Bayou Moon - Andrews, Ilona [174]
WILLIAM sat alone in the silence of Declan’s library. It had been twenty-four hours since he made the call to Erwin through Declan’s scryer unit. He’d outlined the details of the deal. Erwin said nothing. He simply bowed and severed the connection.
Declan insisted on both him and the kid staying in the manor, reasoning that if the Mirror didn’t like the deal, they would be more reluctant to rain hellfire and meteorites upon the house of the Marshal. He even deployed his most effective weapon, in case things went really sour—two hours after the scrying took place, the carriage of the Duchess of the Southern Provinces pulled up to the front gates. William had met the Duchess before. He would rather go up barehanded against a rabid bear.
The ache inside his chest gnawed on him. It started when he woke up and found out Cerise had left him. Over the next few days it grew stronger and stronger. She had left him. The rational part of him reassured him that she had done it to save him. But the rational part of him grew weaker and weaker. She had left him. Like so many people before. Even if everything went his way, even if he managed to pull it off, she could still walk away from him. And there wouldn’t be a damn thing he could do about it.
He got up and stepped onto the balcony. The sun was slowly setting. They would serve dinner soon—he could smell it from the kitchen.
Voices came from below. William leaned over and looked down. Three kids, George’s blond head, Jack’s auburn mane, and Gaston’s closely cropped hair. He’d barely seen the kids since he arrived. By the time he and Declan had hammered out and delivered the terms of the deal, he was dead on his feet and he passed out for about twelve hours.
“So what are you?” Jack asked, aggression vibrating in his voice.
This ought to be interesting.
“Are you like William’s kid or something?” Jack asked.
“Leave it alone,” George said, his voice calm.
Gaston leaned back a bit. “Who’s asking?”
This wouldn’t go well
“What do you mean, who’s asking? I’m asking. Are you that stupid? What are you, some kind of inbred hick?”
“Here we go,” George muttered.
Gaston shrugged. “I tell you what, run along. I have no time for spoiled rich babies.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Jack lunged forward. He was fast, but not faster than George, who stepped out of the way half a second before Jack struck. Gaston threw his hand up, and Jack ran face-first into his fist.
That had to hurt. William winced. Gaston had fists like hammers. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with them yet, but Jack wasn’t hard to stop. He all but threw himself.
Jack spun from the impact. A low feline growl tore from his mouth.
Okay, that was about enough of that. William hopped over the balcony and landed between them. The jump almost took him off his legs. He was still too weak, but the kids didn’t know it.
William looked the boys over. In two years George had grown taller and filled out. He’d never be bulky, but he was no longer thin and sickly. His pale hair was cut in the same manner as Declan’s when Declan kept it short. His clothes were meticulously clean.
Jack wore a ripped-up shirt. His nose was bleeding. His eyes shone every time he turned his head. The kid was strung up too high.
“What the hell are you doing?” William asked.
Jack wiped the blood from his nose. “Nothing.”
“Why the hell would you run at him? He outweighs you by sixty pounds.”
Jack looked away.
“He’s also taller than you by eight inches. First order of business—make him shorter.”
William dropped down and swiped with his leg, knocking Jack’s feet out from under him. The kid was fast, but he wasn’t paying attention. His legs went one way, his head went the other. He fell into the grass and bounced back up, hissing like a pissed-off cat.
“Your turn,” William said. “Go for it.”
Jack lunged at Gaston’s legs. Gaston tensed and jumped, catching the lower branch of an oak.
Jack rolled up. “What the hell?”
“Did you expect him to stand still for you?”
Gaston grinned.
“Go on,” William said. “Try to get to