Title: The Devil Has Blue Eyes

By: Aina Song

Fandom(s): Gundam Wing

Genre: Yaoi (with some Het thrown in)

Rating: PG-15

Warning(s): Contraband; Fusion; Language; Death; Murder.

Pairing(s): Heero/Quatre (constant mentionings of Het pairings)

Reviews: Yes, please.

Author's Note: (I'm afraid my usual Disclaimer will not be enough this time, so bear with me.) I, Aina Song, hereby acknowledge the illegality of the following fusion fiction, which is based very thickly upon Clara Wimberly's The Jeweled Heart of Rosemont Castle. I do not claim any rights or privileges her book may have earned her, nor due I claim credit for the book itself. This fanfiction follows her plot almost to the letter, with few changes tossed in here and there, but I must again press that it does so without the explicit permission of Ms. Wimberly, her editor(s), or her publisher(s). This fiction was not written for money; I do not profit from this in any way, shape, or form. Please excuse the illegality of it all, and I do hope my own readers will try to look past my unlawfulness and enjoy the fiction nonetheless. Thank you.

Teaser: He did not care that he was the lost heir to a winery fortune - especially since he couldn't remember that earliest piece of his childhood. He only wanted to reclaim the family that had been kept from him. But there was another who was determined to unmask him as an imposter. And, at the same time, a strange cold presence stirred again at his return, anxious to finish what it had started so long ago…

Chapter One

Quatre could feel his mare's restlessness, even after the long trip across the mountain. But he held her back, wanting to study the castle as his leisure.

He was in the stand of hardwoods now, moving in and out of sunlight and shade. The castle was in a clearing, with a lush green lawn that spread around it like the flattering summer skirt of a grand and elegant lady.

The red brick of the structure had weathered to a pale coral, and dark green ivy covered portions of the walls, giving it an aged and mysterious appearance. It was three stories tall and must have been over one hundred feet across the front. The castle was dominated by a tower at one end which rose above the steep rooftops.

Coming through the grove of trees to the spacious lawn and surrounding evergreens of the castle gave one a definite feel of grandeur. The castle loomed silently, rising above Quatre as he rode nearer. Even the sound of the birds seemed stilled here.

He stopped for a moment and looked up at the steeply pitched roofs and structures atop it. There were crenellated battlements and dormer windows with pointed domes. His eyes moved downward to the loggias across the front of the castle. One with smaller arches was on the second floor, and another at ground level boasted large, curved archways.

Quatre pulled his mare Sandi close to the walkway at the ground-floor loggia and tied her reins to a nearby boxwood that rose to his height.

His heart was pounding as he walked into the cool shadows of the porch. He still had no idea how he would begin; he hoped that once he saw Treize Khushrenada the words would come - and, wishfully, that the man might recognize Quatre as his son.

He lifted the heavy brass ring and let it fall with loud thuds upon the carved oak door.

Only seconds later the large door swung upon and Quatre found himself staring into the eyes of a small, middle-aged man. He was not much taller than Quatre, and he was somewhat thin. Quatre thought he had the sharpest black eyes the blond had ever seen.

"May I help you, young sir?" He asked coolly. Then his obsidian gaze wandered down to take in Quatre's loose white shirt, brown corduroy trousers, and heavy work-worn boots. He frowned and looked up again, questioningly.

The man's look said it all: Quatre did not belong there.

"I've come to see Treize Khushrenada," Quatre said, wishing his voice did not sound quite so shaky.

"Mister Khushrenada is not receiving guests at the moment," the other man said with a bored lift of his eyebrows.

"I think he'll see me," he dared challenge, his voice a bit stronger.

"You're mistaken, young sir. He will not."

They regarded each other, and Quatre slowly realized that perhaps the other man was not as old as he had first appeared. The tired circles under those obsidian eyes gave the illusion of age, otherwise the man could very well have passed for a much younger man.

From behind him, past the dim, cool hallway, Quatre could hear the muted sounds of laughter, and he felt the anger rising within his chest. Not receiving guests, eh? Or too busy entertaining to be disturbed? Knowing he would not be able to muster up the courage to return a second time, Quatre returned his attention to the man that stood in his way. "What is your name, sir?"

"Chang Wufei," he said quietly. "Now, if that will be all…" He stepped back and began to close the heavy door.

But Quatre was much quicker and stepped into the hallway. He was struck at once by the delicious rich aroma of the wood paneling that surrounded them. "No, that will not be all," he snapped, angered anew by this man's rejection. "I came a great distance to see Mister Khushrenada, and I don't intend to leave until I do."

Before the dark-eyed man could move, Quatre stepped beyond him toward the room where he'd heard the sounds of voices. He walked boldly to the door and pushed it open, stepping into the room to surprise this man who obviously wasn't interested in finding his son.

But it was Quatre who received the surprise.

Treize Khushrenada was not in the room, nor had any man been, before Quatre's intrusion. Instead there were about a dozen women, dressed in a fine array of elegant gowns. Some sat in delicately carved chairs, their dresses spread flatteringly around them. Others stood, with dainty cups in hand, as they chatted and laughed. And all of them, one by one, turned to stare at Quatre, the wild-eyed intruder who stood facing them in muddy boots and servant's clothing.

One of them, a petite woman of perhaps forty, took a step toward him. He thought her glistening cinnamon hair, swept high atop her head, was lovely. She must have been quite beautiful as a girl, with her heart-shaped face and full lips. But now, as she looked at Quatre with consummate outrage, he found her quite intimidating for so tiny a person and not so attractive with the displeased scowl on her face.

"How dare you barge in here this way? Who are you?"

Quatre heard the other man behind him, the one who had met him at the door. "My apologies, Lady," he said. "He asked to see Mister Khushrenada. I told him the Master was not available, but he insisted…"

"Well, I don't care what he insisted, Chang. Please show him out… this instant!"

"Yes, Lady," he muttered, taking Quatre by the arm.

Quatre could feel the color rush to his cheeks as the elegantly groomed women, silent now, continued to stare at him. In all his life he had never seen such sophisticated, beautifully gowned women. He hardly knew such creatures existed.

The dark-eyed man pulled him from the room and he followed, too stunned to protest. The cinnamon-haired woman stood in the doorway as if to make sure he left. Quatre stared back at her, wondering who she was.

As soon as the door closed, he pulled his arm free of the other man.

"You must leave now, young sir, before I…"

"I will not leave until I've seen Mister Khushrenada," Quatre reinstated, raising his voice.

"Then I shall be forced to put you out," he warned, stepping forward.

Quatre gave an involuntary cry and flinched away from the man. "No!" He shouted. "You have no right to-"

"Wufei!" A new male voice rang through the paneled hallway. "What is going on down here? I could hear you shouting at the top of the stairs."

The dark-eyed man was visibly agitated with Quatre for causing so much trouble. He turned with a start, as did Quatre, toward the young man making his way down the curved stairway.

Quatre told himself it was only his anger which made him feel breathless. If Sandi had kicked him in the chest he could not have felt more winded. But the truth was that he'd never seen a man like the one who came toward them, and his mouth dropped open against his will.

He was a vision, an enigma, a devil…

And the handsomest man Quatre had ever seen in his young life.

His dark burgundy hair was short and wild, but just long enough to spill its ends over the back of his shirt collar. He was dressed completely in black, and that added to the corsair look of him. He wore no tie, but his shirt was opened casually at the neck, allowing a glimpse of coffee-colored skin. His chest was smooth and richly tanned, as though he spent a great deal of time outdoors.

Quatre glanced slowly up from the bared vee of skin and into the man's face. Brilliant blue eyes, darker than Quatre's own, seemed to nail him to the floor. They were amazingly potent as they looked down upon the two before him.

"Well?" He asked. Quatre wasn't certain he spoke to him or to Mister Chang.

"I'll take care of it right away, Mister Yuy," the servant muttered, taking Quatre once again by the arm.

Quatre continued to stare into the eyes of the man on the stairs. His lashes dropped as he ran his eyes over Quatre, from the top of his wildly disheveled blond hair to the tip of his mud-spattered boots.

"It's all right, Wufei," the man said, his look cool and emotionless. "Let the warabe go around to the kitchen. If he's looking for a meal…"

Quatre jerked his arm away from Mister Chang. "If you think I'm looking for a handout, Your Lordship, think again!" He didn't try to curtail his indignant anger; "And if I were, this would be the last place I'd go! I've never been treated so poorly in all my life… not anywhere! And I-"

"Oh, so you've traveled extensively," he said with a curve on his lips as he glanced over Quatre again.

"I didn't come here to discuss my travels," the blond snapped.

Chang began pulling at his arm again.

"No, Wufei. Let him go. Let's hear what the little urchin has to say." He scowled as he closed his eyes and shook his head. "Shimatta… Will this day never end."

Quatre did not know what the softly muttered curse meant. But he knew it was foreign, and he did not like the sound of the man's voice when he'd said it. He lifted his chin, suddenly remembering his defiance. "I've come to see Mister Treize Khushrenada. This man said he was not accepting visitors, whatever that means. I heard laughter and thought I would just find out for myself if the man was in, and I…"

The handsome blue-eyed man had lifted his eyebrows and was looking pointedly at the closed door where the tea party was being held.

"Ah, I'm beginning to see." A smile curved his lips, "Well, I can imagine you caused quite a stir with the ladies." His meaning was quite clear as he continued to stare curiously at Quatre's attire. "And what business do you have with Mister Khushrenada?"

"That is something I prefer to discuss with him. It is a private matter." Quatre crossed his arms and stood stiffly with his legs apart as he defied the man to turn him out.

He rolled his blue eyes upward and lifted his hand to his face. Quatre watched mesmerized as the long, slender coffee-tinted fingers rubbed his closed eyelids. Self-consciously the blond stuck his rough, calloused hands into his pockets. Those hands were not like his own, work-worn and blistered and cracked with dryness. Those were the hands of an artist or a musician.

"For your information, Wufei was not lying when he said Mister Khushrenada is not accepting guests. He is… we'll say… not well at the moment. But if you care to wait, I'll make sure see him later this afternoon."

"Y-you will?"

"But, sir," Chang said quickly, looking anxiously toward the man on the stairs.

"It's all right, Wufei. I'll accept the responsibility for this. In the meantime, take the boy to the kitchen."

The man seemed intent on making a charity of Quatre, and the blond fisted his hands, taking an angry step forward.

He lifted his hand before Quatre could utter a sound.

"Of course, if he doesn't' feel like having something to eat or drink, please don't force it down his throat as we usually do with our guests." With a lift of his aristocratic brow and a slow, sarcastic smile, he turned and walked languidly back upstairs.