Chapter 35 #2
“Are you?” I asked pointedly. “Because I am going mad sitting here, doing nothing. Do you have any ideas on what we can do?”
Montego’s gaze flicked to me, then to Emily, before drifting lazily toward the ceiling. “I do understand, dear Olivia. You are an adventurous sort.” His tone was warm and practiced. “But surely you realize the merits of staying indoors? Of keeping yourself—and the baby—safe?”
He spoke with the authority of someone who was used to being obeyed.
He had an air of timelessness about him, his features too perfectly sculpted, too refined. Everything about him exuded noble bearing, yet I knew nothing of his lineage. Who was his family? Where did they come from? Though smooth and cultured, his accent couldn’t be pinned to a single country.
Before I could dwell on it further, he interrupted my thoughts with a casual shrug. “I’m certain it all comes down to the weather. Travel is difficult with a heavy load. I’m sure they’re safe.”
His reassurances felt too easy.
But then he smiled—composed, reassuring. “However, if they haven’t returned by the end of the week, I’ll organize a search party. I’ll even join the search myself.”
A breath I hadn’t realized I was holding escaped me.
“Oh, would you?” I asked, relieved despite myself. “I would be most grateful.”
“Of course, my dear. I don’t want you wasting another moment fretting.” He waved a hand dismissively as if worry itself was an inconvenience. “All will be well.”
Then, leaning back, he rested his hands on the chair’s arms and propped one ankle over his knee.
A picture of effortless control.
“How else,” he queried, “can I ease your minds?”
I thought for a moment. “Why don’t you tell us a story? You still know how to make a woman smile.”
The second the words left my mouth, I regretted them.
Heat flooded my face. Why did I say that?
Hoping to redirect the conversation, I quickly added, “What makes you who you are, Count Montego?”
His lips curled in amusement, his eyes twinkling as if savoring my slip. “I’m glad you appreciate my prowess with the opposite sex.”
He chuckled.
My cheeks blazed.
“First off,” he continued, “you must stop calling me Count Montego. Friends call me Mathias.”
I hesitated. Friends?
I glanced at Emily. She gave a tiny shrug.
I cleared my throat. “Okay… Mathias. What can you tell us about yourself?”
Mathias leaned back as if settling in for a long journey. His gaze drifted toward the snow-covered window, lost in something distant.
At last, he spoke.
“I will tell you my background—the story of my life and how I came here. Once upon a time, I was a man who had everything. Power, allies, a team of loyal soldiers… My background is that of a teacher. I taught for many years, honing my craft.”
Intrigued, I leaned forward. “What did you teach?”
Mathias’ gaze snapped to mine.
“Please don’t interrupt me,” he said coolly.
I blinked.
The air in the room shifted.
I leaned back against the sofa, feeling like a scolded child.
“You may ask questions later,” he added, his tone softer.
I nodded, lips pressing together.
Satisfied, he continued.
“I taught men how to fight. How to survive.” His voice deepened, carrying the weight of past battles.
My eyebrows arched slightly. Me too.
“I trained knights. Royalty. I was a war consultant—advising kings and queens on tactics that would decide the fate of nations.”
His voice turned distant, his eyes dark with memory.
“I built my own training school. I worked with… certain types of people. People who needed my help.”
His gaze locked onto mine, and for a fleeting moment, I glimpsed something hollow behind his eyes—something vast and endless, like staring into the gaping mouth of a cavern that had no bottom.
His voice dropped almost to a whisper. “But something was missing from my life.”
The fire cast long shadows across his face, accentuating his features. “Love. That was the missing equation. I never had time for a relationship. I was too busy. Too focused. Consumed by my mission.”
A weary hand dragged down his face.
“And then, I met the woman who would become my wife—Cora.”
His eyelids fluttered shut as if savoring the memory. When he opened them again, his face looked different, etched with a grief so deep that it was as if someone had taken a feather quill and carved it into his skin.
“Cora came from a poor family. That didn’t matter to me. I gave her everything.” His voice softened. “She took away my pain in my darkest times. When the weight of my work threatened to crush me, she was the light that pulled me back.”
Silence filled the room as Mathias rose from his chair, crossing the space. He stopped before the fireplace, staring into the glowing embers as if searching for an answer, a ghost, a memory long lost.
Then, he crouched, lifting an oak log from the metal holder and placing it carefully atop the smoldering coals. His hands settled on his hips as he watched the flames curl around the bark, licking it to life.
Emily and I exchanged a glance.
We knew where this story was headed.
Tragedy.
Still, he remained in front of the fire as if gathering himself for another moment. Then, finally, he turned and returned to his chair.
“When I met Cora, I told her I could give her the world.”
He glanced at Emily, and the corners of his lips lifted in a faint, wistful smile for the first time since he began his story.
“I see my wife in you sometimes, dear Emily. She was as sweet as you are.”
Emily’s cheeks flushed. She folded her hands in her lap. “Thank you, Mathias. But surely, she was far more remarkable than me.”
Mathias exhaled, shaking his head. “Oh, Emily… if you could only see yourself the way others do, you would know what an exceptional beauty you are.”
She cast her gaze downward, saying nothing.
Mathias stretched his legs, resting his hands on the armrests. “But back to the story. For a time, everything was perfect. Life was beautiful. We married, and soon after, we were blessed with a child. I entrusted my school to another so I could focus on fatherhood.”
His expression shifted—his jaw tightening, his fingers curling slightly.
“But, in truth… I was terrified.”
A short, humorless scoff escaped him. “Me. I was a man in the prime of my life, a warrior who had trained men to become formidable soldiers. I had faced death more times than I could count.” His lips quirked, but it was bitter, self-deprecating.
“‘It’s just a child,’ I told myself. ‘I’ve trained warriors. I can handle a small, squirming baby.’”
But then, his expression collapsed.
The sorrow, the raw ache, settled in his features like a burden he had carried for far too long. His gaze drifted back toward the window, watching the relentless snowfall.
When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper.
“But my wife was killed one month after our child was born.”
Silence suffocated the room.
My heart clenched. “Oh, Mathias…”
Emily gasped softly, a hand pressed to her mouth.
Mathias schooled his features into a blank and untouched expression, like a canvas yet to know the stroke of a brush, void of emotion and anything human.
“I couldn’t go on,” he said, his voice low, rough, stripped of all warmth. “I didn’t want to raise the child. I didn’t want any part of my offspring. I gave my child away to someone else.”
A pause. His jaw tightened.
“I thought… I knew I wasn’t good enough for her. I had failed my wife. I had failed to protect her.”
The words came out like jagged glass—harsh, bitter, cutting.
Silence swallowed the room whole.
Outside, the wind howled, a thrashing tempest, as if the storm carried the echoes of his misery.
I swallowed, glancing at Emily.
She squeezed my hand, her eyes brimming with tears.
“Say something,” she mouthed.
I swallowed, my throat dry. “Do you know where your child is? Is there any way you can contact her?”
Mathias exhaled, his expression clouding with something distant—something painful.
“No,” he said quietly. “I wanted to protect my daughter. Give her the best life. So, I gave her to good parents.” His gaze drifted past me as if he were seeing ghosts in the dimly lit room.
“At that time, I was too consumed by revenge. I wanted to kill the man who took my wife’s life.
I couldn’t be a father and a killer, so I made a choice. She had to go.”
His eyes refocused, meeting mine with quiet intensity. “I knew where she was for a time. I made sure to keep tabs on her. To watch over her.”
Then, his expression darkened.
“But then… she fell in love with my sworn enemy.”
The words hung heavy between us.
I frowned. “Wait—you’re saying your daughter fell in love with the man who killed your wife?”
Mathias gave a stiff nod.
“Did she know?”
He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “She knew nothing. She was utterly charmed by him. Blinded. She had no idea of the suffering he had caused—no idea that the man she loved had murdered her own mother.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. His hands clenched against the armrests of his chair.
“She loved the man who destroyed my family.”
With a sudden movement, he slammed his fist down.
The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.
Emily and I flinched.
The fire flickered in the hearth.
He inhaled loudly as if reigning himself in.
His voice, when he spoke again, was low.
Dangerous. “Her parents couldn’t control her.
She was headstrong, wild, willful.” His lips curled slightly.
“So, I remained on the sidelines, watching. I rode by her house. I made excuses to deal with her father, though neither knew who I was.”
His eyes gleamed with something almost haunted.
“I had given them my daughter through a trusted friend. And when I was in her presence, I ensured she had everything she needed. She wanted for nothing.”
Beneath his words, I heard the failure—the regret.
Emily and I exchanged a glance, dread curling in my stomach.
Mathias’ voice dropped to something hollow.
“But her obsession with this man only grew. It consumed her. And in the end—” He exhaled shakily.
“He killed her, too.”
A shocked gasp escaped Emily.
I felt my breath hitch.
“That’s horrible,” I whispered.
Mathias idly rubbed the side of his neck. “It’s not a happy story, that’s for sure. But I console myself with the knowledge that my beautiful daughter gave me grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I am truly blessed.”
A touch of warmth crossed his otherwise composed features.
“Where are they?” I asked.
For the first time since he began sharing his story, Mathias smiled.
“They’re close by. I’m fortunate to have them in my life.”
Then, as if shaking off past sorrows, he abruptly rose and crossed to his ornate ebony wet bar. Lifting a decanter filled with amber liquid, he asked, “Would you care for some brandy? This is a fine distillation made for me in the Royaume de France.”
I blinked at his sudden shift in mood. One moment, he spoke of unbearable tragedy; the next, he offered drinks.
“No, thank you,” I said, still reeling.
“You, Emily?”
Emily’s cheeks flushed. “No, thank you, Mathias. I—I am pregnant.”
“Ah, yes.” Mathias poured himself a glass, swirling the liquid before taking a sip. “Warms the soul, does it not?”
Drink in hand, he wandered back to his seat.
I studied him for a moment before speaking. “You’ve suffered so much in your life,” I said. “How do you maintain such a positive attitude? Until today, I’ve only ever seen you as kind and gracious.”
Mathias waved a hand dismissively. “Over the years, I’ve learned that true wealth comes not from gold but from giving to others.” His eyes softened. “And you and Emily have given me joy. Since meeting you both, I have considered you my granddaughters.”
Something in my chest tightened.
“I had no idea you felt that way,” I murmured, crossing the space between us. Crouching beside him, I took his hand gently. “That’s… a beautiful sentiment. I’m fond of you as well.”
Mathias cleared his throat before firmly drawing my hand to his lips and kissing my knuckles. “I make it a point to be a better person.”
I smiled, withdrawing my hand as I returned to my seat. “I hope we’ve helped fill the hole in your heart.” I hesitated, then asked, “Did you ever avenge your wife’s death?”
A shadow flickered across his face before vanishing.
“One day, I will,” he said, his voice quieter. “I think I can do it before I die.” He leaned back slightly, a wry smile playing on his lips. “I’m old, my dear.”
“You’re not that old.” The image of Mathias entangled with his maid earlier flashed through my mind unbidden.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, but I am. Seventy-two is old enough for me. And while I’ve lived a…
colorful life, I am grateful to have had a wife who gave me a beautiful—albeit willful—child.
Grandchildren. I try to present myself well and be a valuable resource to my community. My wife would have wanted that.”
A wistful sigh escaped him.
Then—
Emily bolted off the sofa, a moan of agony tearing from her throat.
I jumped up as well. “Emily?”
She gasped, clutching her stomach, her long dress darkened with wet splotches.
“Olivia,” she wheezed, panic flashing in her eyes.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Her breathing hitched as she clutched my arm.
“My water just broke,” she wailed. “The baby is coming.”