Prince of Honor (House of Terriot Book 1)

by Nancy Gideon

  very mysterious. Guess I can see why.” His stare lingered over Sylvia with unflattering intimacy.

  “Take a good look,” Sylvia challenged, throwing back the covers and standing up to grab for her despised yoga pants. Turow’s shirt hiked up, showing a bit too much of her thighs for Row’s liking. He edged over to block the view.

  “So,” Colin drawled. “Was this part of Cale’s orders, too?”

  “She’s my mate, and if I didn’t hurt like hell, I’d knock you to the floor for that.”

  Green eyes went wide. “Oh. Well . . . okay then.”

  “What are you doing here, at my door?”

  “Just spoke to Cale on the way from the airport. He wants us up at the lodge. Family biz and all that.”

  “Tell him I’ll be up. You don’t have to wait.”

  He smirked, eyeballing Sylvia. “But whatever you had in mind is gonna have to. Cale’s in a mood. Wants everybody right now. Sorry to inconvenience you two. Unless you’d like some help getting things done.”

  “You’re a big dick, Colin.”

  He grinned at the newest Terriot princess. “You’d know, wouldn’t you?” He took a quick step back in case Turow decided to punch him then conceded, “Make it quick.” With a wink, he turned and sauntered down the hall.

  As Turow shut the door, Sylvia skewered him with a glare. “Tell me again why you were in such a rush to get back to your big, happy family?”

  Refusing to be baited, Row shrugged. “Col’s okay. We went through some stuff together in New Orleans.”

  She waited, but when he didn’t elaborate, huffed, “Some stuff. I see. Male bonding. Don’t let me keep you from running off to join your new pals.”

  He finished dressing, deflecting her irritation with his silence.

  “You shouldn’t be up at all until someone takes a look at your side,” she cautioned, further annoyed by his smile.

  “I thought all that playing doctor last night convinced you I’d survive.”

  Provoked into a faint smile of her own, she dropped down on the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh. “Go. Play nice with the boys. Don’t worry about me. I’ve already eaten my breakfast of champions.”

  Now he was reluctant. “I won’t be gone long.”

  She waved him toward the door. “I’ll be here. I’ve still got June through September to thumb through.”

  Not like that image made it any easier to leave.

  Instead of using the spacious and imposing great hall the way Bram had, Cale gathered his brothers in the relaxed ambiance of the game room below. Three were missing, two by death, one by treachery. Their leader was anything but relaxed.

  Since Turow had last seen him, nearly broken mentally and physically in his struggle to defeat James’s sinister partner in Louisiana, Cale had recovered both strength and purpose just as Turow had lost his own. Nodding to Rico and Kip, who’d returned from New Orleans with Colin, Turow threaded through his other coolly aloof brothers to murmur regrets to his king for making them wait. Cale brushed off his apology with a sly smile.

  “Survived the night, I see.”

  “I did.”

  “Any more surprises you plan to throw my way?”

  “No, my king.”

  “Good. Grab some coffee.”

  While he did so, Cale assumed his favorite spot seated on the bar top, his relaxed pose not preparing his brothers for what followed.

  “One of you in this room is betraying us all.”

  Silence, total and electrifying. Subtle glances shifted among them.

  “One of you has turned against your king and against your people by giving shelter and assistance to our lost brother, James. This is the only time I’ll make this offer. Come to me before the end of this day, talk to me like a man instead acting against me like a coward, and you’ll be forgiven. I don’t want to lose any more of my brothers. If any of the rest of you have doubts or questions about my ability to lead, come to me now and air them. I won’t hold them against you. We must stand united, or we will fall one by one. I don’t demand as our father did that the only way is my way. Hell, I’ve had enough trouble finding my own path.” When that garnered a few smiles, he continued. “But one thing I know is that there’s a greater enemy out there, one none of us has seen, and it will decimate us if we can’t work together.”

  “What’s out there, and what threat are they to us here on our mountain?”

  Cale looked to Lee, the family man amongst his randy brethren. “We aren’t safe here. Not when treachery moves among us.”

  Subtle glances slid to Turow where he stood, as always, in the background. He stiffened when his king’s gaze touched on him then quickly moved away as Cale continued.

  “Our enemy is in the north. Their weapon is turning us against ourselves by exploiting our weakness and our isolation.”

  “Weakness?” Rico challenged. “We’re the House of Terriot. None can breech our borders or crush our ranks.”

  “Not if we stand as one. Not if we understand what moves against us. It’s not an army we can see, one that meets us in battle. It’s a whisper in the night, a thief that steals our confidence and makes promises it won’t keep. It divides us, let’s us believe we’re strong enough to take whatever we want on our own. But that’s a lie, brothers. A lie I let poison my mind and body while in New Orleans. If not for the strength of my family, I don’t know if I could have found my way out on my own.” His gaze touched on the four who’d saved him, nodding to each in appreciation before going on.

  “Our brother James believes their lie. He’s let it turn him against us, against his family, his clan, his kind. They’ve let him believe that after he does their will, he’ll be rewarded. He’ll be dead is what he’ll be. There’s no honor among these cold creatures in the North. I’d hoped to bring our brother back home, into our fold, but he’s lost to us and he’s lost to himself. That breaks my heart and makes me all the more determined not to lose any more of you.”

  “You let James go, but embrace another who betrayed us,” Stephen grumbled. When Cale’s expression stiffened, he quickly clarified, “I don’t speak of my brother. His loyalty is unquestionable. But I wonder if he, too, has been misled by promises that will harm us all when broken.”

  The agreeing murmurs couldn’t go unaddressed. Instead of suppressing them, Cale looked to Turow and asked, “Do you want to speak to that?”

  When all attention turned to him, Turow didn’t shrink from their stares. His answer echoed with certainty.

  “I believed as you did. I saw a female corrupted by greed and a lust for power, willing to turn on her own to get it. If that were still true, I’d have released her to your justice. But what I found was someone who’d believed that lie and lost everything because of it. Who discovered through that loss how she’d been deceived and wants only to return to the safety of her family. If not to be accepted or forgiven, to at least be protected. I vowed to do that and I will because she saved my life, not just once, but three times, with a bravery and determination I’d never have believed possible.” He waited for murmurs of surprise to die down. “All I ask is that you allow her the chance to restore her own.”

  Silence, then a chuckle from Rico.

  “Those are more words than I’ve heard come out of your mouth over a lifetime.”

  Turow smiled slightly as laughter, not the mocking kind, rippled through the gathering. When it died down, he addressed him, and them.

  “Will you believe them?”

  Rico studied him carefully before he answered. “I believe you. Is that enough?”

  A nod. “For now.”

  Sylvia showered, smiling to herself as she remembered her last one then dressed in the new jeans and softly fringed chamois shirt she’d purchased. Damp hair braided back, she prowled the tiny room, poking into drawers and the single monastic closet but finding only one personal item in it, aside from the reading material.

  Sitting cross-legged on the now made bed, she regarded the s
evere face of Mildred Terriot. The woman glared back at her in displeasure. After her wild-child daughter died when Turow was still an adolescent, Mildred had raised him in her strict household, determined to drive off his father’s influence the way she would a demon set on soul possession. Begrudgingly, Sylvia thanked her for that.

  Then she chuckled ruefully.

  When, exactly, had she decided to embrace her life as a Terriot princess? Total insanity, probably conceived during that sensual shower, but at some point her resistance to settling in with Turow had begun to fade. No longer clinging to their bond as a means of escape, she’d begun to see the potential of it as a satisfying future. Not the one her mother wanted for her, but the one her father had urged her to pursue when he read to her of handsome princes and fairytale endings.

  Her fairytale endings seemed to come when she was the one banished so others could have their happily-ever-afters.

  Could Turow change that for her? Here? In this place where she’d done more harm than good?

  “It wasn’t my idea,” she told the scowling female. “I didn’t set out to seduce him away from you. But now that I have, you’d better get used to it. There’s a new female in his life, and she won’t be scared off by assassins, a hateful clan, or by one mean old granny.”

  The door opened. Sylvia looked up from the photo to Turow, smiling in welcome until his brow lowered, expression stilling when he saw what she held.

  “I was just communing with your grandmother. I’m surprised she hasn’t made an appearance to show her disapproval of your choice.”

  He didn’t advance into the room, saying in a toneless voice, “I’d be more surprised if she did. She’s dead.”

  Sylvia started, thinking she’d misunderstood. “What?”

  “She died.”

  Seeing him standing there, still and stiff, the flat effect on his face gave her heart a terrible wrench. She laid the picture carefully aside and stood, the need to go to him halted by his distancing step back.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” she stammered.

  “Why would you?”

  Was he asking how would she have known or why would she have cared? The subtle difference yawned wide.

  “When was the funeral?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think there was one.”

  She stared at him aghast. “You don’t know? When did she die?”

  “Soon after I left.”

  After he’d left his clan in pursuit of her, her mother and James. She was the reason he’d left an old woman to die alone.

  An awful guilt wadded up in her throat, making her strike out in anger to defuse it. “Cale didn’t tell you? He didn’t insist that you come back to bury your only family?”

  “He was on his deathbed at the time. I was given a job to do. I wouldn’t have come back anyway. Why? She was dead, and you three thought you’d gotten away with murder.”

  Boom. There it was. After all his talk and promises. He blamed her for his distress. She was the villain of their story, not the princess.

  “I didn’t know about Cale,” she explained tightly. “Not until long after we’d gone.”

  Turow rubbed at his eyes, the gesture speaking more loudly of pain and grief than he ever would. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Of course it mattered! Now, every time he looked at her, he’d not only see her betrayal of their clan but the death of his beloved grandmother.

  How could they ever recover from that?

  “I’ll get my coat.”

  He blinked up at her. “What? Why?”

  “So we can find out where she’s buried.”

  Blankness gave way to a subtle objection. “There’s no need for you—”

  “Yes, there is. There’s every need. I never got a chance to say words over my mother. I’ll be damned if you don’t take that opportunity.” She grabbed up her new parka, tugging it on fiercely. When she met him at the door, he regarded her wearily.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not myself.”

  Yes, he was. He was more himself in this raw, unforgiving moment than she’d ever seen him. Now, she’d have to find a way to live with that.

  Of course, Kendra had all the answers. She’d taken care of the details while Turow was on the hunt and Cale was on his way to New Orleans. She'd seen Mildred Terriot into the ground and properly mourned. She was the one Turow leaned on as they approached the snowy gravesite where the wind wailed the way he should have but didn’t.

  Using a gloved hand, their queen swept the fresh stone clear. “I got something simple, next to your mother. I thought she’d like that.”

  Turow nodded, silent and stoic.

  “There was a small service, well attended. She was as respected as you are loved.”

  Those quiet words took him slowly to his knees before the plain, respectable stone, where he bowed his head, shoulders shaking.

  Sylvia hung back, giving him this moment of remembrance to say his good-byes, not knowing if an offer of sympathy would be welcomed or despised. Until Row turned, loss and despair carved starkly upon his face, his eyes dark as the slated sky as he looked, not to the tender-hearted Kendra, but to her, his mate.

  Instinct rather than experience took her to him, to cup a cold, damp cheek with her hand. The other ruffled gently through snow-sprinkled hair, urging him to lean into her as they mourned silently side-by-side, each their own. Remembering the strong, authoritative women who’d shaped their lives in such very different directions and yet, in an odd way that would have probably annoyed both those women, brought Sylvia and Turow together.

  Wind picked up, turning fluffy flakes into stinging projectiles. Feeling a tremendous sigh move through Turow, Sylvia urged him to his feet. His arm circled her, bringing her close to the protection of his body as he faced Kendra.

  “Thank you for your thoughtfulness, my queen.” That last choked off as his throat tightened.

  Kendra’s sad smile encompassed them both. “I’m sorry for your losses.”

  The inclusion brought a wash of unexpected tears as Sylvia’s whisper was barely heard above the keening wind.

  “Thank you . . . my queen.”

  Returning to the warmth of Turow’s small room, they shed damp outerwear, hanging it to dry on the knob and edge of the open closet door. Noting Turow’s guarded movements, Sylvia touched his elbow.

  “The weather couldn’t have helped all your bumps and bruises. You must be hurting. You still need to heal.” In more than just body. “Take a hot shower.”

  “I think I will.”

  They stood toe to toe, studying one another in the rare, defenseless moment. Turow touched fingertips to her jaw, stroking gently before leaning down to lightly claim her chilled lips. They warmed quickly under his tender attention, movements slow and infinitely gentle.

  “Forgive me for earlier,” he murmured softly.

  She was about to ask for what when he straightened and that look seeped back into his eyes. That quiet, intense feeling that curled about her soul, stirring up feelings inside her that thrilled and terrified her.

  No.

  No!

  She refused to let it be love.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “So, you went to see the old battle axe. How’d that go?”

  Wes never pulled any punches when the two of them were alone. Sylvia afforded him the same courtesy. That was how they’d gotten through growing up together without bloodshed. She was grateful he’d accepted her request for lunch away from the compound, hesitating only slightly when she insisted they go alone. Rosie, apparently, disliked being left out of the social loop. He found them a quiet table overlooking the lake at a trendy boutique hotel that buzzed with tourist trade and boasted an eclectic menu. A far cry from convenience store burritos. Stringed music played softly and a fire blazed nearby, bathing her in a toasty heat that failed to warm her inside.

  “Wesley, that’s very unkind of you.”

  He blinked at her chiding words then snorted. “Thi
s from the queen of mean-spiritedness.”

  “She meant everything to Turow. He was devastated not to be here when she died.”

  Her fault.

  “I feel for him, but in my opinion, he traded way up when he swapped her influence for yours.”

  Her turn to express surprise. “I doubt anyone else sees it that way.”

  “Then they’re blind. That old bat smothered him with her pious rantings and holier-than-thou craptitude. Row didn’t become a half decent guy until after you banged him brainless. I bet you wearing his mark has Granny trying to claw her way out of the grave.”

  “Wesley!” Sylvia shivered at the thought. When he shrugged off her indignation, she added, “She did the best she could to raise a good, decent man among the lot of you, and I’m grateful for that.”

  He chuckled. “Bet you’re teaching him all sorts of bad habits now.”

  Sylvia tried to hold to her crossness, but a well-pleased smile snuck out. “I didn’t have to teach him anything.”

  Brows soared. “Huh! It’s always the quiet ones. Good for him. Good for you both. His mom would have loved having you for a daughter.”

  Unable to imagine any parent welcoming her with open arms, Sylvia murmured, “I don’t remember her.”

  Wes leaned back in his chair, fondness softening his expression. “She was pretty and wild. Probably drove ole Mildred mad trying to keep her in the house like the respectable mother of a Terriot prince. She used to sneak me and Jamie beers so she could listen to our tunes and play poker.” He sighed. “A real shame the old bitch snuffed out a light that bright.”

  She puzzled over her brother’s remark. “Didn’t she die in a car accident?”

  “Did she? That’s not what rumor said.”

  Sylvia drew a sharp breath. “She killed herself?” The notion horrified even as she leaned in closer. “Says who?”

  “No one said it out loud where the old man might hear it, but a lot of us thought so. Figured she saw it as the only way to escape the hell that old woman made of her life.”

  “But she had a child!”