Celtic Moon (18 page)

“Why must you always assume something is wrong? I was just inquiring about my son.”

Taken aback, Sophie tilted her head toward Tucker. “Oh, I don’t know . . . maybe because I never know what to expect when I’m around you.”

“Maybe you should be around me more often then,” he replied with sexual undertones that sent her cheeks aflame.

Feeling unnerved, Sophie began to understand that
she
was the source of his irritation, for reasons not appropriate in present company—or in
any
company, for that matter.

Acting oblivious to the undercurrents, Francine shimmied around the counter to assess their familiar visitor. “If that’s Tucker, then Matthew must be nearby.”

“He
was
,” Dylan confirmed. “But he chose not to stay.”

“He left without saying hello?” Francine frowned, clearly confused. “Do you know where he went? Is he staying nearby?”

Dylan sighed as if calling to the gods for patience. “Your Matthew doesn’t answer to me, Francine. I have no idea where he went or where he’s staying. All I know is he wanted my wife to have that . . .” His head nodded toward the dog.

“He did?” Sophie exclaimed, too pleased to listen to her misgivings, at least for the moment. “I hope that’s okay with you, Tuck?” As if he understood, he jumped toward her. Instinctively, she caught his paws, forcing him to balance on his hindquarters. Still, he managed to reach a large wet tongue across her cheek. “Okay,” she laughed, getting thoroughly slimed. “I missed you too.”

An odd sound came from Porter’s direction.

As an afterthought, she turned to Dylan, well aware how intrusive Tucker could be. “You don’t mind if he stays here . . . do you?”

“This is your home, Sophie. If it’s your wish to keep the . . .
er
 . . . animal, and if you can control it, then do so.”

“Thank you.” She settled the dog back on the ground. “Did you hear that, Tuck? You can stay.” He wiggled his rear end. “Are you hungry?”

Another wiggle and a soft “
Woof
.”

“Do you want a treat?” She knew her tone had gone soft and silly, but she didn’t care who heard or what they thought—because she
had
missed this dog. Tucker tapped his paws with adoration in his eyes. “You do? My boy wants a treat?”

Another “
Woof
.”

“Bugger me blind,” Porter choked out, “if I’m not seeing a hound from hell do an arse jigger in our kitchen.”

“Your hell has no relevance here, Porter,” Enid responded gravely, “for that is a creature from the Otherworld.”

A slight hesitation before Francine asked, “What is an Otherworld?”

“I’ll explain later, Mum.” Sophie cut a piece of crust off a loaf of bread on the counter, dipped it into her sauce and fed it to Tucker, who inhaled it in a loud gulp. She remained silent through the hushed banter, thankful her mother had the good sense to follow suit.

Interestingly enough, Enid’s initial reaction to Tucker began to make sense. According to what Sophie knew of Celtic beliefs, a hound from the Otherworld served their gods, an animal that crossed between worlds, human and
Other
.

In Celtic lore, the Otherworld was the place of magical beings, the land of faery, and the home of their deities. Not necessarily a nice, happy place either. However, it was easy for Sophie to understand how time, humanity, and different faiths, had led to the misinterpretation of the old Celtic faery tales. At one time, those stories were told to frighten children from wandering too far from home.

“’Tis blasphemy to feed it that concoction,” Enid muttered in a strangled voice.

A soft vibration hummed against Sophie’s hip, followed by a menacing growl. Startled, she looked down. Tucker assumed an aggressive stance, teeth bared in Enid’s direction. The woman had, after all, threatened his food supply.

“Heel,” Sophie ordered softly, placing her hand on his neck until he resumed a sitting position. Regardless of what Tucker was, or where he came from, she was keeping him. And he needed to behave.

“It obeys you?” This from Porter.

“I earned his loyalty,” Sophie said. Again, through food, but she kept that secret to herself. “
His
name is Tucker.” She ruffled Tuck’s pointed ears, a silent reward for listening. “He just needs some time to adjust to his new home, that’s all.”

“You agree this is your home then,” Dylan said, his voice a low timbre of approval.

An immediate denial lodged in her throat. Old instincts were difficult to ignore. Even so, she had come to accept that her son belonged here, despite what dangers lingered beyond these stone walls, or even within. And with that acceptance came a fundamental shift of her attitude. Moreover, Joshua had made it painfully obvious that he was going to live with his father, with or without her, whether she liked it or not.

Denial was no longer an option.

Fully aware of their audience, she admitted, “I think you’re right. It’s time to move forward. To learn from our past mistakes and stop working against each other, for our son, and for the others who depend on you.”

And perhaps mend other broken promises as well, but that was a different conversation for a more private setting.

Dylan watched her with open desire, his gaze like twin pools of obsidian heat. “Are your words genuine, wife?”

She crossed her arms, meeting his glare with a promise of her own. “I have done many things, but I’ve always been honest about my intentions.” She nodded to Porter, and then Enid, including them both in this pledge of sorts. “I know you don’t trust me, and for good reason, but I would like the opportunity to prove you wrong. Everything I did, every choice I made up until this point, was to keep my child safe. I understand Joshua needs to be with his father now . . . and others like him. And,
yes
, I wish to stay as well.

“However,” she continued, turning back to Dylan, assessing his reaction to her next request, “I want to know what else you’ve been keeping from me. If you really want my cooperation . . . I need to know what dangers threaten our son.”

A muscle moved on the side of his jaw. “What makes you think—?”

“Enid has been overly talkative in your absence,” Porter interrupted before his leader dug himself further into a lie. “Your wife knows the Guardians are”—his eyes flicked to Sophie—“a pressing concern.”

“I am sorry,
Penteulu
,” Enid implored, wringing her hands. “I did not know I needed to guard my words.” When Dylan crossed the room and slammed open the kitchen window, taking in several deep breaths, excuses rambled off her tongue. “I fear this human will weaken us. With her sweet words and soft eyes, I fear she will be the end of us yet.”

“Silence!” Dylan cut the air with a sharp swipe. Enid winced as though she’d been struck. “You are blind and bitter, Enid. My wife,” he began, then amended his words, “my
mate
stands before us with a hound from the Otherworld docile at her feet, and still you shoot her with your poisoned barbs. Leave us. Now. Before I make a decision I’ll later regret.”

A cool breeze from the open window spilled through the kitchen. As if defeated, Enid left the room with her head lowered. Dylan stood solemn for a long while afterward, saddened but resolute. Francine made excuses to leave, something about taking a nap or some other nonsense. Porter gave her a respectful nod as she passed.

Determined to end this secrecy, Sophie closed the distance between her and Dylan until she stood directly behind him. “I’m not running anymore.” His back stiffened but he didn’t acknowledge her otherwise. Hesitantly, she placed a hand on his arm, even more concerned as she felt his hardened muscles coil with tension. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

He looked down at her hand and something ominous moved behind his eyes. Sophie sensed it wasn’t his wolf but rather a human reaction, more sinister and less honest, as if his conscience battled a moral dilemma. The human mind, she knew from experience, found ways to justify wrong over right, lies over truth.

“Porter,” he said finally, “go to my office and return with the banner.”

“Before you go,” Sophie added her own request, “I need you to talk to whoever’s guarding the property.”

Porter paused by the door; his eerie blue gaze flicked to Dylan before answering. “For what purpose?”

She sighed. These men really did underestimate humans. At least he’d had the decency not to deny that there were guards. “Did my dear mother look tired to you?”

“You think she’ll be going in search of Tucker’s owner?” An amused grin tugged at Porter’s lips; the effect on his otherwise austere features was quite disturbing. “Let her try. The gates are secure. She’ll not be getting far.”

Sophie sent him a look that erased his amusement. “Just inform the guards my mother’s going for a walk and not to disturb her. She’ll return when she’s ready.”

 * * * 

D
YLAN WATCHED
S
OPHIE WITH A FEELING OF DREAD
, expecting her calm façade to crumble at any moment. Her hair was fastened somehow behind her head but tendrils had escaped to trail in soft waves around her face, backlit by the open window behind her.

An incessant yearning coiled within his chest, like viewing a precious gift he could not possess. He wanted to demand that she trust him, but Sophie was not a woman whose spirit could be contained by his will alone.

She stood in the center of his kitchen with her hip braced against the island as she leaned over and studied the workings of the banner. “What does it mean?”

“It’s the royal banner of the Guardians, represented by the horned snake.” He intended to keep his answers honest but blunt.

“I assumed that’s who the markings belonged to,” she said with an impatient wave. “But what does it mean that it was left on your land?”

“It means that the Guardians are watching us.”

“What do you think they want?”

“I’m hoping they simply want assurances of my loyalty.”

With her chin lowered, she sent him a look that implied his optimism didn’t fool her. “When was the last time they asked for assurances of your loyalty?”

A soft chuckle of appreciation came from the shadows. Dylan held his tongue at the interruption. Apparently, Porter’s dislike of his wife was wearing off.

“The American war of independence made the Guardians a wee bit nervous,” Porter said.

A wee bit nervous?
Dylan shot him a livid glare.

He returned with an annoying grin. “I’ll be running a perimeter check of our grounds now, if you are having no further use of me.”

“Good idea,” Dylan snapped. He waited until Porter’s footsteps faded until he explained the man’s comment. “The Guardians were afraid that I, and other leaders who had forged territories in the Americas, would follow the humans’ cause with our own.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“But something happened,” she hedged, too observant for her own good.

“A marriage,” he supplied. “An Original Guardian married a neighbor. Her name is Rosa. Her husband, Math, now controls the New Hampshire territory.”

“You have a Guardian living that close?”

“Yes.” He spat the word. “Math has never bothered with us, but he is loyal to the Council.”

“The gathering this weekend, with the other leaders . . .” She folded the banner and handed it back to him. “It has something to do with this, doesn’t it?”

He accepted the folded material. “Yes.”

“I assume Rosa and Math were
not
invited.”

“I only invited a select few, leaders who have severed their connections to our homeland.” He paused, contemplating how much information he needed to disclose, how much would appease her curiosity without igniting a firestorm of resentment. “I’m hoping to form an alliance against the Guardians. In numbers, our strength would be unmatched.”

“I see.” She stood unmoving, even composed, except for the slight tremor in her voice.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you?” he asked softly.

“I believe so. You’re taking steps to protect your freedom, your land, and the people who depend upon you.”

He frowned at her phrasing but chose not to argue against its truth. “Yes.”

As if sensing his mistress’s distress, Tucker gave a soft whine from the pillowed bed in the corner that Sophie had prepared. The hound padded over and stood by her side, its massive head not far from her shoulder. She rested her hand on his neck, whispering words of a soothing nature.

Dylan allowed her this time to absorb the enormity of their situation, prepared to accept her anger.

“Okay,” she said finally, looking up with grim determination. “What can I do to help?”

Dylan’s mouth dropped before he tempered his surprise. “Will I ever understand you, woman? I expected anger and instead you offer assistance?”

“Freedom is a cause I’m willing to sacrifice a great deal for.” She spoke with quiet conviction. “Everything except the life of our son, but I believe I’ve already proven that.”

The comparison of Sophie’s plight with his people’s did not set well with his conscience. He wanted to argue that she’d never known real danger, or that her freedom had never been taken from her.

Regrettably, she had the scars to prove otherwise, and guards, even now, who had been ordered to keep her contained to Rhuddin Village.

Therefore, he saw no other course but to offer a harsh reminder instead. “Joshua is a part of me and a part of my world.” His voice rose, tempered by his frustration. “He needs to learn to live with his own kind.”

“I know.” Fire entered her gaze as if lit by a power within, not magical but human. A selfless love so intense it stole his breath, one that proved she would give up everything for what she loved most, even her own freedom.

My people are indeed blind,
Dylan thought.

With her shoulders back and her hand resting on the great hound, she looked very much like a pagan warrior queen, not in her appearance but in her conviction. Her strength came from her devotion to her child, he knew, powerful in any race, human or other.

“I will protect Joshua,” he vowed, “but I will also teach him how to protect himself.”