deRothchild - A Mediaeval Romance

"My eldest son, Damien," replied Lady Isabelle.

"No!" yelled all the brothers.

* *

"No!" Bobbi screamed hysterically. "No, no, no! I'd rather die!"

The five brothers had gone to Stephen's assigned quarters in the King's palace where the rest of the family were gathered to tell them the outcome of the talks. When they'd heard the latest development, Bobbi had gone hysterical. She was now storming about the room, face almost as red as her hair, bristling with anger with bitter tears rolling down her cheeks and yelling at the top of her lungs. Knowing her, she was but moments away from smashing everything she could get her hands on in the room.

"How could you, you bastards?! Marc's not even cold in his grave! Bloody Damien's older than Methuselah -- you expect me to lie with that slime?! No!" Picking up a vase, she flung it at Stephen. He ducked and it smashed harmlessly against the wall. Without pause, she reached for other things and threw them wildly in Stephen's direction. Years of experience dealing with temperamental younger siblings allowed him to avoid all the thrown objects. Finally losing patience he bellowed, "STOP! Roberta Antoinette deRothchild stop it, right NOW!"

"No!" she screamed back but didn't throw the platter in her hands. "I hate you! I hate all of you," she continued, green eyes blazing as she glared at her five oldest brothers. "How could you do this to me? I thought you loved me." Her words trailed off and the platter smashed to the floor as it dropped from listless fingers and she sank to her knees sobbing. "I thought you loved me ..."

Anthony rushed to his twin, throwing glares at his brothers as he gathered Bobbi into his arms. "It's going to be alright, Bobbi," he said, trying to sooth her.

"No it's not! They're going to make me marry that -- that - " she sobbed, clutching Tony in distraught. "Don't let them do this to me, Tony. Please ... don't let them. I can't! I CAN'T!" Her voice rose hysterically as she continued to sob.

Stephen's wife, Margaret turned to him with a grief stricken look as she listened to Bobbi's anguished sobs. "Must it be this way, Stephen?" she asked softly.

He couldn't answer past the lump in his throat. His heart ached at what he had to do to his only sister... but there was no other way. Lady Isabelle refused to accept anything less. He had to do what was best for the people under his care -- the effect of the war had been devastating. He often wished he'd died rather than witness the maimed and lifeless bodies of his knights sprawled on the battlefield, see the burnt remains of his lands and the injured and despairing farmers, and return to the grieving widows and children.

His people. If by marrying Bobbi to the Warbrookes, he saved them all, then so be it.

At his father's death eight years ago when he was only nineteen, Stephen had inherited the title, estate and all the responsibilities that came with it. His father had died a mere two years after Stephen's mother died giving birth to his youngest brother, Saint. At the age when most young men were at the beginning stages of establishing themselves as knights, Stephen had had to take up the burden of raising nine younger siblings and the management of vast estates. The personal sacrifices he had to make, he accepted as part of his duty to his people.

This sacrifice of his only sister though, was something heartbreakingly difficult to accept. But he had no choice. Bobbi had to be sacrificed ... for the greater good.

"Bobbi ... please," Stephen said softly.

He shuddered inwardly to think what his sister's life would be like married to Damien Butterfield. At twenty seven, Damien's reputation with women was not something to comfort a loving brother. Even Stephen's minimal personal contact with the man made him want to avoid Damien entirely.

Damien Butterfield was extremely good looking, arrogant and a powerful knight with a reputation for cruelty that was never publicly acknowledged but freely whispered about. He had an oily kind of charm that Stephen found distasteful but seemed to appeal to a lot of women. But these women were older and more sophisticated, his sister was a child still in many ways. She had been brought up loved and indulged by everyone around her. If she had to marry at thirteen to a much older man, Stephen would have chosen someone kind and gentle. Damien Butterfield was anything but.

Stephen walked slowly towards Bobbi who was now standing, clinging on to Tony. "I'm sorry," he said, his dark eyes pleading with her to forgive him. "I -- I - "

Luke interrupted harshly, "We had no choice, dammit! That bitch gave us no choice!" He stalked angrily towards the wall and pounded on it viciously. His powerful body stiff and trembling with barely contained fury.

Luke was the most tender hearted and caring among the brothers but also the most volatile. His temper was easily roused and his fury fearsome to behold, especially when seeing injustice being done to anyone or anything smaller or weaker.

Having to accept sacrificing Bobbi like a lamb to the slaughter to that bastard, Damien made him angry enough to want to tear apart the King's palace brick by brick.

"Is there no other Warbrooke son?" Jacques asked. He was the sixth brother, a dark, gentle, quiet youth of fifteen. Often more at home in the woods in the company of his animal friends, he seldom spoke and avoided confrontation. In this instance though, with his sister's happiness at stake, he was more than willing to fight. "Anyone else would be better than Damien."

"If there was another way, don't you think we'd've taken it?" Ronald snapped.

"But there is another son, non?" Annette, Ronald's beautiful French wife asked.

"Ten year old Brian you mean?"

"Non, non. Alexandrè Warbrooke," she replied, pronouncing the name in the French way.

"Who?" Philippe demanded.

"Alexander. Lady Helen's youngest son," Annette replied. Lady Helen was the first wife of the late Earl of Warbrooke.

"We've never heard of him," said Christopher.

"Oui, because he was sent away to his uncle in France when he was born. Lady Helen died giving birth to him and Lord Andrew blamed the babe. He couldn't bear to be near the baby that had caused the death of his beloved wife.

"Lord Andrew was so grieved that he never acknowledged Alexander's existence, even after he married Isabelle," Annette continued sadly.

"How do you know this?" Philippe asked.

"I saw him at the tournament in Paris last year. Don't you remember him, cheriè?" Annette asked, turning to Ronald. "That handsome young knight who fought so well?"

"There were lots of young knights at that tournament," Ronald replied with a slight frown.

"The tall, blond one."

"Wait," Ronald said, trying to remember. "He was the one not wearing house colours, was it?"

"Oui! It made people talk. And he left so quickly after it was over."

"So how do you know all this about him? You didn't talk to him did you?" Christopher asked, frowning.

"No, I didn't. I spoke to Alice, his cousin and she told me all about Alexander."

Alexander Warbrooke had been sent to his mother's sister who had married a French man. The family wasn't rich and Lord Andrew, still grieving and blaming the babe for the death of his beloved lady, did not send money for Alexander's care.

He'd had to grow up working hard on his uncle's farm, lacking the luxury his older brother and sister enjoyed and that should also have been his had his father accepted him. Alice's parents, while not being able to afford to give him such, gave him love and acceptance instead.

Alice, her brother and two sisters were much older than Alexander but apparently he had been such a beautiful, happy baby that they'd all fallen in love with him. Alexander had grown up into a handsome youth, strong from his labours on the farm.

His older sister Bethany and Hugo, his eldest brother, visited him periodically in France. They were also much older than Alexander and did not agree with how their father treated his youngest son. Though they could do nothing to change their father's mind, they felt it their duty to get to know their brother and give whatever comfort and love they could to him.

He sometimes asked his aunt why he was not with his sister, brother and father in England. When she felt he was old enough to understand, his aunt told him about his father. He had seemed to accept it calmly enough but then had disappeared for a week. His aunt's family had been frantic with worry but he came back as if nothing had happened and assured his aunt that he was all right. But from then on, there was a hardness in him that had not been present in the happy, carefree boy before.

That was also when a driving desire to be a knight had started in the boy. His uncle helped by getting him placed in service with a knight.

When Annete finished her narration, there was absolute silence from the deRothchilds.

"He sounds a lot better than Damien," said Philippe finally, breaking the silence.

"Is he?" Jacques murmured. "We know nothing about him."

"But we could find out?" Philippe asked, looking enquiringly at Stephen.

"Of course we could," Ronald replied emphatically for Stephen. "Bob, what do you think ..." he started, turning to where Bobbi had been standing with Tony her twin brother, and Raymond and Saint, their two youngest brothers.

Everybody turned to look when Ronald's words trailed off and his eyes widened. "Now where have they gone off to?" Christopher exclaimed, because the four youngest deRothchilds were no longer in the room.

"I think they may have run away," Jacques said quietly.

His sensitivity and empathy when dealing with animals made him more perceptive of people's feelings. He sensed that Bobbi's display earlier was not her usual temper tantrum. There had been real panic and desperation he'd never seen in his sister before.

He also knew that his five older brothers most often did not understand their youngest siblings. Not that they did not care but because of the age gap -- Christoper was nineteen and the rest much older -- coupled with their concerns over their responsibilities for the family and the ongoing war, they tended to forget what it was like to be young; when emotions ruled rather than brains or matters of honour.

"Those young idiots!" Stephen fumed. "Luke, Chris. Find them and bring them back. Do they think this is some kind of play? Don't they realize how serious this is?"

* *

"Quick, Ray, you grab Phil's horse. Saint you take Chris'," ordered Tony as he quickly saddled Ron's while Bobbi spoke soothingly to Stephen's horse, calming him before saddling the mettlesome stallion. Of the four, Bobbi was the best horseman -- or woman.

They'd decided to take their brothers' horses rather than their own as a delaying tactic and camouflage. They'd released their own horses and all the other knights' horses as well. By the time their brothers realized they'd run away, they'd find no horses to give immediate pursuit and so the four would gain precious time. They did not underestimate their brothers' intelligence and resourcefulness.

Even though Tony was the older twin - by ten minutes - it was usually Bobbi who came up with these mad schemes. Ray and Saint, aged eleven and ten respectively, usually followed the twins' lead.

This time their flight had nothing to do with childish mischief, Bobbi was desperate. She meant it when she said she'd rather die than marry Damien. She'd heard of his arrogance and cruelty and the thought of having to live with such a person for the rest of her life terrified her.

With a clattering of hooves, the four begin their flight away from their brothers.

Destination?

Unknown.

~ * * ~