A Discovery of Witches - Deborah Harkness [206]
Now he directed his anger at Matthew. They’d taken a dislike to each other the first time they’d met, their personalities at such odds that even Philippe had given up hope of their ever being friends. His nostrils flared as he tried to detect his brother’s underlying scent of cinnamon and cloves.
“Where the hell are you, Matthew?” His deep voice echoed against the glass and stone.
Matthew stepped into his brother’s path. “Here, Baldwin.”
Baldwin had him by the throat before the words were out of his mouth. Their heads close together, one dark and one bright, they rocketed to the far end of the hall. Matthew’s body smashed into a wooden door, splintering it with the impact.
“How could you take up with a witch, knowing what they did to Father?”
“She wasn’t even born when he was captured.” Matthew’s voice was tight given the pressure on his vocal chords, but he showed no fear.
“She’s a witch,” Baldwin spit. “They’re all responsible. They knew how the Nazis were torturing him and did nothing to stop it.”
“Baldwin.” Ysabeau’s sharp tone caught his attention. “Philippe left strict instructions that no revenge was to be taken if he came to harm.” Though she had told Baldwin this repeatedly, it never lessened his anger.
“The witches helped those animals capture Philippe. Once the Nazis had him, they experimented on him to determine how much damage a vampire’s body could take without dying. The witches’ spells made it impossible for us to find him and free him.”
“They failed to destroy Philippe’s body, but they destroyed his soul.” Matthew sounded hollow. “Christ, Baldwin. They could do the same to Diana.”
If the witches hurt her physically, Matthew knew she might recover. But she would never be the same if the witches broke her spirit. He closed his eyes against the painful thought that Diana might not return the same stubborn, willful creature.
“So what?” Baldwin tossed his brother onto the floor in disgust and pounced on him.
A copper kettle the size of a timpani drum crashed into the wall. Both brothers leaped to their feet.
Marthe stood with gnarled hands on ample hips, glaring at them.
“She is his wife,” she told Baldwin curtly.
“You mated with her?” Baldwin was incredulous.
“Diana is part of this family now,” Ysabeau answered. “Marthe and I have accepted her. You must as well.”
“Never,” he said flatly. “No witch will ever be a de Clermont, or welcome in this house. Mating is a powerful instinct, but it doesn’t survive death. If the witches don’t kill this Bishop woman, I will.”
Matthew lunged at his brother’s throat. There was a sound of flesh tearing. Baldwin reeled back and howled, his hand on his neck.
“You bit me!”
“Threaten my wife again and I’ll do more than that.” Matthew’s sides were heaving and his eyes were wild.
“Enough!” Ysabeau startled them into silence. “I have already lost my husband, a daughter, and two of my sons. I will not have you at each other’s throats. I will not let witches take someone from my home without my permission.” Her last words were uttered in a low hiss. “And I will not stand here and argue while my son’s wife is in the hands of my enemies.”
“In 1944 you insisted that challenging the witches wouldn’t solve anything. Now look at you,” Baldwin snapped, glaring at his brother.
“This is different,” Matthew said tightly.
“Oh, it’s different, I grant you that. You’re risking the Congregation