The Book of Life (61 page)

Chut! Plus de bruit, C’est la ronde de nuit, En diligence, faisons silence.

Marchons sans bruit, C’est la ronde de nuit.

Matthew de Clermont was in love. I smiled at his adoring expression.

“Dr. Sharp said they’d be hungry,” I told him from the bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. My lip caught in my teeth. She had also explained that premature babies could be difficult to feed because the muscles they needed in order to suckle hadn’t developed sufficiently.

“Shall I get Marthe?” Matthew asked above Rebecca’s insistent cries. He knew that I was nervous about breast-feeding.

“Let’s try it on our own,” I said. Matthew positioned a pillow in my lap and handed me Rebecca.

Then he woke Philip, who was sleeping soundly. Both Sarah and Marthe had drummed into me the importance of nursing both children at the same time, or else I would no sooner feed one than the other would be hungry.

“Philip is going to be the troublemaker,” Matthew said contentedly, lifting him from the cradle.

Philip frowned at his father, his huge eyes blinking.

“How can you tell?” I shifted Rebecca slightly to make room for Philip.

“He’s too quiet,” Matthew said with a grin.

It took several tries before Philip latched on. Rebecca, however, was impossible.

“She won’t stop crying long enough to suck,” I said in frustration.

Matthew put his finger in her mouth, and she obediently closed it around the tip. “Let’s switch them. Maybe the scent of the colostrum—and her brother—will convince Rebecca to give it a try.”

We made the necessary adjustments. Philip screamed like a banshee when Matthew moved him, and he hiccupped and huffed a bit on the other breast just to make sure we understood that such interruptions would not be tolerated in the future. There were a few snuffling moments of indecision while Rebecca rooted around to see what the fuss was about before she cautiously took my breast. After her first suck, her eyes popped wide.

“Ah. Now she understands. Didn’t I tell you, little one?” Matthew murmured. “
Maman
is the answer for everything.”

32

“T
he twins are ten days old. Don’t you think they’re a bit young to be made members of a chivalric order?” I yawned and walked up and down the second-floor hallway with Rebecca, who was resentful of being removed from her cozy fireside cradle.

“All new members of the de Clermont family become knights as soon as possible,” Matthew said, passing me with Philip. “It’s tradition.”

“Yes, but most new de Clermonts are grown women and men! And we have to do this at Sept Tours?” My thought processes had slowed to a crawl. As he had promised, Matthew took care of the children during the night, but so long as I was breast-feeding, I was still awakened every few hours.

“There or Jerusalem,” Matthew said.

“Not Jerusalem. In December? Are you mad?” Ysabeau appeared on the landing, silent as a ghost.

“The pilgrims are twelve deep. Besides, the babies should be christened at home, in the church their father built, not in London. Both ceremonies can take place on the same day.”

“Clairmont House is our home at the moment,
Maman.
” Matthew scowled. He was growing weary of the grandmothers and their constant interference. “And Andrew has volunteered to christen them here, if need be.”

Philip, who had already exhibited an uncanny sensitivity to his father’s mercurial moods, arranged his features in a perfect imitation of Matthew’s frown and waved one arm in the air as if calling for a sword so they could vanquish their enemies together.

“Sept-Tours it is, then,” I said. While Andrew Hubbard was no longer a constant thorn in my side, I was not eager for him to take on the role of the children’s spiritual adviser.

“If you’re sure,” Matthew said.

“Will Baldwin be invited?” I knew Matthew had told him about the twins. Baldwin had sent me a lavish bouquet of flowers and two teething rings made of silver and horn for Rebecca and Philip.

Teething rings were a common gift for newborns, of course, but in this case I felt sure it was a none-too subtle reminder of the vampire blood in their veins.

“Probably. But let’s not worry about that now. Why don’t you take a walk with Ysabeau and Sarah—get out of the house for a little while. There’s plenty of milk if the babies get fussy,” Matthew suggested.

I did as Matthew suggested, though I had the uncomfortable feeling that the babies and I were being positioned on a vast de Clermont chessboard by creatures who had been playing the game for centuries.

That feeling grew stronger with each passing day as we prepared to go to France. There were too many hushed conversations for my peace of mind. But my hands were full with the twins, and I had no time for family politics at the moment.

“Of course I invited Baldwin,” Marcus said. “He has to be there.”

“And Gallowglass?” Matthew asked. He had sent his nephew pictures of the twins, along with their full and rather imposing monikers. Matthew had hoped that Gallowglass might respond when he found out that he was Philip’s godfather and that the baby bore one of his names.

“Give him time,” Marcus said.

But time had not been on Matthew’s side lately, and he had no expectation it would cooperate now.

“There’s been no further word from Benjamin,” Fernando reported. “He’s gone silent. Again.”

“Where the hell is he?” Matthew drove his fingers through his hair.

“We’re doing our best, Matthew. Even as a warmblood, Benjamin was devious to a fault.”

“Fine. If we can’t locate Benjamin, then let’s turn our attention to Knox,” Matthew said. “He’ll be easier to smoke out than Gerbert—and the two of them are providing information to Benjamin. I’m sure of it. I want proof.”

He wouldn’t rest until every creature who posed a danger to Diana or the twins was found and destroyed.

“Ready to go?” Marcus chucked Rebecca under the chin, and her mouth made a perfect O of happiness.

She adored her older brother.

“Where’s Jack?” I said, frazzled. No sooner did I get one child situated than another wandered off.

A simple leave-taking had become a logistical nightmare roughly equivalent to sending a battalion off to war.

“Going for a walk with the beast. Speaking of which, where is Corra?” Fernando asked.

“Safely tucked away.” In fact, Corra and I were having a difficult time of it. She had been restless and moody since the twins’ birth and didn’t appreciate getting wedged back into me for a journey to France. I wasn’t happy with the arrangement myself. Being in sole possession of my body again was glorious.

A series of loud barks and the sudden appearance of the world’s largest floor sweeper heralded Jack’s return.

“Come on, Jack. Don’t keep us waiting,” Marcus called. Jack trotted up to his side, and Marcus held out a set of keys. “Think you can manage to get Sarah, Marthe, and your grandmother to France?”

“Course I can,” Jack said, grabbing at the key ring. He hit the buttons on the key fob, and they unlocked another large vehicle, this one outfitted with a dog bed rather than infant seats.

“How exciting to be setting off for home.” Ysabeau slipped her arm through Jack’s elbow. “I am reminded of the time Philippe asked me to take sixteen wagons from Constantinople to Antioch. The roads were terrible, and there were bandits all along the route. It was a most difficult journey, full of dangers and the threat of death. I had a splendid time.”

“As I recall, you lost most of the wagons,” Matthew said with a dark look. “The horses, too.”

“Not to mention a fair amount of other people’s money,” Fernando recalled.

“Only ten wagons were lost. The other six arrived in perfect condition. As for the money, it was merely reinvested,” Ysabeau said, her voice dripping with hauteur. “Pay no attention, Jack. I will tell you about my adventures as we drive. It will keep your mind off the traffic.”

Phoebe and Marcus set out in one of his trademark blue sports cars—this one British and looking as though James Bond should be driving it. I was beginning to appreciate the value of two-seat automobiles and thought longingly of spending the next nine hours with only Matthew for company.

Given the speed at which Marcus and Phoebe traveled and the fact they wouldn’t have to stop en route for bathroom breaks, diaper changes, and meals, it was not surprising that the couple were waiting for us when we arrived at Sept-Tours, standing at the top of the torchlit stairs along with Alain and Victoire, welcoming us home.

“Milord Marcus tells me we will have a full house for the ceremonies, Madame Ysabeau,” Alain said, greeting his mistress. His wife, Victoire, danced with excitement when she spied the baby carriers and rushed over to lend a hand.

“It will be like the old days, Alain. We will set up cots in the barn for the men. Those who are vampires will not mind the cold, and the rest will get used to it.” Ysabeau sounded unconcerned as she handed Marthe her gloves and turned to help with the babies. They were swaddled within an inch of their lives to protect them from the freezing temperatures. “Are not Milord Philip and Milady Rebecca the most beautiful creatures you have ever seen, Victoire?”

Victoire was incapable of more than oohs and aahs, but Ysabeau seemed to find her response sufficient.

“Shall I help with the babies’ luggage?” Alain asked, surveying the contents of the overstuffed cargo space.

“That would be wonderful, Alain.” Matthew directed him to the bags, totes, portable playpens, and stacks of disposable diapers.

Matthew took a baby carrier in each hand and, with much input from Marthe, Sarah, Ysabeau, and Victoire on the icy state of the stairs, climbed to the front door. Inside, the magnitude of where he was, and why, struck him. Matthew was bringing the latest in a long line of de Clermonts back to their ancestral home. It didn’t matter if our family was only a lowly scion of that distinguished lineage. This was, and would always be, a place steeped in tradition for our children.

“Welcome home.” I kissed him.

He kissed me back, then gave me one of his dazzling, slow smiles. “Thank you,
mon coeur.
”

Returning to Sept-Tours had been the right decision. Hopefully, no mishaps would darken our otherwise pleasant homecoming.

In the days leading up to the christening, it seemed as though my wishes would be granted.

Sept-Tours was so busy with the preparations for the twins’ christening that I kept expecting Philippe to burst into the room, singing and telling jokes. But it was Marcus who was the life of the household now, roaming all over the place as if he owned it—which I suppose he technically did—and jollying everybody into a more festive mood. For the first time, I could see why Marcus reminded Fernando of Matthew’s father.

When Marcus ordered that all the furniture in the great hall be replaced with long tables and benches capable of seating the expected hordes, I had a dizzying sense of déjà vu as Sept-Tours was transformed back to its medieval self. Only Matthew’s rooms remained unchanged. Marcus had declared them off-limits, since the guests of honor were sleeping there. I retreated to Matthew’s tower at regular intervals to feed, bathe, and change the babies—and to rest from the constant crush of people employed to clean, sort, and move furniture.

“Thank you, Marthe,” I said upon my return from a brisk walk in the garden. She had happily left the crowded kitchen in favor of nanny duty and another of her beloved murder mysteries.

I gave my sleeping son a gentle pat on the back and picked Rebecca up from the cradle. My lips compressed into a thin line at her low weight relative to her brother’s.

“She is hungry.” Marthe’s dark eyes met mine.

“I know.” Rebecca was always hungry and never satisfied. My thoughts danced away from the implications. “Matthew said it’s too early for concern.” I buried my nose in Rebecca’s neck and breathed in her sweet baby smell.

“What does Matthew know?” Marthe snorted. “You are her mother.”

“He wouldn’t like it,” I warned.

“Matthew would like it less if she dies,” Marthe said bluntly.

Still I hesitated. If I followed Marthe’s broad hints without consulting him, Matthew would be furious. But if I asked Matthew for his input, he would tell me that Rebecca was in no immediate danger. That might be true, but she certainly wasn’t brimming over with health and wellness. Her frustrated cries broke my heart.

“Is Matthew still hunting?” If I were going to do this, it had to be when Matthew wasn’t around to fret.

“So far as I know.”

“Shh, it’s all right. Mommy’s going to fix it,” I murmured, sitting down by the fire and undoing my shirt with one hand. I put Rebecca to my right breast, and she latched on immediately, sucking with all her might. Milk dribbled out of the corner of her mouth, and her whimper turned into an outright wail.

She had been easier to feed before my milk came in, as though colostrum were more tolerable to her system.

That was when I’d first started to worry.

“Here.” Marthe held out a sharp, thin knife.

“I don’t need it.” I swung Rebecca onto my shoulder and patted her back. She let out a gassy belch, and a stream of white liquid followed.

“She cannot digest the milk properly,” Marthe said.

“Let’s see how she handles this, then.” I rested Rebecca’s head on my forearm, flicked my fingertips toward the soft, scarred skin at my left elbow where I’d tempted her father to take my blood, and waited while red, life-giving fluid swelled from the veins.

Rebecca was instantly alert.

“Is this what you want?” I curled my arm, pressing her mouth to my skin. I felt the same sense of suction that I did when she nursed at my breast, except that now the child wasn’t fussy—she was ravenous.