Page 359 of Redemption Arc Romance

Brandt hadn’t heard any of the conversation. All he had seen was the struggle. As Ellowyn told him what had been said, the reasons behind the scuffle, his head snapped in the direction of his daughters.

They were sitting upon the wagon bench looking at him apprehensively. They had grown quite a bit in the past several years, that was true, but they still looked just like their mother. There was beauty there, but there was also coldness. He honestly felt no reaction as he looked at them. Just as they had been conditioned to hate him, he had been conditioned not to care. It was safer for him that way. They were strangers to him and he wanted to keep it that way. He turned to Ellowyn.

“I am sure she only said it to upset you,” he said quietly. “Please return inside. I will be in shortly.”

Ellowyn geared up for an argument but she could see by the look in his eye that he would not have tolerated it. The appearance of his daughters had him edgy and she didn’t want to add to his burden. With a sigh, she forced herself to calm.

“Very well,” she said. “Please come inside as soon as you can.”

“I will.”

“I want to know why they are here.”

“So do I.”

With a lingering glare at the young women in the wagon, Ellowyn retreated back to the keep with Annabeth, Bridget, and Brennan. Dylan remained behind with Brandt, who was watching his wife retreat into the keep. When she was out of view, he returned his attention to the wagon.

“Now,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You will tell me why you are here immediately.”

They did.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“You will forgiveme if I do not believe you. And I do not appreciate having my wife upset so.”

Brandt, Rosalind, and Margarethe were in one of the smaller solars of Melesse, one that was tucked back near the kitchens and used by the staff for storage. Brandt wouldn’t take them into a finer chamber to discuss their business because he truly didn’t want them there, so he showed them the same consideration they had always shown him; none.

As he had escorted them into the keep, Rosalind had smiled tremulously at him and he remembered that the last time he saw her, she had stuck her tongue out at him. It was difficult for him to move past that last impression. Margarethe wouldn’t even look him in the eye.

“But… it is the truth,” Rosalind insisted to his statement. She looked at her sister for support. “Margarethe, tell him.”

Margarethe was much like her mother with a quick temper and rash mouth. But at the moment, she was quite apprehensive of her massive father as he stood by the door of the small and crowded chamber.

“Several years ago, Mother met a man by the name of Louis of Ghistelles,” she said, her voice quivering. “She fell in love with him. She wanted to be with him but because she was married to you, it was impossible to marry him. So she told him her husband was dead and that she was a widow. He married her but before she left with him, she told us to tell you that she had died. She wanted you to believe that she was dead and gone, which iswhy we told you she had perished of a fever. It is God’s honest truth, my lord.”

Brandt hadn’t truly believed their story until that moment. Now, he felt the fingers of doubt clutching at him and he didn’t like it. The girls seemed sincere.

“I remember when you sent me the missive informing me of her death,” he said, jaw ticking. “I came to Gael to see you, if you recall. You were young.”

“I was ten and Rosalind was eleven.”

“I asked you if you wanted to live with me and you told me that you did not. In fact, I seem to remember you were rather adamant about it.”

Margarethe nodded, glancing at her sister. “We had three governesses already,” she said. “We did not need parents. I suppose we hoped that Mother would return some day, but she never did.”

He was coming to feel just the slightest bit sorry for them but he fought it. He reverted back to his historical feelings for them, his children who had been taught to hate them. He didn’t trust them in the least and even though the story sounded genuine, he chose not to believe them. He couldn’t. It would turn his world upside down if what they said was true, and that would destroy him. He couldn’t let that happen.

“You told me she was dead and that is what I still choose to believe,” he finally said. “It makes no difference that you have come to me with this ridiculous story now. I have remarried and my wife and I are expecting a child. If you repeat that story again about your mother running off with another man and possibly still living, I will purge you from Chateau Gael and you will live in the streets. I will take no notice of you and officially disown you. Is that clear?”

The girls looked terrified. Rosalind nodded emphatically. “It is, Father.”

“Do not call me that,” Brandt said coldly. “You will address me as ‘my lord’ or ‘Lord de Russe’. Now, why did you come here?”

Both young women looked beaten and scared. Brandt refused to feel pity as Rosalind, a very well-spoken young lady, struggled to explain.

“We do not remember you from childhood, my lord,” she said quietly, fumbling through her words. “Mother took us from England when we were quite young. All we knew was what she told us or what we had heard from others. We had heard that you were a lord of war and advisor to the king. Mother said you were a brutal man.”

“That still does not tell me why you have come.”