"Aye, Ciarda was a long time ago, lass. For two weeks, she was ma life. We didna love each ither, but we found comfort an' happiness for a time. She was a gentle womon, Taryn. A wee lost. A wee sad. And, aye, a wee lonely."
"Do you resent her not returning to you?"
Broc shook his head and sighed. "I knew she would return to her husband. Many a time, though, I regretted no' tellin' her wha' she brought to me durin' her stay. She gave ma bitter heart hope, Taryn, tha' one day I, too, would leave Karok's realm."
"Why didn't you tell me that you read her journal and knew about Lachlan?"
Broc shrugged. "Too much happened too fast efter I finished it. As for thinkin' yer Lachlan was ma son, how could I? I already felt our connection afore I met him, but I didna believe him ma son, Taryn. Mayhaps a descendent. Ma son would've been dead many a year, aye?"
"If your son were a normal man," she grinned.
"Aye, like his da, he be far from normal."
"Do you know what else I figured out?"
Again his eyebrows lifted. "Tha' you love me for me, I hope!"
She laughed. "That, too. You know, in the last year, I've met a born again ghost—Lachlan, of course...and Beth! Can't forget her—fairies, other ghosts, and a gargoyle. The pinnacle of this collection is, of course, you. I'm in love with a man over two hundred years old."
"And?"
"You're five years younger than your son," she said straight-faced.
Broc blinked, frowned, and blinked again.
"You're twenty-eight, and Lachlan's thirty-three."
Broc scrinched up his face thoughtfully. "Wha' a crownin' oddity."
"People are going to assume you're brothers, maybe even identical twins."
"I canna claim to be his da?"
"Not without causing a helluva uproar," she chuckled. She sobered. "Have you seen Lachlan since he stormed out of the house?"
"No."
"He'll come around, Broc. He will."
"You an' I have a physical bond to build on, lass. Lachlan and I...well, I dinna think he'll easily get past the fact I seduced his mither."
Taryn sighed wistfully. "I agree you could have worded that better."
"I wish, Taryn, he would have read Ciarda's journal. Tis lost to fire now. Her words were meant for him and none ither."
"What was she like, Broc?"
"Beautiful and soft-spoken. She had an extraordinary laugh. Musical. She didna speak o’ Guin. Readin' her journal filled me in on wha' she endured wi' him. Lachlan was her one joy, Taryn. He was her world. I didna tell Lachlan but, she wrote tha' every time she looked into his eyes, rememberin’ her 'dream' at the inn helped her to cope wi' her life wi' Guin. It saddened me to read tha'. Ma lover and ma son left to the machinations o' tha' sadistic bastard."
He clenched his teeth and released a breath through his nostrils. "Guin knew Lachlan wasna his. He never said so, but Ciarda wrote she suspected such. She was afraid he would one day harm Lachlan."
"From what little I know, he made Lachlan's life hell," Taryn murmured.
"Despite Guin, I couldna be prouder o' the mon ma son became," Broc said, pride glowing through him. "Blue told me o' his past. Gawd...left to die in yonder tower! She told me abou' Beth, too, an' Winston an' Deliah. Each a miracle, aye?"
"Aye," Taryn beamed. "Like us."
"Aye, like us."
"I know Lachlan will accept you," she said, entwining her fingers through his, "because he's like his father. His real father."
"Meanin'?"
"You're both stubborn and dead-damned determined to do what's right. You, Mr. I-have-to-stay-with-Karok. It's that honor thing."
"A mon isna a mon wi'ou' it."
"There are a lot of manless men around, believe me. Lachlan will approach you because he'll feel he must. You're his father. His sense of honor won't let him stay away long."
"Know me tha' well, do you?" asked a deep, disgruntled voice from behind them.
Taryn stood. Broc rose slowly, his posture stiff, his mind preparing for an unpleasant confrontation.
"Lachlan," Taryn said with shaky cheerfulness.
"Lass," he greeted somberly, his gaze riveted on Broc. "Would you mind leavin' the mon and I to talk?"
"Would I mind leaving you and your father to talk? Not at all."
Before she could step away, Broc gripped her arm. "Dinna go."
Taryn glanced at Lachlan before conjuring up a smile for Broc. "I need to. You two have a lot to discuss." She kissed him on the mouth then headed to the far side of the gazebo, stopping on the steps when Lachlan muttered, "Thank you."
"You're welcome. And Lachlan?"
He looked at her, frowning.
"Be nice."
He watched her until she shrank into the distance then leveled his frown on Broc. A long silence followed, their gazes locked, their bearings racked with hostility. Then Lachlan's shoulders relaxed and he released a long breath.
"I heard wha' you said abou' ma mither and Guin."
"Twas for Taryn's ears alone, I spoke," Broc said coldly and stepped onto the platform.
"You dinna love her."
Broc shook his head. "Adored her, aye. Was grateful for her company, och, aye."
"At least ye're honest abou' tha'," Lachlan muttered.
"Tis no' ma disposition to lie, Lachlan."
Lachlan glanced off to one side for a time. "Ye're five years younger than me."
A reluctant smile quirked on Broc's mouth. "One mair anomaly in the MacLachlan saga."
Lachlan nodded distractedly.
"Lachlan—"
"I need to say somethin'," Lachlan cut him off, and moved two paces forward, stopping short as if wary of standing too close to Broc. "I loved ma mither. I should have read her journal, but...you only know a wee portion o' wha' she suffered."
"I realize tha'."
"Truth be, I was afraid I would find in those pages, her disappointment in me as a son. As a mon."
"There be none." Broc rolled his eyes heavenward in an attempt to dam tears pressing for release. "For neither o' us." He forced himself to look at his son, who studied him intensely.
"How do you feel abou' her no' tellin' me o' yer existence?"
"Lachlan, she had her reasons. When Karok first brought her below, I was loud and demandin', an' full of rage and contempt for ma fate. I can understand her no' willin' to risk returnin' to me wi' a child. I wouldna let her or you leave, even if it meant imprisonin' ye both wi' me in tha' cursed realm."
"You forgive her?" asked Lachlan quietly.
"She did right by ye, Lachlan, as any proper mither would. Do you resent her silence?"
Lachlan's frown smoothed into bewilderment. "No' resent. Confused she didna tell me. I thought we were close...confided in one anither."
"She wanted to protect ye, Lachlan."
He nodded and stared at Broc with an intense gleam Broc couldn't define. "Why did Onora bring me to Karok's world? Why no' tell me abou' you?"
"I canna guess her motives."
"She wasna a figment o' ma imagination. I know tha' now. Why or how she came to be in ma life, I'll never know."
"Is it tha' important to you to have the answers?"
Lachlan sighed and offered a half grin. "No' really. Canna wish for wha' I know I canna have, aye?"
"True enough." Broc nibbled on his lower lip. "Where-ah, do we stand, Lachlan?"
Lachlan glanced about him. "In the gazebo."
"I meant—"
"I know wha' you meant," Lachlan sighed. "An' I know you are ma faither. Younger than me. Tis hard to digest."
"Can you accept me in time?"
"I accept you now," Lachlan said matter-of-factly.
Taken aback, Broc made a feeble gesture with his hands. "Ye do?"
"I may be stubborn, but I'm no' daft," Lachlan quipped. "I canna look at you wi'ou' the truth slappin' me in the face."
"Ye accept the truth." Broc heaved a breath to quell the unease in the pit of his stomach. "Bu
t do ye accept me?"
Silence stretched for a long moment. Lachlan closed the distance, his nose but an inch from Broc's. Broc held his ground, anticipating a backlash of emotion from his son.
"Do you expect me to call you faither or da?"
"It doesna matter wha' comes from yer mouth," said Broc, and poked a finger at Lachlan's chest, "but wha' comes from here."
"Respect, then?"
Broc shrugged. "I must earn tha'."
"Me, too."
"To ou'siders, we could be brithers, aye, as long as we ken atween us, Lachlan, we're faither and son. Ye're a MacLachlan, blood and soul. Our clan is the oldest in recorded Scottish history, and for centuries, twas MacLachlans who placed kings on the thrones o' Ireland. Descended from kings, ourselves, we are."
Lachlan chuckled. "From kingship to sheep farmer?"
"Aye, tis life. Farmin' be no less important in the strength o' a people, than those who rule. We bear the blood o' warriors—no' always admirable when it interferes wi' common sense, mind you."
"I'll call you Broc."
"I can live wi' tha'."
"Abou' Taryn...."
"Aye?" Broc said warily.
"If you marry, she'll be ma...mither."
A laugh burst from Broc. "I daresay she willna take to ye callin' her such."
"Perish the thought."
"Lachlan, I do love her."
"I know."
Silence.
"So...wha' do we do now?"
Lachlan's eyebrows inched upward. "Have you had supper?"
"No. Ye?"
"No."
Silence.
"Lachlan?"
Silence, then, "Wha'?"
Broc struggled to get beyond the fear of this last secret. Before his courage could bolt, he blurted, "There be mair you need to know."
"Somethin' to do wi' the fairies, aye?"
Lachlan's words and cold tone took Broc aback. "Ye ken?"
"I sensed yer mistrust o' Blue an' Reith in Karok's chamber, and again when you met Deliah. I canna help but question wha' kind o' mon is afraid o' beings as wondrous as they."
Broc shuffled to the ornate railing and gripped the top, his back to his son. "Tis difficult."
"Mair so than wha' I already know?"
"Mayhaps."
"I'm listenin'," Lachlan said impatiently.
Silence, then, "Ye're fond o' fairies, aye?"
"Och, aye."
"How fond?"
Lachlan chuckled and scratched his nape. "They're a part o' me. I canna imagine ma life wi'ou' them."
Broc whirled to face his son when Lachlan was midway through his response. He felt ill, shaky, and suddenly feverish.
"Broc, say wha' needs sayin'."
Before he lost his nerve, Broc spilled the truth—the whole truth, including what he had learned from Blue. When he finished, he expected to see Lachlan flee, or at least to hear shouts of denial. Instead, seconds of silence followed until Lachlan nonchalantly said, "Fegs. It explains a lot."
Broc ran to Lachlan and flung his arms about him and held fast. "Ma son," he choked. "Ma son." Hesitantly, Lachlan's arms embraced his father. Then abruptly, they stepped back, each man embarrassed, self-conscious.
"Come," said Lachlan, heading for the steps. "Ma stomach's growlin'."
A reticent yet buoyant Broc followed.
When they were on the gravel park area near the house, Blue flew from around one of the posts and settled full-sized on the railing, tears streaming down her face. It should be beneath her to eavesdrop, but she was prepared to disperse a bit of fairy dust if the men's pride had stopped them from opening up lines of communication.
"Tears o' happiness, annsachd?"
Startled by Reith's sudden appearance in front of her, she nearly pitched backward. Reith grabbed her beneath the arms and swung her to her feet. She swayed then sputtered indignantly when his hands anchored possessively about her waist.
"Take your hands off me!"
"In due time," he said quietly, his impelling gaze staring deeply into her eyes. "Tis time we discuss—"
Blue slapped her palms to his chest to no avail. Her wings fluttered in irritation as high color stole into her face. "I'm warning you!"
"Ye always make this so difficult," he sighed and swiftly brushed her hands aside and crushed her to him, one hand at her nape beneath her long, blue-black hair, his other arm a steel band across her back. He chuckled deep in his throat when she sputtered in an attempt to speak. Her squirming quieted when she realized their close proximity had her at a distinct disadvantage. She could not whisk herself from his hold, not as long as his power counteracted her own.
Her wings drooped in reluctant resignation, and she vented her anger through a glower meant to cower him. This didn't work, of course. At some point since coming to Baird House, the gullible, easily pliable, self-indulgent boy that he had been, had grown into a man. A man who, in her heart of hearts—that place where anger could not adhere—was all that she had known he could be from the dawn of her birth.
But his very male tenacity at this moment was not appreciated.
"I hear ye brought Broc into the kingdom."
"Yes," she said breathlessly, her gaze off to one side.
"Concerned for him, were ye?"
Her gaze flitted to his eyes then away. "Yes. He and Lachlan and Taryn have reconciled their differences. Now, let me go."
"In a wee. And wha' o' our reconciliation?"
"It'll never happen," she said through clenched teeth, the landscape behind him now but a blur.
"No, annsachd?" he whispered against her ear.
Despite her anger, a shiver of yearning quivered through her. She forced herself to look him in the eye. Forced herself not to respond but for the stiffening of her spine.
"I'm not your darling. What part of my loathing the sight of you, don't you understand?"
A shadow of pain flickered across his face and vanished as a slow, challenging grin spread across his mouth. The hand at her nape slipped from her hair, and he brushed the backs of the fingers along her cheek. Another shiver coursed through her, and she locked her teeth so tightly, pain leapt along her jaw.
Tears burned behind her eyes. She fought them back with all her will and swallowed hard past a painful lump in her throat.
His fingertips tenderly caressed beneath her chin, over her chin, then across her lips. Her skin burned beneath his touch, her nerves sparking, weakening her resolve. When he unexpectedly pressed his brow to hers, her legs threatened to buckle. She mentally cursed her inability to resist him, and cursed MoNae for creating this flaw in her otherwise impeccable fortitude.
"I know ye love me, Blue," he said, his voice as soft as butterfly wings. "Almaist as much as I love ye."
He tilted her head back and she closed her eyes in anticipation of his kiss. Her heart raced. Her blood sang. Her breath grew labored. The mind could hate. The heart could not. Such was the law of nature.
Reith had not been created for her. His callous disregard for his lineage had prompted MoNae to intervene, and Blue was spawned, the very first and only to date, Faerie winter child. And thus so set apart from the rest of the kingdom, and designed for no other than the youngling once known as the Briar Prince, Blue had struggled from the beginning to not only fit in, but to make right the wrongs perpetrated by both the prince and the horrors cast upon the kingdom by The Sutherlands. A heavy burden upon her small shoulders, but one she accepted long ago.
A jolt rocked her at the feel of his mouth on hers, the kiss, like magic born from the well of a fairy’s soul, tearing down the walls of the darker emotions she nurtured. His arms cradled her, and the kiss deepened, freeing her mind of its daunting inhibitions.
Until an image of that fateful night when he had crippled her, wrenched her back to reality.
With a cry, she exploded in a frenzy of motion, pushing and jerking until at last she staggered back and saw him standing defeated, his arms listless at his sides.
> More images assaulted her. Of the night he declared war on Faerie. Of Allyon. Again, of his assault on her at the gazebo. Of the hunchback Reith on Sutherland Isle. Of his contempt for all life, including his own. Of his rage at her witnessing the slave he had become to a monster that defied all that Mother Nature had created. Of the torture she and her people had endured.
"Blue," he rasped, holding out a hand to her.
She shrank back against the railing, trembling violently.
"I be no' tha' Reith," he said, as if divining her thoughts.
"Murderer," she whispered, and his own legs nearly gave out beneath him.
"Blue—"
"I saw!" she wept, backing to the rail. "Your parents were about to decree Allyon my new husband...the kingdom's new king!"
"Blue—"
"And the explosion, before the announcement was completed. Your magic signature! And I...and I saw you. No one else did, but I saw you—"
"Stop, Blue!"
"—at the portal to the human world with a bow in your hands. I saw the rose thorn. Followed it's—" She gulped in air. "—trajectory. You murdered Allyon! You pierced his heart with that thorn!"
Reith clenched his hands into fists. "Ask me wha' happened tha' night."
"So you can lie to me again?" She held up shaky hands, her voice raspy with contempt. "MoNae forgave you. I will not! I'll rip my heart from my breast before I allow it to make me blind to what you really are!"
"Ye must ask me—"
In the blink of an eye, a tiny Blue flew from the gazebo, into the cold mist of the night, and from sight. Reith sat in the center of the structure like a rag doll tossed there, legs crossed, arms limp, and eyes devoid of warmth. A flicker of life appeared in them when Braussaw approached and settled himself atop his lap. The dark beady eyes peered into Reith's face with the mute question, Now what?
Disheartened, Reith massaged his brow then absently stroked the bird's head.
"She refuses to see tha' I remain under The Sutherland's spell," he murmured. Sighing from the depths of his despair, he added, "I canna expose the truth unless I be specifically asked."
A cooing gurgle was Braussaw's response.
"Aye, ma sentiments, exactly, ma friend. Females. Why so complex? Beth and Laura and Deliah an' Taryn, too. Mayhaps it be the curse o' all males at Baird House to walk over burnin' coals to win their love."
Time Everlastin' Book 5 Page 26
