Part 5 (1/2)
You want to change things? Give me sons.”
”One male heir is all that's made them the leading clan,” she said. ”That's why Augustus didn't just clap his hand over that little b.a.s.t.a.r.d Brandon's mouth all of those years ago and see him smothered when he realized he wouldn't bleed to death. It's why he didn't kill him for defying the bloodletting. He'll keep him alive if only to force him to it. And now Vanessa's given birth to another misbegotten whelp that might make it to adulthood. Two sons-two lucky births, that's all.”
Tessa had been frozen with shock, because she'd known that Monica meant her brother Daniel, who had been born only two months earlier.
He'd been the third of Sebastian and Vanessa's sons; in addition to Brandon and Daniel, who was now four, there had been the eldest, Caine. But Caine was dead now; he'd come after Brandon and Lina had killed him. The Elders, including Augustus, were hunting for Brandon with the intent to murder him, which was why they were cutting such a desperate path across the country-to escape the Elders somehow.
But maybe we don't have to. Not now. Not anymore.
The leading Brethren clan-the family that held dominance over all others-had always been determined by the house with the most adult male heirs at any one time, those who had gone through the bloodletting and fed for the first time. For generations that distinction had belonged to the n.o.bles. But because of the mounting fertility problems and infant mortality, over time it had become a slim margin of victory over the other clans, and the Davenants in particular.
”It's only one son who keeps the n.o.bles dominant,” Monica had complained that night years earlier. ”Until Brandon and Daniel n.o.ble complete the bloodletting-if they complete the bloodletting-that's the only thing keeping Augustus in power. Take out one...” She'd reached over Martin's shoulder, pinching a half-melted ice cube from his drink and tossing it into the fire. ”...and he'd have to share with the Davenants. Take out another...” Again, she flicked an ice cube into the flames. ”...and your father, Allistair, becomes the lead Elder with the dominant clan-and you next in line when he's gone.”
”What do you want me to do?” Martin had griped, moving his gla.s.s out of her reach and cradling it somewhat protectively against his belly. ”Walk up to their front door and shoot Caine n.o.ble in the G.o.dd.a.m.n head? You said so yourself-they've got two more of the little b.a.s.t.a.r.ds right in line behind him.” He'd slurped the rest of his drink down. ”I'd be doing my father the G.o.dd.a.m.n favor, not me.”
Now Caine was dead. That left the n.o.bles and Davenants equal in the number of male heirs. Monica had been right; this would mean the two clans would share dominance equally.
But only once word reaches the Elders. They didn't know that Caine was dead. At least, she didn't think they knew. Because if he did, the Grandfather would change his mind, she thought. He'd rescind his order to have Brandon killed.
Eleanor had told Tessa that Allistair Davenant hated Augustus n.o.ble and the feeling had been more than apparently mutual. They would share control of the Brethren as readily as they might have cut off their own b.a.l.l.s, and Brandon would be the key to avoiding that scenario.
The Grandfather needs Brandon now, needs him to complete the bloodletting if the n.o.bles are to be the dominant house.
Caine had slipped away from Kentucky on his own; the Elders might not yet have realized his absence. There was a very strong possibility that they were completely unaware of what had happened.
She glanced at Rene, then lifted her foot off the gas pedal. As the Audi slowed, she pulled over onto the shoulder of the road. The car jostled in the loose gravel, and Rene stirred, groaning and sitting up somewhat.
”What...what is it?” he murmured, blinking dazedly.
”Nothing,” she said, opening her car door. ”I...I just...I need to stop. I feel sick to my stomach. The baby, I think.”
”Oh.” He nodded once, his eyelids drooping closed.
Tessa walked around to the back of the car and fished her cell phone out of her pocket. She squatted against the rear b.u.mper so that Rene couldn't see what she was doing clearly if he looked through the side-view mirror. Not that she needed to worry; he'd been out again before she'd even closed the door.
She felt badly for him, and knew she needed to get him to New Mexico so they could meet up with Brandon and get some of Rene's pain medication. She needed to stay on the road, but at the moment, she just couldn't. ”I'm sorry, Rene,” she whispered as she flipped back the cover to her phone. She thumbed through her address book until she found the number she needed, then hit send.
”Tessa?” Her father, Sebastian, answered his cell phone on the second ring, his voice tinged with static, nearly shrill with alarm.
”Tessa? Is that you?”
He'd recognized her number undoubtedly, and the concern in his tone brought immediate tears to her eyes. ”Hi, Dad,” she said.
”Yes, it's me.”
”Where are you? Is Brandon with you? My G.o.d, we've been worried sick, Tessa, and Martin is-”
”Dad, listen to me,” Tessa cut in. ”I can't talk long, but you need to know. You need to let the Grandfather know. Caine is dead.”
Stunned silence from the other end of the line. ”Emily's dead, too,” Tessa said, because her younger sister had been with Caine; they had both attacked Brandon and Lina had shot her, as well.
”What?” Sebastian asked, sounding breathless and strained, like she'd just kicked him in the b.a.l.l.s. ”How? I...I don't...”
”They followed me to look for Brandon and they...they were killed.” Her voice quavered as her tears spilled. ”I'm sorry, Dad.”
She clapped her hand over her mouth as a little sob escaped her. ”I love you.”
She hung up on him before he could say anything more, and squatted on the side of the road for a long moment, struggling to compose herself. She hadn't been particularly close to either Caine or Emily, but they'd been her siblings nonetheless, and she hadn't yet allowed herself to mourn for them. She closed her eyes, knowing she'd just broken her father's heart.
But hopefully I just saved Brandon's life.
Although it had been an arrangement dictated by the Elders just after she had been born, she'd been wed to Martin Davenant shortly after her eighteenth birthday, two weeks after her bloodletting. It was supposed to have been Brandon's first kill, as well as her own, but her brother had defied the customs of the Brethren and refused. He'd fled from the bloodletting ceremony and holed up in his tutor, Jackson's guest house on the farm, waiting there until the following morning before returning home to face the Grandfather's wrath.
But it was a wrath that had never come. Terrified of what Augustus would do to Brandon, Tessa had pleaded with her grandmother, Eleanor, and her father, Sebastian, to intercede on Brandon's behalf. As with Eleanor, Augustus had seldom refused their son, and Tessa had desperately hoped that this united front might persuade him to spare Brandon punishment.And it had worked. Brandon's teacher had been fired, an act that had broken her brother's heart, but that had been the extent of any retribution against Brandon. A week later, Eleanor had died. A week after that, Tessa had been s.h.i.+pped off to the Davenant great house to a.s.sume her life as Martin's wife. In retrospect, she wondered if this had been further punishment for her brother; with neither Tessa nor Eleanor remaining in the house, and Sebastian often consumed by his responsibilities to the daily operation of the horse farm, Brandon had been left virtually on his own, his most stalwart champions gone. But while Tessa knew some of the Brethren-including members of their own family-looked down at Brandon and treated him derisively because of his handicaps, she'd never thought that anything truly bad would happen to him. Certainly not from their own grandfather.
But something had happened to Augustus n.o.ble upon Eleanor's death, and whatever soft spot she'd held in his heart had hardened to match the rest. More than just cool and distant, as was his customary demeanor, he'd become vindictive and cruel. Three years later, Tessa had realized to her horror just how much so he could be.
He'd crushed Brandon's hands, shattering the bones and leaving her brother crippled. Tessa had rushed to the great house as soon as she'd learned, and remembered finding Augustus standing before the fireplace in the first floor study upon her arrival.
”How could you?” she'd cried, marching up to him, her eyes flooded with tears, her hands balled into fists. ”You...you monster!
How could you do this to Brandon?”
The Grandfather had struck her so hard she'd stumbled sideways and crumpled to her hands and knees, momentary stars dancing in her line of sight. She'd blinked at the floor in silent, absolute shock.
”Watch your mouth, girl,” he'd said, his face icily stoic. ”Or you'll be laid out along with him.”
Only then had she realized he wasn't alone; on the far side of the room, at least five Brethren men stood in a tight and stern-faced ring-Elders from other clans. She recognized one of them in particular, a man with sharp, cold eyes the same shade of steel gray as his hair and a doughy face that tugged the corners of his mouth into a perpetual frown-Allistair Davenant, Martin's father.
”I see it only takes a minute, eh, Augustus?” he remarked, sparing a cool, brittle glance at the Grandfather. ”Not two footsteps through your door and your granddaughter forgets her place.”
”She's not my granddaughter anymore, Allistair.” Augustus had turned his eyes to the fire, his words-his cold dismissal-hurting Tessa more than any physical blow ever could. ”She's yours.”
Rene woke again as she got back into the car. ”You all right, pischouette?” he asked, squinting blearily and wincing as he inadvertently moved his hand.
”Yes.” Tessa nodded, m.u.f.fling a sniffle against the back of her hand. She'd already rubbed at her eyes before opening the door, and hoped he couldn't tell she'd been crying. ”I...I'm fine. How are you doing?”
He looked bad, pale and haggard, but managed a smile. ”Still here.” He tried to wiggle the fingers of his wounded hand, but sucked in a hurting breath at the effort.
”Try to rest, Rene,” she said and without thinking about it, she reached out and brushed his hair back lightly from his brow. Her fingertips trailed briefly against the side of his face, and he closed his eyes, as if drawing comfort from her touch.
”Sounds good,” he murmured, then faded once more.
Chapter Seven.