Guardian's Faith

by Jacqueline Rhoades

  “But you deserve more.”

  “Is this where you ask if we can still be friends?” Broadbent asked as he moved back to the settee and settled in with a sigh.

  “Can we?”

  Broadbent smiled sadly. “I don’t have so many I can afford to turn one away. I did mean it, though. We could make a go of it. We wouldn’t have what the others have, but we would have each other. It’s awkward being the lone wolf.”

  “You’re not alone. Dov and Col aren’t mated either.”

  “Ah, you wound me," Broadbent laughed. "First you turn down my offer and now you lump me in with the irritating idiots.”

  At that moment, one of the irritating idiots was banging on the parlor door. “Hey, Faith! You in there? Gracie wants to know what happened to the sweet potatoes.” He jiggled the locked doorknob.

  Faith sighed and signed quickly.

  “They’re already in the oven,” Broadbent called her message. “Faith hid them behind the roast so you and your band of heathens wouldn’t eat them before dinner.”

  “Broadbent? Hey, Col! Broadbent’s tryin’ to put the moves on Faith in the parlor. He finally found one that couldn’t scream. Don’t worry Faith,” he called through the door. “We’ll have you out before he figures out what to do with it. Canaan can snap this lock open just looking at it.” There was the sound of a scuffle. “Ow! Jeez JJ, I was only having a little fun. Let go my ear!”

  Broadbent stood and offered Faith his hand.

  "I'm truly sorry if I've hurt you," she told him and couldn't stop the tears that blurred her vision. "And I meant what I said. I'll carry this in my heart, always. You'll find someone, someday. I know you will." Faith smiled through her tears. "And then you'll happily bless the day that I said no."

  Chapter 2

  This cattle buyer wasn't happy. Faith could see that the moment he walked in the door followed by Canaan and Dov. She was tucked into her little nook in the kitchen near the dining room door where she'd scurried as soon as she heard them coming through the door. It was her place of safety when newcomers were brought into the House. If they were loud and boisterous or the touchy-feely type, she could make a quick exit.

  This one wasn't loud or touchy. His face was a blank canvas, but his dark eyes showed his displeasure. His dark look didn't change when Dov charged past him into the kitchen and grabbed Grace about her very pregnant waist.

  "Hey, good lookin'. Whatcha got cookin'?" the young trainee sang as he danced his Liege Lord's Lady back and forth in time to the beat of the old Hank Williams song. He grabbed her hand and turned her under his arm as an excuse to bend and take a peek through the glass of the oven door.

  "Woo-hoo! We got buns in both ovens. When will they be ready to pop? Not your oven." Dov patted her bulging tummy affectionately. "The big oven." He grinned at his audience. "Notice how I snuck that in? Wouldn't want Gracie thinking she's got a big oven." He put his hand to the side of his mouth as if sharing a secret. "Even if she does," he whispered sotto voce.

  Dov was young and while he wore the lilies on his chest that affirmed his status as an adult, his behavior sometimes denied it. He and his brother, Col, were towheaded twins with the bodies of gods, the faces of innocent angels and blue eyes that glittered with pure devilment. Dov was the worst of the two for teasing and mischief, but like his twin, he had a good and caring heart. Grace said they reminded her of golden retrievers and Broadbent referred to them as the Delinquent Duo. They were a bit of both.

  Faith's mouth quirked with amusement, but she withheld her smile and watched the newcomer from the corner of her eye. No, he wasn't happy with this teasing banter. Was his frown because he didn't like seeing women in a House of Guardians or because he didn't like Dov's familiarity with one? Watching the frown set more firmly in place, Faith thought it was probably both.

  For his antics, Grace whacked Dov with the dishtowel she held in her hands. "I'm not that big," she argued. "Tell him, Big Boy. Tell him what you told me yesterday."

  "I lied," Canaan laughed as he crossed the room to greet her with a kiss. "Don't worry about it, Sweetling, big bellied is the new beautiful." He bent to take her lips, but Grace slid her hand between them, so he kissed her palm.

  "No kisses for you. No anything else either if I have anything to say about it."

  "You don't," Canaan laughed again and stole the kiss when she moved her hand.

  Grace stuck out her tongue. "Smart ass."

  The stranger's frown deepened into a scowl. He cleared his throat conspicuously.

  "My Lord." There was no mistaking the censure in his tone.

  He wasn't the first visitor to voice his disapproval, but he was the first to do it to Canaan's face.

  Canaan chose to ignore the insult of being rebuked in his own House and, taking Grace's hand, led her over to their guest. "My Lord Lucien ad Toussaint, may I present my mate and the Lady of this House, Grace Masters."

  "Señora." Lucien dipped his head and shoulders in a courtly bow to Grace.

  Grace smiled in return. "Welcome to our home, Lord Lucien. I hope your stay with us is a pleasant one and please, call me Grace."

  "My stay will be a short one, Señora," he replied pointedly and looked at Canaan, who stood behind his mate. "I'd like to see the supplicant's files as soon as possible. I'll review them, do twenty minutes with each in the gym and see if any of them have potential."

  "Some of them are sparring in the gym now, my Lord, if you'd care to take a look," Nardo said, still toweling off the sweat from his face and neck. He lifted his chin to Canaan. "JJ took over the hand to hand and Otto's running the men through their paces in pairs. They're looking pretty good."

  In spite of his long ponytail and hard rock tee shirts, Nardo was, at heart, a traditionalist, and when Canaan made the introductions, the young Guardian snapped to attention and bowed his head with his fist over his heart in the Guardian's time-honored salute.

  Lord Lucien's returning salute was perfectly correct and yet everyone in the room felt his disapproval.

  "Give the poor man a chance to change and relax," Grace said. She was still smiling in an effort to be pleasant, but could feel the smile freezing into place and turned away before it could turn into a grimace. "Dinner will be at six."

  "I see no reason to change," Lord Lucien said of his impeccable three piece suit, "and I have no time to relax. My duties have been left unattended and I must return as quickly as possible. A tray in my room will be sufficient if it will not be too much trouble."

  Canaan, all pretense of cordiality gone, nodded curtly. "Dov, see to his bags. Nardo, escort Lord Lucien to the gym while I get the paperwork."

  Faith, standing in her corner unmoving and unnoticed, bowed her head and smiled. Lucien ad Toussaint didn't know it, but he was skating on thin ice. Their Liege Lord didn't take kindly to people who didn't take kindly to Grace. Faith followed Canaan down the hall to his small office and stood in the doorway while he gathered the necessary folders. She would offer to deliver the folders for him and thus head off a confrontation.

  Tapping their edges on the desktop to set them in an orderly pile, Canaan picked up the eight folders, turned briskly and stepped into Faith standing two feet in front of him. He grabbed her arm to keep her from falling.

  "Shit!" The folders slid, but quick fingers caught them. "How the hell do you do that?" The girl was like a ghost, soundlessly gliding through the House.

  Faith tried to back away, the fingers of one hand making unintelligible gestures. "Sorry. Sorry," she meant to say, but her mind was reeling and all she could feel was the strong hand grasping her arm. She tried to breathe deeply and slow the short, sharp breaths that always accompanied the panic. It didn't work.

  "Ah, honey, don't." Canaan's voice whispered from far away.

  A chair slid behind her knees and Faith sat, grateful to take the weight off her rubbery legs.

  "Grace!" The halls echoed with Canaan's shout.

  Grace came running, but Canaan's sh
out carried far beyond the kitchen. Hope's office door flew open and she had to catch herself on the door frame to keep from bowling Grace over.

  "Is it time? It's too early, isn't it?" Col had entered from the garage in time to hear his Liege Lord's shout.

  Dov came soaring over the bannister of the stairs, shouting, "Holy shit! Is Gracie gonna blow?"

  Skidding around the corner, Dov's charge was stopped by the forceful blow of Canaan's palm to his chest.

  "Ugh."

  "Grace is not in labor and I'll thank you not to use the term blow and my mate's name in the same sentence."

  "Uh, okay," Dov said, looking a little worried at the fangs peeking from his uncle's mouth. "I just thought I was gonna have a little cousin is all."

  "She is only eight months along," Canaan growled, referring to the ten and a half months her pregnancy would last.

  "Yeah, but she's getting antsy and you know Gracie," Dov argued. His concern had retracted along with the Liege Lord's fangs. "When she wants something done, she wants it done yesterday and there's no telling her different. I'm just saying…"

  Canaan finally laughed. "I don't think that's going to work this time."

  Grace looked up from where she and Hope were hovering over Faith. "Think jumping jacks will work, Dov?"

  "It might, but let me get the tickets printed first. I know people who would pay to see that."

  Hope was not amused. "What did you do to her?" she demanded of Dov.

  "Me? Why does everyone always think it's me? Canaan did it." He looked at Canaan. "What did you do?" His voice and scowl mimicked Hope's.

  Only the embarrassment remained from Faith's momentary panic. "It was my fault," she signed, "Canaan yelled. I jumped. He grabbed my arm. I panicked. He didn't mean it."

  "Well there you go," Col said from where he was standing on the other side of the women. "Big bad boss is beating up on little girls again." He grinned at Faith. "You want I should work him over for ya?" he asked in the voice of a television thug.

  They were trying to ease her distress by making her laugh. If only they could work their silly magic before she made a fool of herself. Faith gave him a weak smile.

  "Not this time. Next time I'll get him on my own. JJ's going to start teaching me self-defense."

  The twins howled.

  "We could put little razors in the tips of your shoes," Col suggested and demonstrated with dainty little kicks. "You could do some real damage to his ankles."

  "We could get her a headband with devil horns. Then when she head butts, she can stab him at the same time." Dov used his fingers as horns and charged Canaan like a bull. He got a cuff in the back of his head for his nonsense.

  "Absolutely not! There will be no self-defense classes. You are much too fragile for that sort of thing!" As hard as Hope tried to change her perspective, she would always see her sister as a tiny, fragile thing that needed protection.

  "Bullshit."

  JJ strode past her mate, stopping long enough for a quick kiss and a nod to the visitor who'd returned with Nardo to see what the fuss was about. She was soaked from her recent workout and sweat dripped from her short hair. Nardo flipped the towel he still had around his neck over his head and then over JJ's, pulling her in for another quick kiss.

  "Thanks," she said, sniffing the towel with a wrinkled nose and using it to wipe her face anyway. "We're out of towels in the gym. I was just coming to get a fresh stack." She frowned at Hope. "Your baby sister isn't fragile. She's small. A little work in the gym will give her some confidence and if she ever needs it, she'll have the element of surprise."

  "They won't expect someone her size to fight back," Col nodded. "Fuckin'-A-OK."

  "Unless she gets another case of the heebie-jeebies." Dov spread his hands and presented Faith, still sitting in the chair recovering from yet another panic attack.

  "Dov!" Grace scolded, but everyone knew he was right.

  "We're working on it," JJ laughed. She bumped Faith's shoulder with her fist. "Come on. Let's go up to your room and you can tell me all about it. I can use your shower to clean up. Mine's filthy since someone…" she looked at Nardo, "…didn't clean up the muck he left from getting dumped in the river last night."

  "I didn't get dumped…" Nardo protested.

  "Oh yes you did," Col laughed. "That sucker picked you up like a sack of potatoes and dooosh…" He demonstrated. "Right into the river. I had to bail him out." He puffed out his chest.

  "Yeah, you and three trainees…"

  Things were back to normal.

  *****

  This wasn't a House of Guardian's. This was a madhouse, a House of Insanity. The only one who showed the least bit of formal respect for the Liege Lord of this House was that young Guardian, Nardo, the one who dressed from a ragbag in torn jeans and a tee shirt so faded one couldn't read the printing. Damn it, the man had a ponytail!

  The trainees, at least, knew how to pay due homage to a Lord Guardian, all except those disrespectful twins. They were Canaan's nephews and living proof that novitiates should be sent away from family to be trained. He thought he would burst from outrage when whichever one it was danced that woman around the room as if it was a dance hall. And to make such blatant comments about her condition! Of course, what could one expect from a House that allowed women such freedom within its walls?

  Lucien tried to concentrate on the folders before him, but how could one concentrate with the chaos that abounded in this House. It was the fault of those women. It had to be. Daughters of Man, indeed. Flaunting themselves in front of the men. Accepting and using foul language. Why, that tall one, with hair cut short like a man's, stood there in the middle of them all wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of shorts and that tight whatever it was on top and if he'd heard correctly, she'd been sparring with the men. Fighting! Good God, what was wrong with these people?

  A House of Guardians should be a house of discipline. The war against invading demons was no laughing matter as Lucien knew all too well. Did they not understand the seriousness of their endeavor? Had they not felt its painful bite? Rumor had it that Lord Canaan kept one of his men, turned vampire. Was that not enough to emphasize the gravity of what they were called to do?

  And the women! Canaan's mate, his Lady he called her. No lady would advertise her condition with BABY emblazoned across her chest with a glittery arrow pointing toward her bulging middle! A lady in such condition should remain enceinte, sheltered from the public eye, not made to work in the kitchen. Had the man no pride?

  Oh, he was well aware of the changes that had occurred in the human world. He stayed abreast of developments through newspapers and magazines and a few close friends with whom he corresponded.

  It made him grateful for the isolation of his own House and the enclave of Paenitentia to which it was attached. They, at least, held to the higher standards of the past. For them and by association, for himself, time moved slowly. His life was based on dignity, courtesy, honor and duty. It was a full and rich life filled with a sense of purpose.

  And if, at times, his life seemed lonely, what of it? He had elected to devote his life to the protection of his people, the Paenitentia, the Race. He'd had the occasional dalliance at the enclave to satisfy his baser needs although in recent years, those dalliances had become few and far between. He needed nothing more. He was a Guardian of the Race. Loneliness was a small price to pay for such an honor.

  There was shouting from down below. Something crashed to the floor and was followed by more shouts and laughter. Lucien shook his head. More proof that what this House lacked was discipline. With all the noise from below, it was a wonder he heard the soft knock at the door.

  "Enter," he said and went back to perusing the dossiers. He hadn't made it through a single one.

  When no one spoke, he turned and found the girl, the one who was shivering like a lost puppy in the corner of the kitchen, the one Canaan had frightened in the hallway, the one who was laughed at so cruelly. She was standing the
re holding a tray. One of the women - her sister? - had called her fragile. Fragile? Starving was more likely; however, the description was apt. This child was tiny and as fragile as a flower. The wooden tray dwarfed her and looked much too heavy with its metal covered plate, the thermal carafe and other accoutrements of his dinner.

  "Dios," he said sharply as he rose from his chair, "Are there no servants in this House, niña?"

  The girl started and her eyes, which had been cast modestly downward, suddenly stared up at him. They were so wide they seemed to take up half the tiny face and so intensely blue; Lucien stared, too.

  Was she the servant? Was that her place in this House? The servants in his own domain were highly valued, paid well and respected, but their circumstances were much different from hired help elsewhere.

  The girl's hands began to shake, rattling the dishes on the tray and the tray began to tilt. Lucien's hands snapped out and grabbed it. The child hung on, her diminutive hands grasping the edges of the tray with surprising strength. What in damnation was the little thing's name?

  "Faith," he almost shouted it and then with exaggerated calmness, "Faith, child, let go of the tray. I've got it now and I promise. I will not do you any harm."

  She nodded once, let go of the tray and fled.

  The wooden tray now in his possession, Lucien stared at the empty doorway. What had they done to the girl that she was so terrified of a sharply spoken word or sudden movement? He shook his head. The sooner he concluded his business and was gone from this place, the better. This House was not his concern and he had work to do.

  The prime rib was cooked to perfection, the potatoes mashed with real cream and butter and the vegetables crisp tender. He could say that much about Canaan's Lady. She was a marvelous cook. He was sorely tempted by the dish of ice cream set in a chilling bowl of ice and the chocolate cookies that were arranged enticingly to the side, but he left them untouched. They were nothing but empty calories and he made it a habit to eat nothing that would not enhance the efficiency of his body.