Paris chuckled. “I am sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to make you sad. I simply meant to remember her. This would have been a very important moment for her.”
Andreas nodded. “I know,” he said, sighing. “And for me. When I look at all of the grandchildren here tonight, it makes me think of Arista and Acacia, wondering what kind of women they would have grown up to be. Arista was lively and annoying, and Acacia was gentle and creative. I did not get to see them often because they were born when I was fostering, but when I returned home from time to time, I remember sitting on the floor with them while they played their games. Sometimes they would run circles around me while I tried to grab them, or they would put dried posies in my hair. Silly things, really, but sweet things. They were sweet.”
He was smiling in remembrance which made Paris smile, too. “They were very much like me,” he said. “A little wild, I suppose. Do you know who reminds me of them? Hector and Evelyn’s boys, Atreus and Hermes. They are such idiots sometimes. But Acacia and Arista reminded me of them greatly when they were young.”
Andreas put his hand behind his grandfather’s neck, pulling the man close. “I promise I will not forget my mother,” he assured him softly. “I would never forget her. She was my best friend when I was young and I have missed her every day since we lost her. She is always in my heart, Bonny, and I shall remember her to my own children. They will know her.”
Paris smiled at his grandson, one he had a soft spot for. He patted him on the cheek before digging into the pocket of his fine tunic and pulling forth an item. He took Andreas’ hand and pressed it into his palm. Andreas held it up, looking at it. It was small and gold, a little brooch with a flower in the center of it. The petals were red stones, garnets, while the center was black onyx.
He looked at Paris curiously.
“A flower?”
“A poppy,” Paris said. “I used to always call your mother my ‘fragile flower’ because she was a sweet, delicate lass. Athena was always tall and strong and sure of herself, but Helene was gentler. Quieter. A fragile lass, like an angel. The day she married your father, I gave her that brooch. It was to remind her that she would always be my fragile flower. When your father cleared away her things long after her death, he gave that brooch back to your grandmother, but she gave it to me, knowing I had been the one to give it to Helene. I realize that it is meant for a woman, Dray, but that is all I have to give you of your mother. I gave it to her on her wedding day and, tonight, I give it to you on yours. To remember her by.”
Tears came to Andreas’ eyes as he looked at it. He was so touched, something given to his mother, now given to him. It meant the world to him.
“Thank you, Bonny,” he said huskily, leaning over to kiss the man on the head. “I did not know about this. I shall treasure it always.”
“Good,” Paris said. “It belongs with you. I do not know if you were ever told this, Dray, but your parents’ marriage – and your birth – did not go as planned.”
Andreas was blinking away tears, grinning as he looked at his grandfather. “What you mean to say is that my mother was pregnant with me before she married my father.”
“Oh, you know about that, do you?”
“Aye, I know that.”
Paris watched Andreas pin the brooch onto his fine silk tunic and the sight of it choked him up. “You were the grandchild who nearly bought about the breakup of the House of de Wolfe and the House of de Norville,” he said. “I remember holding you right after you were born, wondering if you would be worth the trouble.”
Andreas glanced up from admiring his mother’s brooch. “Am I?”
Paris’ eyes glimmered at him. “Very much so,” he said. “You are a fine tribute to both houses. You may bear the de Wolfe name, but you look like a de Norville.”
Andreas chuckled. “So I have heard.”
Paris’ gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before he patted him on the cheek. “Go, now,” he said, turning Andreas back towards the great hall. “Do not keep your wife waiting.”
Andreas hugged his grandfather tightly. “I will not,” he said softly. “Thank you, Bonny. For everything.”
The two of them headed back into the hall, Paris retreating to the table where his youngest daughter, Cassiopeia, sat as Andreas continued to the dais where his wife was sitting with the women. He leaned on the table, catching his wife’s eye.
“Gavy,” he said. “Unless we want a parade of drunken men escorting us to our chamber, for I have seen it far too many times, I will meet you there. Aunt Jemma, will you escort my wife up to our chamber without attracting the attention of the wild throng?”
Jemma’s amber gaze drifted over to the group of de Wolfe, de Norville, and Hage men standing in a bunch over near the hall entry.
“Aye,” she said in her heavy Scots burr. “They willna dare try tae follow me.”
“I know,” Andreas snorted. “That is why I asked. If you will take her through the servant’s entrance, I will find my way out another way. I thank you for your assistance.”
Like a covert operation, they split up. The last Gavriella saw of her husband, he was moving for the entrance where the gang of knights were gathered. Jemma took her by the hand, pulling her away from the dais.
“Come along, lass,” she said. “Hurry!”
Gavriella did.
It had been a day made of dreams and, as she had told Andreas, she still felt as if she were living one. Perhaps she would always feel that way but, at the moment, she was feeling a little anxiety, too. Over the past two months, she’d been told horror stories of how the de Wolfe and de Norville men liked to storm wedding chambers or not allow the newly wedded couple any privacy at all.
But she was coming to think that with Jemma at her side, the men would obey.
It seemed to her that the women in the family had all the power.
Kale Water Castle, or the Wolfe’s Den, was Troy’s enormous fortress on the Scots side of the border just as Wolfe’s Lair was. While Wolfe’s Lair was massive and tall, but rather compact in the amount of space it covered, Kale Water Castle was gigantic simply in the acreage it did cover. It was a rare concentric castle this far north, meaning it had two sets of walls, one within the other, and an inner bailey that could hold thousands.
It was across this bailey that Jemma and Gavriella moved quickly, heading for the keep that was the jewel in the crown of the fortress. It was big, tall, and rectangular, with a wooden staircase leading to the entry on the second floor.
Quickly, they dashed up the stairs.
Once inside, they took the mural stairs up to the floor above where there were four chambers. They went to the chamber on the southwest corner, which was a small sitting room with an adjoining bedchamber, and Jemma opened the door to reveal the warm, comfortable chamber beyond. As soon as they stepped in, Jordan looked up from her sewing.
“Shhh,” Jordan said, pointing to her husband on a chair next to the hearth. “Poppy and the bairn have been sleeping there for about an hour.”
Jordan had referred to her husband as Poppy, the name all of his grandchildren and great-grandchildren called him. Gavriella laughed softly, moving over to William, who was slouched in the chair, his head tilted back and his eyelids closed. He held Storm against his broad chest and the baby was sleeping peacefully against his Poppy. When she bent over to catch a glimpse of her son, William peeped open his eye.