by L. L. Muir
He heard Wickham’s voice and looked out the rear window to find the man talking into his cellular. The call was brief, serious, and over by the time he opened the driver’s side door. He turned over the engine, put the truck into gear, then pulled away slowly. “Ye have questions,” he said.
Percy thought, for once in his life, he should keep his mouth shut.
Wickham closed his eyes and shook his head briefly. “Sophie Pennel is alive and well, lad. I swear it upon the heads of my children.”
Percy shrugged. He would believe it when he saw her again. If he saw her again.
“It is high time we had a long talk with yer father—”
“He is not my father!”
Wickham looked surprised, like someone had just stepped on his toe. “Auch, aye? That’s the way of it, then?” His eyes narrowed. “Let me give ye a bit of advice, before ye dig yerself too deep in that cold and bitter hole. A young man of fourteen years has an unfillable belly, aye?”
Percy nodded reluctantly, though he didn’t understand the point.
“So believe me when I say that there is an equally gaping hole in his head.”
He wasn’t about to agree with that.
“And ye cannae trust just anyone to fill it. Do ye understand?”
Percy folded his arms and glowered out the window. “I dinnae have a hole in my head.”
Wickham laughed. “Oh, aye. Ye do if ye cannot appreciate what Quinn and Jules have done for ye. If ye cannot call the man father when he is the only father ye’ll ken.”
“No. Ye’re wrong. I do know my father. He is Chief of the great Gordon Clan—”
“Was.”
Percy made a face and shook his head. “Is. The past is not dead. Yer sisters say it often enough. The past is not dead. My family is still back there, looking for me. Waiting for me.” He swallowed a hard lump of anger and forced down some nasty-tasting humility as well. “And if ye and yer sisters will only help me…I can go home again.” With disloyal tears filling his eyes, he took a deep breath and said the words he’d been practicing for a long time. “Deny it…if ye can.”
Wickham pulled out onto the A9, then glanced his way. “Ye meant to say deny it if ye dare. Ye meant to threaten me, Young Percy. The lad I have trusted with my own bairns more times than I can count.” He clicked his tongue. “Ye would threaten all of us?”
It was his worst nightmare come true, but a nightmare he’d been preparing for. He mustn’t falter!
He took some long, deep breaths and allowed the rhythm of the tires on the roadway to fill the silence while he tried to calm his racing heart. When he was certain his voice wouldn’t crack with the telling, he spoke again.
“Ye haven’t said what has become of Sophie Pennel?”
Wickham’s nostrils flared but he remained calm otherwise. “She is at Inverbrae.”
“Inverbrae, Scotland?”
“Aye.” Wickham glanced between Percy’s face and the road. “Why?”
“Because, Uncle Wickham, there is no such place.”
The man drove silently for miles. Percy’s fingers began to tingle and he had to remind himself not to hold his breath while he waited for the explosion sure to come.
“Inverbrae is as real as Castle Ross, lad. Ye’ll have to trust me on this.”
Laughter barked from his mouth, pent up emotion he’d been trying to keep in check. But it was too late. “That is the point, though. I cannot trust ye. I cannot trust yer sisters. Neither can I trust Quinn, or Jules. None of ye. Ye all keep yer secrets and act as if nothing is wrong. And one night, I will wake to find a blade hanging over me.”
“A blade?” Wickham seemed duly disturbed by the image. “Young Percy—”
“I know that they fear what I might become.”
“Percy!” The warning was stern, but more of a reproach than a threat. “Whatever you are thinking, I beg ye to stop this instant. Ye’re mistaken. No one fears—”
“Save yer breath, sir. I ken what I’ve heard.”
“Then ye’ve misheard.” He reached over, grabbed Percy’s arm, and dragged him across the cab of the truck, forcing him to sit next to him. But instead of trying to shake sense into him, he wrapped his arm around his shoulders and hugged him close. “Ye’re family, Percy. And if ye wish to hear the truth—all of it—then ye shall hear it. I cannot imagine yer parents—”
“They’re not my—”
“Will deny ye anything. They cannot know ye feel this way or they would have explained afore now, aye?” He yanked him close and kissed the top of his head as Percy had seen him do with his own boys. “Ye have my word, son. They’ll explain it all. And I will stay until they do.”
It was the most humiliating moment of Percy’s life when he hid his face against Wickham’s shirt and greeted like wee Gavin. Obviously, it had been a relief to have that speech behind him. No more need to play it over and over again in his mind. And it was a relief to hear that Wickham, at least, was not waiting for him to turn into a monster.
But he couldn’t believe the same was true of his parents. Even if they denied it, he knew what he’d heard. They would never fully trust him—deep inside, he was still…
…a Gordon.
Chapter Five
It was still light when they pulled up the road to Monty and Jillian’s house, though it wasn’t a house so much as it was a…monstrosity. Easily the size of a small castle, the house had turrets on its four corners, a variety of stone facades, and an immense wood door that looked like it should be lowered rather than opened.
And down the left side of the keep flowed a healthy-sized burn. Monty called it the Ross/Mackay burn.
Quinn always excused the size of the place by claiming that Monty had been raised in a castle and needed wider spaces than most in order to feel at home. The explanation was lacking, however, since Monty’s sister, Morna, had grown up in the same home, and yet she and her husband Ivar lived on the far side of that same burn, in a house much more modest. And Morna always appeared to be just as happy with her lot in life.
Every chance he got, Ivar called it the MacKay/Ross burn. Though it seemed they’d been arguing over the name all their lives, neither man was willing to concede.
Percy sat once again on his own side of the seat. “I thought ye were taking me home.”
“Yer parents are here. Everyone is here.”
Percy’s stomach pitched when he recognized the cars parked out front. The small red car belonged to the sisters, unless Ian was still driving it, which he doubted. Quinn and Jules’ silver SUV was next. The black Mercedes-Benz belonged to Isobelle and Gaspar. An entire family reunion.
Grand.
“Looks like poor timing,” he said, letting Wickham off the hook for promises made. “We mustn’t upset the others—” He gasped. Beyond the Mercedes was a small white car that made his heart trip. It was Soncerae’s.
“We mustn’t—”
“Soni is here because I asked her to come.”
Asked her? No!
“I called her before I got in the truck. She phoned the others. They’ve all come for ye, Percy.” He mumbled to himself, then. “My sisters cannot have come from Edinburgh in an hour’s time. Three at best.” He shrugged. “Just as well that they’ve joined us.” He chuckled. “Though I doubt yer uncle Monty will think so.”
Percy gripped the handle. He’d never let go. He couldn’t go in there and face Soni. No matter what he’d wanted for the last year, he was mortified that she now knew how imperfect he was. All this time, she’d been kind to him. Now he wondered if she’d only pitied him, for what he would one day revert to.
Quinn’s words echoed in his head again. His eyes are clear of the anger that once was in them. So, unless I see that again… Well, he’d been good and angry for the last year. Had Quinn seen it yet? Were they already keeping Emmie away from him, just in case?
“Easy, lad. Easy now.” Wickham’s low voice coaxed him out of his desperate thoughts. “Soni is only here so ye ca
n have a friend at yer side. And perhaps she can explain things better than we can. She is young, still. She can see things through yer eyes, aye?” He reached for the handle and opened his door. “Now. Deep breath. And for the love of… Please cease yer thinking that something is wrong with ye, when there isnae.”
Wickham got out. His door slammed shut. Percy considered locking both doors and hiding on the floor until everyone left, but he couldn’t throw a fit like a child—not with Soni about.
Maybe he could go inside and act like nothing was wrong. He could say he didn’t know what Wickham was talking about, that he didn’t need to know anything at all. Play dumb. Oh, yeah. That would make Soni admire him…not.
Why, oh why, had he called Soni?
He groaned one last time and opened his door, but he gave Wickham a nasty scowl to make sure, if he hadn’t read his mind, that he could at least read his expression.
The man laughed. “Yer disapproval has been noted, Young Percy.” He waited for him to catch up, then thumped him on the back—not in support, but to make sure he kept moving.
Percy knocked on the huge door. Behind him, Wickham chuckled, reached around to open the door, and nudged him forward. Into the foyer came Jules. She stopped five feet away, clasped her hands together, and bit her lip. She always did that when she was trying to stay calm, when she wanted to be anything but calm.
He swallowed a lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. Her dark hair flew back and forth with the force of it. “Nothing to be sorry about.” Then she stepped forward, opened her hands, and very carefully put them on his shoulders. Looking deep into his eyes, she searched for something. Maybe she was looking for signs of the monster she expected him to become.
Wickham cleared his throat behind him. “Give her a chance to speak, lad. Assume nothing.”
Alarmed, Jules looked at the man, then back at him. “What is it you assume, honey?”
Percy shook his head. He couldn’t explain without losing it again, and he wasn’t going to turn into a cry baby in front of Soni. Until he got a grip, he wasn’t going to say anything at all.
“Perhaps later,” Wickham suggested, then nudged him toward the back of the house. “They’re in the great room?”
Jules nodded. “Only place we all fit, besides the castle.”
Wickham lowered his voice. “It’s best we keep away from the castle until all is settled, aye?”
Jules’ eyes widened, then she nodded and went on ahead. “Percy and Wickham are here,” she said to the room at large, even though everyone could plainly see them. She wrung her hands together like Lady Macbeth trying to get the bloodstains off.
Quinn stepped up to her, pulled her hands apart, and pointed at an empty chair. “Sit down, love. He’s here. He’s safe. Stop yer fashin’.”
She nodded and took her seat. Quinn strode over to the doorway, gave Percy a wink, then stretched out his hand to Wickham. “Thank ye.”
Wickham nodded. “Where are yer bairns?”
“Not here,” Monty said with a grin. “Yer sisters were prompted to come up to see the children, so they’re tending to them—at Morna’s. Isobelle and Gaspar won’t arrive for a while, yet, but they’re coming.”
Monty and Jillian had four-year-old twin boys, Ewan and Seumas, and a daughter, Lucy, who was the same age as Emmie. The girls were hard to separate each time they set eyes on each other, and they loved nothing better than bossing around Thomas, Morna’s little boy, making him drink imaginary tea and such. As soon as Isobelle arrived with her son, Matteo, tables would be turned, literally.
J.W. and Gavin were missing out on a grand party.
Wickham knocked Percy on the shoulder as he moved past him into the room to sit in a large leather chair against the far wall. To Percy’s right, Jillian perched on an ottoman watching her sister across the room and worrying. Her husband, Monty, sat in the chair at her back and watched her with the same look on his face. Both of them paused to give Percy a smile and a wink, then went back to worrying.
On the couch beyond them, Morna and Ivar waved in unison. They were hanging on each other, as always, which looked a little silly considering how pregnant Morna was. The baby was due after Christmas.
In the corner, on the Queen Anne chair, Soncerae sat like a queen. She leaned forward and said something to Wickham, then looked up and blushed like she’d been caught talking about him.
“Hiya, Percy,” she said innocently. “Hope ye don’t mind me buttin’ in like this.”
“Naw,” he lied. “I don’t mind. That is to say, there is nothing to talk about, really... Wickham misunderstood—”
“‘Tis time, Percy.” Wickham tilted his head to the side. “Tell them what ye truly want, lad. They’re listenin’. Don’t waste the chance to be heard.”
Miss the chance? Was he kidding? What he wanted most was for the floor to open up and swallow him like Jonah’s whale. That’s what he wanted. But when he looked around at all the faces watching him—patient, concerned, devoted—he decided to share his next-best wish before he could change his mind.
“I want to go home.”
Chapter Six
Though it was one of the toughest things he’d ever done, Percy looked at Jules when he announced he wanted to go home. She flinched and he felt it, but he was there to be honest.
She knew exactly what he was asking. But she was also hurt by it. He knew her well enough to know she thought she’d failed him somehow. He’d always known she would react that way. And while he would have liked to spare her that pain, she was going to feel it no matter how he broke the news to her.
Well, he’d broken it. And as he looked around the room, the reactions were not what he’d expected.
Ivar and Morna looked worried, but said nothing. Jillian leaned forward and hid her face in her hands. Monty scooted to the edge of his chair and laid his huge paw on her back, but for Percy, he had a warm, understanding smile. Where his wife was concerned he was always a little insecure, always touching her if possible, even though Jillian laughed at him for it. Monty seemed to think she might disappear on him or something.
Percy would never act like that. Even when he married, he would never...
His eyes found Soni in the corner, sitting straight with her hands on the arms of her chair. She appeared slightly exhausted. Maybe a little under the weather? But what she didn’t look was disappointed. In fact, she seemed amused. Not laughing at him, just kind of…entertained by it all.
Wickham gave him a nod of approval, though he seemed to be waiting. Maybe he thought Percy should confess that he’d thought the Muirs were serial killers or something. But with Soni in the room, there was no way he’d admit it.
Further to the left was the face he most dreaded. Quinn’s.
His foster father’s eyes were closed, but when he opened them, he forced a smile. He gazed long and hard into Percy’s eyes, winked, then nodded. He understood. The tears pooling in his eyes said he didn’t like hearing it, but he understood. Maybe he was even a little relieved to know what had been on Percy’s mind for so long.
Jules stood up and turned to face her husband. Quinn wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes while he held her. Percy had the sudden urge to flee, but a voice purred in his head.
Steady…
An excruciating moment later, Quinn and Jules broke apart just far enough to make a spot for him, waving him to them, giving him no choice but to join their embrace.
On his way over, he was sure to roll his eyes for Soni to see.
His foster parents hugged him hard and punished him by not letting him go for a really long time. Yeah, he’d hurt them, and he was a jerk for doing it when they’d done so much to make him happy. But the last year had been hell on him, too. He could never go back to feeling like their son again, not really, after he’d overheard them.
“So…” Jules finally let go. Her brows puckered. “You want to go see it again?”
“He doesn’t w
ish to see the ruins, Juliet.” Wickham spoke to her, but never took his eyes off Percy. “He wants to go back home. And he believes—in fact, he is sure—we can help him do so.”
Jillian jumped to her feet and hurried to join her sister. Quinn, Monty and Ivar moved toward the kitchen and bent their heads together, though they never left the room.
Jules kept touching Percy, like she was searching for a wound, ignoring the tears that poured down her cheeks. Jillian patted his shoulder and kept shaking her head, though she looked off into the distance, like she was searching for something.
“I’m so sorry.” This time, it was Jules saying it to him. Then she kept repeating it, like she didn’t know anything better to say.
“Wait just a moment,” Quinn said to the room at large. “From now on, we insist that no one,” he narrowed his eyes at his wife and Jillian, “and I do mean no one, is to read anyone’s mind. If ye cannae control yerselves, we invite ye to join the children over at Morna’s.”
All of a sudden, everyone started speaking at once. The volume got so loud so fast that, if they had any close neighbors, someone would have called the police. A shrill, deafening whistle cut through the room and everyone covered their ears in self-defense. Quinn stood with his hands on his hips, glowering.
Jillian raised a finger. “You mean…Percy knows?”
Quinn narrowed his eyes. “How could he not?”
Jillian leaned close to his ear. “It’s a family talent, you see. And usually just between twins. To Lorraine and Loretta, I think it’s probably as natural as breathing in and out. I know Wickham shares their, uh, talent, even though his twin died. But Soni is by far the best at it. You should be on your toes with all of them if you have secrets you want kept.” She grimaced and looked around the room. “Or better yet, don’t count on keeping anything to yourself, right?”
Quinn appeared behind Jules and put his chin on her shoulder. “Dinna fash, Percy. Yer mother and Aunt Jillian rather suck at it. Yer secrets are safe around them.”
