“And how is Philippe?” de Clermont asked. “And my mother?”

“Davy says they’re finer than frog’s hair,” Gallowglass replied.

“That’s it?” de Clermont said. “That’s all the news from France?”

“I haven’t got time for a saucer of tea and a lengthy reunion, Matthew. I want to catch the tide.” Gallowglass sniffed the wind like a hound.

“You’re hopeless.” De Clermont sighed and handed over a small stack of letters and a silk bag. “These are for Juliette. Don’t lose the strand of beads.”

“When have I ever lost anything?” Gallowglass’s blue eyes widened in indignation. “I’ve been to the edges of the earth running errands for this family and even got that bloody leopard from Constantinople to Venice so that Granddad didn’t leave the sultan’s gift behind.”

Marcus liked this brawny Scot. Gallowglass made Marcus wonder what his own Scots grandfather might have been like as a young man.

“True. These are for Philippe. General Washington’s letters are on top. See he reads those first.” De Clermont handed him another parcel of mail. He pointed to Marcus. “And of course, there’s him.”

Gallowglass was dumbfounded. So, too, was Marcus.

“Oh no. No. Absolutely not.” Gallowglass held his hands up in horror.

“Me?” Marcus’s head swung from Matthew to Gallowglass and back again. “I can’t go to France. I’m staying with you.”

“I have to get back to Yorktown to oversee the peace, and you’re not ready for that much society,” de Clermont said.

“What about my ship? Life at sea is hardly suitable for a newly made wearh!” Gallowglass exclaimed. “He’ll eat the crew before we reach France.”

“I’m sure one of them will feed him, for the right price,” de Clermont replied, unconcerned.

“But there’s nowhere to hunt at sea. Have you lost your mind, Uncle?”

Marcus wondered the same thing.

“Can he even feed himself?” Gallowglass demanded. “Or must he be bottle-fed like a mewling infant?”

“I fed on a man—in Albany!” Marcus replied, indignant.

“Ooh. Albany. Very nice. Had a bit of farmer and a nibble of fur trapper?” Gallowglass snorted. “You’ll get naught but stale beer and rat with me. It’s not enough to keep a baby alive.”

“Baby?” Marcus’s arms windmilled toward Gallowglass in a gratifying whirl of speed. Sadly, they never made contact with their target. De Clermont took him by the collar and flung him into the corner.

“No more arguments—from either of you,” de Clermont said brusquely. “You’re taking him to France, Gallowglass. See to it he gets there alive. I promised him an education.”

“We’ll need more chickens,” Gallowglass remarked. “And what do I do with him once we reach Bordeaux?”

“Deliver him to Maman,” de Clermont said, making his way to the door. “She’ll know what to do. À bientôt, Marcus. Obey Gallowglass. I’m putting you in his charge.”

“Wait just a minute!” Gallowglass strode after de Clermont.

Marcus watched from the quarterdeck as the two men had a heated argument. When Gallowglass sputtered into silence, de Clermont swung over the rail and disappeared down the rope ladder.

Gallowglass watched him descend. He shook his head, then turned to face Marcus and sighed. Then the giant wearh cupped his hands around his mouth and let out a deafening whistle.

“Cast off, lads!”

* * *

—

MARCUS WATCHED THE VANISHING SPECK of shoreline from the quarterdeck and wondered whether it might be wise to swim back to shore after all. The big sailor crouched down next to him.

“We still haven’t been properly introduced.” One arm shot toward Marcus. “I’m Eric. Most people just call me Gallowglass.”

“Marcus MacNeil.” He took Gallowglass’s arm again. This time the gesture felt right, familiar. “Most people call me Doc.”

“Marcus, eh? A Roman name. Granddad will be pleased.” Gallowglass’s eyes were permanently creased at the corners, which made him look as though he were about to burst into laughter.

“The chevalier de Clermont didn’t tell me he had a father,” Marcus said, daring to reveal his ignorance.

“The chevalier de Clermont?” Gallowglass tipped his head back and roared with laughter. “Christ’s bones, boy. He’s your maker! I understand your reluctance to call him Papa—Matthew is as paternal as a porcupine in full needle—but you might at least call him by his first name.”

Marcus considered it but found it impossible to view the austere, mysterious Frenchman as anything but the chevalier de Clermont.

“Give it time,” Gallowglass said, patting Marcus on the shoulder. “We’ve got weeks to share stories about your dear dad. By the time we arrive in France, you’ll have far more colorful names for him than Matthew. More fitting, too.”

Perhaps the journey would not be as tedious as Marcus had feared. He felt the slender, familiar outlines of Common Sense in his coat pocket. Between Thomas Paine and Gallowglass, Marcus could spend the entire voyage reading and figuring out what it was going to take to survive as a vampire.

“I saw—felt—some of the chevalier’s history.” Marcus wasn’t sure whether this was something he should discuss.

“Bloodlore is tricky. It’s no replacement for a proper story.” Gallowglass ran a gloved finger under his nose, which had gone watery in the rising wind.