Marcus thought about it for a moment. He still didn’t trust anyone in the IN, but Bannon did, and Marcus trusted him. It shouldn’t be too hard to make some sort of beacon that the shuttle could see. “I think so.”
“Maybe a flare?”
“I doubt a flare would be strong enough, but I think I have enough stuff here to make a light of sorts.” It would mean one less fragger charger, but he agreed with Bannon. If they went into the base, men were going to die. He didn’t want that either, even if Patrick was all for it.
“If we do have to go into the base….” Bannon shook his head.
“We’ll be okay. We have fraggers now, and if you’d ever seen Patrick swing a sword….” The image of Patrick in battle flitted through his brain, and Marcus grinned, even though he too would like to avoid it if possible. He let go of Bannon’s hand and sat back. “It’s terrifying, but also a thing of beauty.”
For the first time, genuine amusement lit Bannon’s face. “I can imagine. He’s pretty fierce.” His gaze drifted off, and his expression turned serene. “Ciaran too.”
Marcus smiled. He’d thought from the beginning that there was a spark between Bannon and Ciaran. He was happy to know he was correct. Ciaran deserved to be happy and Bannon too. He was a good kid. “Yes, he is. Patrick taught him everything he knows about—”
The door opened with a lot of fuss and a lot of noise. Patrick barged in, loud enough to wake the entire castle. He was like a one-man whirlwind—a clank of his sword here, a bang of his boots there.
“Speaking of Patrick….”
“Marcus?” Lumbering in with his sword and scabbard in one hand and his boots in the other, Patrick closed the door with a bump of his hip and a rather loud slam.
Marcus looked up at Bannon and said, “Do you know anyone who would like to trade for some Regelence Breakfast Blend?”
Bannon chuckled. “You’d do no such thing.”
“You’re right, I wouldn’t, but tea makes a lot less commotion.”
“Oh, hello, Bannon.” Patrick furrowed his brow, tossed his sword on the bed, and dropped his boots where he stood. “You have tea?” he asked hopefully.
The look of longing was too much for Marcus, and he burst out laughing, Bannon joining in only a second behind.
Patrick frowned at them, and that made them laugh even harder.
“Sorry, Patrick. No tea. I’d have already shared it with the two of you if I had some,” Bannon said, sobering.
Shaking his head, Patrick came forward and bent to place a kiss on Marcus’s cheek. “Oh well, we’ll all get some soon enough.” With a wink, he sat down on the end of the bed, his knees peeking out from his kilt. The man had dashing knees. “What brings you here, Bannon? Is everything all right?”
Bannon practically wilted.
Marcus took pity on him, knowing the best thing for him would be to get what was bothering him off his chest. How bad could it be? Marcus was certain Bannon had told them everything about the IN, or at least what he knew. Marcus had read the report on the diplomat’s com-pad and gotten even more detailed information. “Bannon has something to tell us.”
Patrick nodded. “Okay.” He glanced at Marcus and raised a brow.
Marcus gave a small shake of his head, indicating he didn’t know what it was about either.
With a big sigh, Bannon stood. Clutching his hands in front of him, he took a deep breath and let it out. “I should have told you both this when I found out who you were, but I was so surprised and….” He shrugged. “After, I didn’t know how to tell you. Now, the thought that we might all die breaking into that base….” He shook his head and dropped his hands by his side. “I can’t risk either of you dying—” His voice caught and tears gathered in his eyes. “—without letting you know.”
“We’re not going to die breaking into the base, Bannon. We’re going to be smart about it. Now, whatever it is, you can tell us, lad,” Patrick said softly. “Whatever it is, we will not be mad, just tell us.”
“You can’t promise that.” Bannon frowned.
“Yes, he can. You didn’t purposely deceive us, did you?” Marcus asked.
Bannon shook his head.
“Then whatever it is, we will not be mad.”
After meeting Marcus’s gaze, Bannon pressed his lips tight together, then glanced at Patrick. “Trouble, I mean, Jeremy is alive.”
A lump wedged in Marcus’s throat, and his hearing turned to white noise. He blinked and looked at Patrick. He couldn’t have heard that correctly, could he?
Patrick’s brows pulled together, but his gaze remained on Bannon. “Our Jeremy?”
Bannon nodded. “He’s one of my dearest friends.” His voice softened, and a wistful look crossed his face. “He’s alive and on Regelence. He’s Aiden’s stepson, and he lives in Townsend Castle with King Steven and King-Consort Raleigh. He hates being a lord, but he’s learning. King-Consort Raleigh is teaching him.”
The room seemed to close in and waver. Dizziness overtook Marcus, and he gripped the table next to him to steady himself. It was simply too good to be true. “No.” He shook his head. “I saw the cottage. It burned. We couldn’t get to him and Mary. We tried. Oh galaxy, we tried.” Marcus shook his head, unable to believe. He couldn’t let himself hope. It was impossible. Closing his eyes, he gripped his head, bending in half. With gut-wrenching pain, the memories came rushing back.
With a start, he jolted awake. An urgent, almost panicked feeling clawed at his chest. Where was he? He glanced around at the tiny modest bedroom, and everything came rushing back. He was on Verity in the Yarren system. Patrick had been assigned here. Instead of staying on base, they’d rented a small cabin. It was nothing like what they were used to, but it was charming, and it afforded them a little privacy. He lay there for several moments, listening and still, and then he heard it. A crackle. A soft roar. The smell of smoke. “Patrick! Patrick, wake up!”
Patrick came awake with a start. “What’s wrong? What is it?”
“The cabin is on fire.” Marcus jumped out of bed and grabbed his pants and a shirt, aware of Patrick next to him getting into his uniform trousers. He started yelling for Mary, but there was no answer.
Patrick yelled too. “Mary, wake up! Get Jeremy and get out! Mary, do you hear me?”
But Mary didn’t answer. Could she hear them? Was she already out of the small cabin? She slept lightly; she always had…. “Mary?”
They reached for the doorknob at the same time, but Patrick’s hand got there first. He jerked it back with a hiss and started shaking it frantically.
Marcus reached for the knob, but Patrick caught his wrist. “It’s too hot. If you open it, the fire is going to be right in our faces.” As if to prove his point, there was a hiss and a crackle and flames came up from under the door.
Patrick ran to the window and tried to open it, but it didn’t budge.
Looking around the room, Marcus spotted the heavy brass lamp on the nightstand. He jerked it off the stand. The plug flung back, slapping him in the leg, but he didn’t wait. He couldn’t. Something was terribly wrong, because they’d had that window open only the day before. Marcus bashed the window with the lamp and ran it around the frame, knocking out the rest of the glass.
Patrick practically leaped through the opening.
Marcus followed, but by the time he got outside, Patrick was already gone. He turned back toward the small cabin and froze. His heart went from racing to still. At least that was what it felt like.
The entire house was engulfed in flames. Heat buffeted him from the front, and the cool night air blew at him from behind. Sweat ran down his temples in rivulets.
Shouting and loud bangs jarred him from his horror-filled daze. He ran around to the back, toward Jeremy’s window, with the blood rushing in his ears nearly as loud as the roaring fire. The window was broken out, and smoke poured from it. He tried to look inside, but the heat was too intense.
He could hear Patrick yelling from the front
of the house, followed by more banging.
Marcus pushed himself closer until his face felt as though it were on fire. He couldn’t get in that way. “Mary!”
There was no answer.
Again he tried to get close, to look inside, but there was so much smoke. Flames licked at the bedroom door, going up the walls and inside the room. Maybe she and Jeremy made it out? But how? The glass was jagged….
Panic clutched at Marcus’s chest again.
There was a loud bang from the front of the house.
Marcus took off, going around the house. The kitchen window was blown out as well.
The house groaned and snap! Before his eyes, part of the roof caved in. “No!” Marcus ran to the front of the house. The door was open, hanging on only one hinge, but Patrick was nowhere in sight. Flames and smoke poured out the door, blocking his view.
Marcus didn’t think, he took off, barreling through the open doorway. It was hot, so hot. He couldn’t…. He had no choice—his family! He moved forward as the overbearing heat pushed him back. He fought harder than he’d ever fought in his life. Covering his nose and mouth, he yelled out between hacking coughs. The smoke burned his eyes and his nose. He couldn’t breathe at all. The heat was too much; it stole the air right out of his lungs. “Patrick! Mary!”
Somehow he made it to the middle of the small living room. Where the ceiling had collapsed. He couldn’t see, had to keep moving forward…. His foot hit something. He couldn’t go over the fallen beams, so he dropped to his knees, intent on going under, but he touched something soft.
Skin! Oh, galaxy. Working his way up the body with his hands, he touched bare flesh…. Patrick! The beam lay over him, and he was so still.
“Patrick!”
Was that a moan? He felt some more…. The heat was so intense, he felt as though his eyes were on fire. His nose. He couldn’t see, and with the roar of the fire, he couldn’t hear…. Finding the end of the beam with his hands. Please be alive, please be alive! “Patrick!”
Marcus was wracked by coughs again, but somehow he managed to get Patrick out from under the beam.
With strength he didn’t realize he had, he grabbed Patrick under his arms and hauled him out of the house. Patrick was so heavy. Heavier than he should be. Lethargy dragged at Marcus, and he wanted to just lie down and quit, but he couldn’t.
It seemed like hours, but was probably only a few moments, before he got Patrick all the way outside, off the steps, and into the cool spring grass. He felt around for a pulse and found it, but he couldn’t stay. He had to get Jeremy. He had to get his beloved valet, Mary. No, that wasn’t right. She wasn’t his valet anymore; she was Jeremy’s nanny. And she’d take care of him, just as she always had Marcus and Patrick.
He made it back inside. “Mary!”
A loud crack sounded above him. Marcus looked up and watched as the rest of the ceiling fell. He couldn’t react fast enough. The center beam fell, pinning him underneath. A searing pain arced up his thigh, his head hit the floor, and everything went black.
He woke up in the grass to Patrick screaming in his face and slapping him. And shaking him….
“Marcus! Marcus!”
Marcus straightened up and stared into Patrick’s deep blue eyes. Bannon was there too, staring at him and biting his bottom lip.
“Marcus.” Patrick shook his shoulder.
“I’m fine. I….” He glanced up at Bannon. “How can Jeremy be alive?”
Bannon shook his head. “I don’t know, but it’s him. King Steven had his DNA tested against the DNA on file for you and Patrick.”
Bannon disappeared from view, and Patrick was in Marcus’s face again, frowning.
Marcus smoothed the lines on Patrick’s forehead and dragged his finger down Patrick’s nose. He marveled at the handsome, beloved face in front of him. At least I still have him. He read the same in Patrick’s gaze. In the soft, sad smile Patrick offered him.
“I love you,” Patrick whispered.
“And I you.”
“Here! Look. I did this from memory, and I didn’t have the best tools. I had to use ink, which is not a medium I’m used to, but this looks like Trouble.” Bannon held out a piece of paper, thrusting it between them.
Marcus looked down and gasped. A pang hit him square in the chest as he looked at the beautiful face captured on the paper. It was nearly like a photo. Bannon was very talented, but that wasn’t what captivated Marcus so. The cherub face peering back at him was so pure and innocent. He had Patrick’s nose and Marcus’s chin. And those eyes! He didn’t know what color they were now—they’d been blue last time Marcus had seen them, as many babies’ were—but the shape… the intensity…. He knew that gaze.
With a shaking hand, Patrick reached out and touched the portrait. “Jeremy.”
Nodding through his tears, Marcus smiled. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he knew Bannon was telling the truth. His infant son had survived; Jeremy was alive.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“The word love should be changed to stress. It’s a much more apt description.”
—Timothy on personal relationships.
When Bannon finally went downstairs two hours later, he was completely drained. Marcus and Patrick hadn’t been mad at him, but they’d dragged him right along in the wake of their emotional journey. They’d had him recount everything he knew about Trouble… and Nate. They were still not confident in Nate’s loyalty—because he remained in the IN—and not at all happy with the fact that he was Trouble’s legal guardian, but they were relieved that Trouble was safe and cared for. Sadly, Bannon suspected this was only the beginning of their emotional ride, assuming they could all get home.
With a yawn, Bannon stopped at the foot of the stairwell, feeling like someone had mentally beaten him with a stick. When he’d gone up to the guest room, there’d been several men drinking in front of each of the fireplaces. Now the only fireplace still lit was the one directly behind the laird’s table, so the room was mostly dark.
Unless, of course, there’s not really a fire. Maybe it’s the bogle?
Damn you, Timothy! Bannon’s spine stiffened at the thought. He couldn’t actually see the fireplace from where he stood, only the light. The glow cast eerie shadows along the floor, broken up by the trestle tables, and looked like undulating tentacles. The only sounds were crackling wood and the whistling wind outside.
A shiver raced up Bannon’s back. This was silly. He was a grown man, and there was no such thing as….
Thud.
“Ack!” Startled, he jumped and fell right off the bottom step.
Flailing his arms, he managed to catch his balance somewhat but careened into the wall beside the stairwell. His elbow connected with stone, and pain exploded up his arm. “Blast, blast, blast.” Clutching his elbow, he stomped his feet, trying to distract himself from the pain.
“Red?”
“Bloody hell!” Bannon jumped again and forgot all about his elbow. His heart thudded against his chest as he searched the great hall, then calmed when he spotted Ciaran.
Ciaran sat on top of the laird’s table, turned so he could look over his shoulder at Bannon. His feet were on the bench closest to the fireplace, and there was a goblet next to him. That must have been the thud, because in all honesty the thud hadn’t been very loud, more of a soft click. And yes, thankfully, there was a fire in the grate. The hall still gave him the goose bumps, though.
Heat raced up Bannon’s face at being caught acting like a complete featherbrain… again.
Jumping at shadows. Timothy snorted.
You started it by talking about bogles! With a groan and a shake of his head, Bannon rubbed his elbow and went to the table. “Hi.”
“Hi, yeself.” Ciaran grinned at him, but the grin didn’t last long. His eyes were heavy-lidded, tired, and… troubled? “Care tae join me?” He didn’t wait for a reply, but turned back toward the fire.
“Sure.” Bannon stepped up onto the dais, walked ar
ound the table, and stopped to Ciaran’s right. The heat of the fire warmed his chill and chased away the last of his embarrassment. The wind outside seemed to grow quieter, but the unrest in the hall was still there, and it had nothing to do with bogles and everything to do with Ciaran.
He sat there with his elbows resting on his knees, his lovely bare knees…. The plaid had traveled up his thighs, showing off a good deal of hairy legs. Nice muscular legs. But Ciaran didn’t seem to notice. His gaze was focused on the fire. His features were relaxed, but the pensiveness in his eyes was undeniable.
Apparently, Bannon wasn’t the only one who’d had a mentally taxing night.
Finally, Ciaran glanced up at him. Again the soft smile appeared and disappeared as Ciaran patted the table beside him.
After climbing onto the bench, Bannon turned and sat. Immediately the warmth of Ciaran’s body infused him, and he found himself scooting closer. “What’s bothering you?”
“Who says anything is bothering me?” Ciaran turned his head toward him.
Bannon arched one brow.
Again the smile returned. “I’m just thinking.”
“What about?”
For several moments, Ciaran didn’t say anything. He turned back to the fire, glancing up above the huge opening.
Bannon followed his gaze.
A big claymore rested on pegs sticking out of the stone wall. The sword was beautiful, with a gold pommel with a large emerald gemstone in it. The cross guard was gold as well, with the same stone, only smaller, at the ends. The leather wrap on the handle had seen better days, but it didn’t take away from the beauty. The gold continued down the thick silver blade in the middle for about three inches and came to a point. After the gold ended, intricate swirls and knot-like symbols were engraved along the blade for another six inches or so. After that….
Squinting to get a better look, Bannon wrinkled his nose and frowned. “Is that rust on the blade?” Splotches of brown marred the otherwise gleaming silver of the blade. He could not imagine why anyone would let such an exquisite instrument rust. It truly was a work of art.
My Highland Laird: Sci-Regency Book 5 Page 21
