Chapter Twelve
Deverill Castle
Wiltshire
They called him The Dark One.
Gaston de Russe, Duke of Warminster, was a larger-than-life warrior who had fought more battles in his lifetime than most. He came from a long line of warriors, for the House of de Russe had come over with William the Conqueror in days long past, and the name de Russe stood for power, talent, and intimidation.
That reputation still held true.
Gaston had been married at a young age to a cold and unpleasant woman, and that marriage had produced Trenton.
When he married his current wife, Remington, he acquired her son, Dane Stoneley, whom he adopted after the death of Dane’s father.
But Gaston and Remington had produced seven more children – twins Adeliza and Arica, Cort, Matthieu, Boden, Gage, and Gilliana.
He had six sons and three daughters to carry on the de Russe name, and they had obliged him for the most part by producing grandchildren – Adeliza and Arica had both married fine men and had eleven children between them, while Matthieu had married a few years back and had four sons.
But the rest of the de Russe sons weren’t so obliging.
Dane had been married once before but had lost his wife to a fever many years ago, while Cort, Boden, and Gage seemed to think they didn’t have to marry, ever.
Then, there was Trenton, who had been unlucky in the three marriages he’d had.
His current marriage in particular was something that had been bad for Gaston’s relationship with his eldest son and that, coupled by other complex issues, had kept Trenton away from Deverill Castle for six long years.
It was something Gaston had stopped agonizing over a long time ago, but something he’d never gotten over. He still hurt for his son and missed him every day.
But life went on.
Seated in his large, paneled solar, the one that overlooked his wife’s tranquil garden but also had windows facing the bailey should he need to see the comings and goings of the castle, Gaston was in the process of examining his map of Wiltshire and Dorset because he’d received a missive from the king offering him some local crown properties at a good price.
While Gaston was always looking to expand his empire, the property he really wanted was in Dorset.
Sherbourne Castle was a magnificent castle with rich lands attached to it, and he had hoped to purchase the castle and use it as a bargaining chip to lure one of his sons into a marriage. But as he pored over the maps, his son, Cort, appeared in the doorway with the news of a new arrival.
“Da,” Cort sounded breathless, having run all the way from the gatehouse. “You will never believe who has come.”
Gaston looked up at his son; he was his first son with Remington, an enormous man with copper curls to his shoulders and eyes the color of the sea.
In fact, he looked astonishingly like his mother all the way down to her pale, freckled skin, only on Cort, Remington’s coloring and Gaston’s massive build made him look like a god.
Cort de Russe was all shades of delicious.
And he had no shortage of women throwing themselves at his feet.
It was something he was quite proud over.
One look at that beautiful, curly hair and those flashing eyes, and women were butter in his hands.
At twenty years and nine, it was time for the man to settle down, but he was squirrelly when it came to allowing his father to broker a marriage for him.
In fact, it was with Cort in mind that Gaston wanted to purchase Sherbourne.
Even his cheeky, egotistical son couldn’t pass up on an opportunity like that.
Or, so Gaston hoped.
But those thoughts were pushed aside as the very man he’d been considering was now standing rather excitedly in his solar.
Cort had an excitable personality, passionate in everything he did, so to see the man twitching with glee wasn’t anything unusual.
A smile played on his lips as Gaston sat back in his chair.
“Tell me, Cort,” he said. “Who could possibly be visiting me today?”
Cort didn’t sense that his father was taking him seriously, but he knew the moment he spoke, his father would. He was so excited that he simply couldn’t be gentle about it.
“Trenton is here,” he said.
As Cort knew, the smile vanished from Gaston’s face and a look of astonishment washed over him. “Trenton?” he repeated. “Here?”
Cort nodded eagerly. “Come, Da,” he said. “He is at the gatehouse.”
Gaston shot to his feet. But something kept Gaston from running.
His heart was pounding and eagerness surged through him, but he didn’t go.
He’d long since stopped running to Trenton because he’d realized long ago that if Trenton wanted to see him, Trenton would come to him.
He was finished going after a son who only rejected him when he came too close.
Slowly, he sat back down.
“If Trenton wishes to see me, tell him where to find me,” he told Cort. “You had better go tell your mother now.”
Cort was puzzled but he did what he was told.
The relationship between his oldest brother and his father had been contentious over the years, so he didn’t try to second-guess either of them and he didn’t get involved.
He’d learned long ago that whatever went on between those two was better left for them to work out alone.
As Cort headed off to tell his mother the news before returning to the gatehouse, Gaston returned to the maps in front of him, but his mind wasn’t on his business.
He was feigning it was, but it wasn’t. His mind was on Trenton and his visit.
He felt so much anxiety that it was difficult for him to focus on anything.
Why had Trenton come?
As much as he pretended not to keep track of his eldest son, the truth was that he did.
He had a home in London where his cousin, Patrick, resided and Patrick saw Trenton quite frequently.
Patrick commanded the small army kept based at Braidwood House, situated on the banks of the Thames just to the east of the Tower of London.
Whenever Trenton was at Greenwich, he would visit Patrick, a man who had suffered a good deal of trials and tribulations in his life.
Somehow, Trenton felt a kindred spirit with Patrick because the man understood what it was to suffer.
He also wasn’t as judgmental as Gaston was.
Therefore, Trenton trusted him, and Patrick told Gaston what he could of the man.
But Gaston knew it wasn’t all of it.
As he waited for Trenton to show himself, Gaston’s gaze moved back to the map of Wiltshire and parts of Dorset and Somerset.
He noted Trenton’s properties of Westbury, Penleigh, and the hunting lodge at Hawkridge.
Gaston had given those to Trenton, as his heir, hoping those things would ease whatever rockiness was between them, but gifts and titles hadn’t solved a thing.
He honestly wasn’t sure anything ever would.
Ever since Trenton had been a young man, there had been long periods of separation, and a mother who hated the sight of her son’s father and tried to poison Trenton against him.
Even though the years had seen father and son repair the damage for the most part, Gaston always thought there might have been some part of Trenton that still believed his mother, that still resented a father who had been away so much.
Mistakes he’d made with Trenton that he hadn’t made with his other children. Perhaps that was why Gaston had a soft spot for his eldest son, the lad who had gone through more tribulations than most. And then, there was his work for Henry…
That was something Gaston tried not to think about.
When Trenton had taken the post with Henry, Gaston had given him his opinion on the dishonorable nature of it, but it hadn’t swayed Trenton.
The man was convinced he’d be doing great and important things for Henry when the truth was that he was simply Henry’s attack dog.
Everyone knew it. Everyone in England feared Trenton in a way they’d never feared Gaston, mostly because when Gaston moved, it was with an army, and one knew what was coming.
But with Trenton, he moved in stealth, with his band of trusted men, and one never knew what was coming until it was too late.
Gaston had always wanted something better for his son than what he had been dealt, but it seemed as if that wasn’t meant to be.
Truthfully, Gaston had no idea how long he sat there and reminisced about Trenton’s life and where he’d gone wrong.
He lost all track of time as he pondered his eldest. When next he realized, a massive figure was suddenly standing in his solar doorway and he looked up to see Trenton standing there in full armor.
Never had Gaston seen a prouder, or more welcome, sight.
His boy had come home.
“Trenton,” he said, realizing there was a lump in his throat. “I… I was told you had arrived. It is good to see you, lad.”
Trenton stood there, looking at his father, his features pale and his expression tight.
There was tension in the air, tension created by separation and the fragility of the relationship between them.
But there was also relief in the air, relief that they were once again in the same room, men who loved each other, but men whom the years had damaged. Trenton finally spoke.
“Father,” he greeted. “Am I welcome?”
Gaston stood up and came around his table. “Of course you are,” he said. “You are always welcome here.”
Trenton didn’t say anything for a moment.
In spite of what his father said, he wasn’t sure if he felt welcome or not.
That tension between them was turning into awkwardness.
His gaze was on his father, realizing that the man looked very tired.
He’d never seen him look so tired and he felt a stab of sorrow that he’d stayed away for so long, his father had gotten old in that time.
In fact, it was rather shocking to see him this way.