The Iron Knight (The De Russe Legacy Book 3) (41 page)

“Rafe,” he said, the shock in his voice evident. “It… it is surprising to see you. I did not know you were coming. If you sent word, I apologize that I did not receive it.”

Rafe swallowed hard, appearing to brace himself against the sight of the man he’d sworn to hate. “I did not send word,” he said. “I came because… because I have been asked to come.”

Lucien’s eyebrows furrowed. “By whom?”

“Lady Sophina de Russe. Your wife, I presume?”

Lucien’s shock only grew. He nodded his head, slowly. “Aye,” he said. “She is my wife. I was unaware she had summoned you, Rafe. I apologize if you have been inconvenienced by it.”

Rafe stared at him. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what to say. He’d had it all planned out as he’d ridden to Spelthorne, lured by the new Lady de Russe’s missive, but now that he was face to face with his father, he’d forgotten everything he’d planned to say. He was weary from his ride, and emotional, for his youth allowed that he didn’t yet have complete control of his emotions. The longer he looked at his father, the more feelings and thoughts began welling up in his chest. Old, hurt feelings that were hard to contain.

“I am not inconvenienced by it,” he finally said. “I came because I was told to come. My master knew that your wife had sent a missive to me and he told me I must come. So here I am.”

Lucien was rather at a loss. He wasn’t sure what to say to the young man who, by now, had seen eighteen years. His birthday had been back in April. He wasn’t yet a knight but he surely looked like one. He was a de Russe to the core – big, muscular, and dark. Lucien was so proud just to look at him but that pride was tempered by the expression on Rafe’s face.

He wasn’t happy to be here.

“I do not know what my wife said to you in the missive, Rafe,” he said. “I cannot answer for her. If you would tell me what she said, mayhap I can address it.”

Rafe just looked at his father. Then, he looked around the hall, seeing the vastness of it. He noticed several people at the far end, milling around. But his observations were merely a stalling tactic as he struggled to speak on the reason why he’d come. He didn’t know the reason himself. He could have easily ignored the missive and hid it from his master, but he didn’t. So now, he was here.

So many memories came back to him, flooding more and more into his thoughts as he stood there. After several moments, he sighed heavily and shifted the heavy saddlebags from his shoulder to the floor. When he finally spoke, he didn’t look at Lucien.

“For so many years, I have hated you,” he muttered. “If men asked me, I denied that Lucien de Russe was my father.”

Lucien drew in a deep, steadying breath. It hurt him to hear that. “I know.”

Rafe’s head snapped up, his dark eyes narrowing. “Do you?” he asked. “Do you really? Do you even know why?”

Lucien remained calm but the truth was that he was surprised Rafe began the conversation with this brittle subject. The man was barely in through the door and, already, the subject of their relationship had come up. But in hindsight, perhaps there was no right time for a conversation of this sort, especially if it had been building up. On a lonely ride from Kenilworth to Spelthorne, there had been plenty of time to think about such things. Lucien cleared his throat softly.

“I believe I do,” he said. “Would you like to go into the solar? We can speak there, privately.”

Rafe shook his head firmly. “Nay,” he replied. “What I have to say, I will say it now. You sent me away to foster when my mother was with child and when that child was born, I barely saw you again. Only twice did you come to see me. Twice in twelve years.”

As much as Rafe tried to pretend he was angry, the truth was that Lucien could hear the hurt in the man’s voice. Such bitter, terrible hurt.

“I am sorry,” he said quietly. “Rafe, please understand that I was mad with grief over the loss of your mother. It had nothing to do with you. Throwing myself into my duties was my way of ignoring my grief. I simply could not face it. There were times that I rode to battle and prayed I would never emerge, but I always did. I would charge into the heat of a battle, swinging my sword, begging that God would find a way to strike me down. But it never happened. That is when the men started calling me The Iron Knight. They said I was invincible, but the truth was that it only seemed that way. On the inside, I was dying.”

Rafe listened to him, his featured taut with emotion. “You never told me that.”

“I never had the opportunity.”

“You should have tried.”

Lucien lifted his dark eyebrows curiously. “Would you have understood? I am not a great communicator, Rafe. I do not believe my feelings were something I could even bring myself to voice for a very long time, much less tell my young son. I am sorry, but it is the truth.”

Rafe listened, digested, and lowered his gaze. Then, he bent over one of his saddlebags and opened it, pulling forth a cylindrical item. Lucien recognized it as a missive of some kind as Rafe held it up, inspecting it without opening it.

“Lady de Russe wrote me this missive explaining much of what you just said,” he finally said. “She introduced herself as your wife and went on to explain much of your actions towards me in the past. She said I was your greatest regret. Is that true?”

Lucien averted his gaze. “I am not entirely sure what good it will do to tell you that, but it is true,” he said. “I regret how I handled your mother’s death. I regret that I kept myself away from you when I should not have. I regret that you have grown up believing your father does not care for you. That is not true, you know. You are my son and I love you. I know you do not believe that, but I do.”

Rafe looked at him, then. “You have a strange way of showing it.”

“For that, I am truly sorry.”

Rafe lowered the missive in his hand. “Your wife asked if I would be willing to mend my relationship with you,” he said. “She says that you are a good and wise man, and she hopes that I will be able to forgive you for sins of the past. She further said if I would not forgive you, then she hopes I would at least find peace someday. She wished me peace.”

That sounded so very much like Sophina and Lucien could feel a lump in his throat as he thought of her true and noble heart. Although she did not tell him of this missive she had sent to Rafe, he knew her intentions were good. She was far too loving for those intentions to be otherwise.

“My wife is a good woman with altruistic intentions,” he said. “She wishes to make things well between us, as do I. But, much like her, if you cannot find it within your heart to understand my failings and forgive them, then I wish you peace as well.”

Rafe’s gaze lingered on the man. “What do
you
want?”

Lucien lifted his eyebrows in a resigned gesture. “I would like to go back twelve years to when your sister was born,” he said. “I would like to think I would have handled the situation differently. Mayhap I would have brought you back for Kenilworth so we could be together. Mayhap I would not have thrown myself into Henry’s rebellions the way I did. Who is to say? All I know is that I would have tried to do things differently. My grief over your mother’s death was not worth the cost of losing my son.”

For the first time since entering the hall, Rafe seemed to lose some of his tense stance. He seemed to relax. After a moment, he looked at the missive again, perhaps pondering the contents in a different way now.

“I have spent a long time hating you,” he finally said, his voice soft with emotion. “Mayhap I hated you because I loved you so much, because I was so hurt at being abandoned.”

“That is understandable.”

“I am not saying that our relationship can be repaired, but I understand more now.”

“I am glad.”

“May I at least call you Lucien?”

“You may call me whatever you wish.”

“I do not think you want me to call you what I really want to.”

“I am sure whatever you choose, I will be deserving of it.”

It was an unexpected bit of humor and a flicker of a smile crossed Rafe’s lips. Lucien responded with a faint smile of his own. Rafe finally lowered his gaze so that Lucien wouldn’t see how pleased he was. He didn’t think he would feel so relieved to speak to his father like this, but he did. He felt… hope.

“Where is Lady de Russe that I might be introduced to her?” Rafe asked after a moment. “I do not believe she was expecting me to come. She did not ask me to, you know.”

Lucien’s smile quickly faded. “She is giving birth to our first child,” he said. “The last time I faced this situation, it did not turn out favorably. You will understand if I am somewhat on edge.”

Rafe’s features registered concern. “Is she doing well?” he asked. “What does the physic say?”

Lucien shook his head. “She is being tended by a very good midwife,” he said. “But this is a difficult waiting game. If… if it is not too much to say so, I would be pleased if you would wait with me.”

Rafe could see the concern on his father’s features and, not strangely, he seemed to forget about his own issues with the man for the moment. Rafe de Russe had much of his father’s capacity for understanding in him, whether or not he realized it. He also had his father’s natural capacity for compassion.

“Would it be too much to ask to wait over a beef knuckle?” he asked. “I have not eaten all day. I am smelling bread and other wonderful things at the moment.”

Lucien smiled weakly. “That is because this was to be my wife’s daughter’s wedding day,” he said. “It has been interrupted by childbirth, so there is a great deal of food. Your sister is here, in fact. You have not seen her since she was a baby.”

Rafe shook his head, looking into the hall where people were lingering back in the light and warmth. “I have not,” he said. “I should like to see her.”

“You shall.”

They began to move back into the hall although Lucien made no move to touch the young man. He didn’t try to hug him or put a hand on his shoulder, although he very much wanted to. He had seen how Weston and Colton were with each other and he very much wanted that with his own son.
Mayhap someday
, he thought. The fact that Rafe was here spoke volumes of the young man’s willingness to at least talk, to at least try to understand his father’s failings. Rafe’s appearance may have been unexpected but it certainly was not unwelcome. It was almost too much to hope for.

Was it possible that they might actually be able to be a family again?

God, he hoped so.

They were nearing the tables when the entry door to the great hall opened again. They could hear the great creaking of the iron hinges that secured the door. Lucien turned, casually, to see who it was but ended up bolting for the door when he saw Lady de Royans enter.

Lucien’s swift movements startled everyone, Weston and Colton included, and soon everyone was running for the door where Lady de Royans was entering. When she looked up and saw the flood of people coming towards her, including Lucien’s anxious face, she merely smiled. Reaching out, she put a gentle hand on Lucien’s arm because the man looked like he was about to explode.

“Go, Papa,” she said. “Go and see your new baby.”

Lucien must have swayed because he could feel hands on him, steadying him. “The baby is here?” he asked, feeling lightheaded. “How is my wife?”

Lady de Royans nodded. “She is doing well,” she assured him. “Your son was quite large. It took time for your wife to deliver him, but both mother and son are doing well. Go, now. Do not keep them waiting.”

Lucien didn’t have to be told twice. As the wedding feast turned into a feast to celebrate a new and healthy birth, Lucien sprinted to the chamber he shared with his wife only to be confronted with a dark-haired, screaming infant with big fists.

It was the first thing he saw, this angry baby. He laughed until he cried as little Achilles de Russe was very vocal with his displeasure at having been born, quieting only when Sophina put him on the breast to feed. In the magical and surreal feeling of the moment, Lucien could hardly believe all was well. Sophina’s smile told him that it was, indeed, well, that a son had been born healthy and that she, too, had emerged unscathed. Lucien bent over the pair, kissing his wife until more tears fell from his eyes. He’d never been more grateful for anything in his entire life.

Eventually, he lay down upon the bed, watching his fat infant nurse, his arms gently around both the baby and his wife and thinking that this was, perhaps, the most wonderful night of his life. One son born, another returned, and a great and happy life before him. The vestiges of sorrow that had been his existence for so many years were finally gone, finally erased by a love so powerful that it defied both heaven and earth. What he thought he’d long lost those years ago, he’d managed to regain. For him, there had been a second chance at life.

Now, it wasn’t only his love for Sophina, but his love for his splintered family that had finally been made whole again.

He
had made it whole again.

The legacy of The Iron Knight lived on.

*
 THE END 
*

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