Celtic Moon (9 page)

N
IGHT HAD SETTLED INTO FULL DARKNESS DURING THEIR
time at his home. From the warmth of his truck, Dylan watched his wife linger on the porch after he dropped off her and Joshua at the lake house. The porch light pinched her drawn features in harsh shadows, yet there was a resolute quality to her stance; despite her obvious exhaustion, she was waiting for him to leave before entering the house.

As her early vow had promised, this was
not
the same woman he had once known, a woman who had danced in the rain just to make him laugh.
That
woman had abhorred weapons and would never have kept them on her person.

This woman was stronger, mature . . .
defensive
—wiser in her instincts to fear her surroundings,
to fear him
.

Her loss of innocence saddened the man, but her quiet strength pleased his beast. And the way she had cared for their son, protected him with boldness akin to a mother wolf . . .

That more than pleased him. His blood ran hot and hard through his veins, straight to neglected areas long overdue for attention.

Before his need overruled his good judgment, Dylan shoved his truck in reverse and pulled out of the dirt driveway, angry that his family was in one place while he drove to another.

He had wanted an invitation to join them.

He was a damned fool.

Punching the gas, he headed straight for Rhuddin Hall with unpleasant matters to deal with. Taran nodded as he drove through the gate; her golden eyes refused to meet his, a warning that didn’t bode well. Unfortunately, he had a lesser incident to deal with before confronting Sophie’s accusations against Siân.

Dylan parked next to the main house; he found Enid in the kitchen, surrounded by her daughters, Lydia and Sulwen. The room reeked of fear and hostility; fear from the daughters, hostility from Enid.

“Enid,” he ordered, not inclined to defuse their apprehension, “follow me to my office.”

She took her time wiping the remaining dish before falling in behind him, a final defiance from an old stubborn pagan. Lydia and Sulwen tried to follow but Dylan halted them with a glare. They frowned, anxious but obedient to his silent command.

Sophie wouldn’t have obeyed so easily, he mused inwardly. She would have either confronted the situation, if deduced worthy of her time and convictions, or, if not, simply moved on. A lack of argument didn’t necessarily mean compliance.

It was an intriguing insight into his wife’s character, one he’d overlooked in the past, to his great regret.

His office was located on the main floor, secured by Porter for sensitive meetings and disciplinary actions. His desk had been a gift from Koko, carved from maple, with three wolves in howling position, supporting a crescent top in the shape of a Celtic moon.

Koko had been an incredible artist, an unknown master of her craft who chose anonymity for love. There were reminders of her throughout the house; it was no wonder his brother still mourned.

Her spirit lingered.

Dylan settled behind the desk and waved his hand, motioning for Enid to take a seat across from him. Enid had been with him from the beginning. He owed his brother’s life to her.

So it was with offended bewilderment that he asked, “Why, Enid?” Her mouth opened to refute but he held up his hand. “No, don’t embarrass yourself with further lies. I sat up too many nights worrying about my wife emptying her stomach after every meal you served.”

“That woman is weak,” she sneered. “
A temptress.
I did not believe her child was yours.”

“And now that you’ve seen him?” he said quietly. “How did it feel to have my son laughing at your attempts to humiliate his mother?”

Enid remained silent, her head lowered.

“You shamed me with your abuse to my mate.”

She shook her head, beginning to realize, as her daughters had earlier, her precarious position. “I did it for you. That woman is not worthy of you.”

“She is my mate,” he growled. “The Goddess has found her worthy.”

Enid looked away with a sneer, at war with her beliefs. She feared the Gods and their judgments.

And with good reason.

She whispered under her breath, “She is not strong enough to lead by your side.
She is not strong enough to protect us.
”

Ah, as he had suspected, therein rested the true motive. Sophie’s kindness, in effect, had been a form of submission.

Wolves only respected strength.

“My wife returned for a purpose.” He had not intended to share this information until confirmed with his own eyes, but the night’s events made it necessary. “Our son has called the elements . . . I witnessed it myself today. Tomorrow night he’ll try to complete the transformation.”

Enid snapped to face him. “That cannot be.” Her voice was thick with disbelief—
or denial
. “Do not get your hopes up on this, Dylan,” she warned. “Neither Lydia nor Sulwen was blessed with enough power to call the wolf. The disappointment is . . .
difficult
to handle. I would not wish that upon you.”

“We’ll see,” was all Dylan said, unwilling to belittle Enid further on this issue. But on another matter . . . “My wife made several negative references to her stay in my home. I didn’t believe her until tonight.”

He had trusted his people over Sophie, because he’d known them for centuries and her only months. The fact that at least two members of his household had mistreated his wife was an abhorrent discovery.

He shook his head, disgusted more with himself for not seeing the truth sooner. In retrospect, viewing past events from his wife’s perspective didn’t bear well in his favor. All she had asked for was contact with her family, and in return she had been confined and mistreated—and then, in his greatest act of ignorance, brought into the woods on a cold, desperate night.

“I will amend my wrongdoing,” Enid conceded with a brisk nod.

“Yes,” he said, “you will. But your blatant disrespect for my authority is inexcusable. I cannot let it go unpunished. You and your daughters will move from Rhuddin Hall in the morning. Constance has an empty cottage available in the village.”

It was a direct demotion of her intimate status in his home. It would humiliate her.

She did not take the punishment lightly. “Because of this woman, you would deny me your home? When it was
I
who found you, huddled under a tree, with a wolf cub in your arms? When it was
I
who taught you how to care for Luc? When it was
I
who gave you a home when you were forsaken by your family?”

“It is because of our history that I am not removing you completely from my protection. If you don’t agree with my judgment . . .
leave
.”

She visibly stiffened. “I have nowhere else to go. My daughters . . .” she whispered.
“The Guardians will kill them.”

“A valid reason to accept my offer.”

“I . . .” She pressed her lips into a thin line of fear mingled with pride. The fear won, of course. “I accept.”

“Good. I will inform Constance to make her cottage ready for you.” He waved his hand. “You are dismissed.”

“Breakfast will be delayed tomorrow.” Her tone had a sarcastic edge.

“It has yet to be decided if you’ll continue in the kitchens. I’m leaving that judgment for Sophie. You will be informed of her answer by tomorrow evening.”

She hissed softly, “You might as well tell Porter to find a replacement for me.”

“We’ll see. And, Enid,” he said as she stood to leave, “I do
not
want to be blindsided like I was tonight. Pass the word around. Anyone who has done my wife wrong should come to me first, because if I hear it from her there’ll be no forgiveness. No one other than you has earned that consolation.”

Her expression was solemn. “I will pass your word on.”

 * * * 

S
OPHIE PEEKED IN ON HER MOTHER
. F
RANCINE HAD
wanted the bedroom overlooking the lake; as the smallest room on the second floor it offered more privacy from the rest of the house. The gentle sound of even breathing came from the tiny lump under a country quilt.

She closed the door with a soft click. Joshua’s bags were stacked by the door of the second bedroom, still unpacked, as were hers in the master bedroom on the first floor. That project could wait until morning.

Stifling a yawn, she followed the sound of cupboards opening and closing from the kitchen. By the time she arrived, Joshua had most of the ingredients for mac and cheese lined up on the counter next to the gas stove.

“You can’t still be hungry.” She shook her head. Enid had rectified her dinner after the first course. “You must’ve had two loaves of bread with the roast.”

“You promised,” he reminded her.

“I know, sweetheart. But it’s been a long day and I’m exhausted. I’ll make it up to you in the morning.”

His shoulders slumped, disappointed. “With what?”

“Homemade cinnamon rolls.”

He turned his head, his interest piqued. “Blueberry pancakes
and
homemade cinnamon rolls?”

She tried not to smile but it was a pointless attempt. “You drive me crazy.”

“I make your life interesting,” he teased, using humor to lighten her mood, as he’d always done. “What would you do without me?”

She reached out and squeezed his hand, marveling with some sadness that she could no longer enclose his within hers. He was a young man now, not her little boy, and it was time to prepare him for adulthood, and for his other life.

“As long as I know you’re happy, Joshua, wherever you are, I’ll be okay. This is
your
time. Don’t concern yourself with me. I can take care of myself.”

“Jeez, Mom, I was just messing with you.” He shuffled out of her grasp. “I didn’t mean for you to turn all serious on me.”

She pressed her point. “I need you to watch your surroundings. And don’t trust anyone . . . except me and your father.”

“I understand.” He squared his shoulders and leveled her with a dark look, resembling Dylan so much it jarred her. “I understand more than you think. I know the woman who opened the gate, the one with the weird yellow eyes, wasn’t happy to see me.”

“Good,” she said with approval. “She is the sister of the woman I told you about. Neither can be trusted.” She turned him around and gently pushed him toward the stairs. “Now go to bed and get some sleep . . . unless you want to talk more about your father and what we learned today.”

He shook his head immediately. “Nah, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

She didn’t force the issue. He would come to her in his own time, when he was ready. “Good night then.”

“Night, Mom,” he mumbled between heavy footfalls up the stairs.

Sophie returned the mac and cheese items to the fridge and cupboard and took her first good look around. Not much had changed, and unlike Rhuddin Hall, this place carried too many
good
memories. She had flirted with danger and lost her innocence in this house.

And gained her greatest joy.

She ran her hands over her face, feeling the weight of her choices as she walked the main floor. She loved being a mother, so much so that she’d shut off everything else, everything that threatened her place in Joshua’s life.

A custom pine bed filled the master bedroom, a foot longer and wider than a king, leaving just enough space for an overstuffed chair and a long bureau. She walked to the bed and ran her hand over the quilted comforter.

She remembered Dylan in this bed, his weight on hers, the heat of his skin, his breath across her neck, his thickness pushing into her . . .

A shudder of pure desire pooled in her stomach, eliciting a physical response she hadn’t felt in years. He had teased her body into pleasures she hadn’t known possible. They had been happy once.

They had loved . . .
once
.

Don’t go there,
she whispered to herself.
You lost that right sixteen years ago.

Leaving Dylan had been the most difficult choice of her life. In the end, fear over Joshua’s safety had been the only thing that strengthened her resolve. Returning served to remind her of what she had lost, and how weak she was in Dylan’s presence.

For reassurance, because she sensed her hard-earned resolve begin to crumble, she removed her gun and turned it in her hands. It was a .45-caliber Glock, a slimline model that held six rounds. She kept two spare magazine cartridges in holsters on both calves, and yes, the magazines held silver bullets, alternating with hollow-points. She hadn’t been sure about the myths concerning silver bullets and magical creatures that shouldn’t exist but do, however hollow-points had the capacity to shred a target upon impact, and so alternating bullets inside the magazines seemed the most logical choice.

She remembered the first time she’d held a gun, and the instructor who had taught her how to use it. She had lived in Texas at the time, and Joshua had just turned a year old. It seemed a lifetime ago, but in actuality was only fourteen years, when she had forsaken her very nature to become the person she needed to be to protect her baby . . .