Time Everlastin' Book 5 (40 page)

His hunger satiated with two
of Lachlan's favorite cold pork sandwiches, Broc strolled in the
direction of the second floor nursery, where Beth had told him he
would find Taryn. He had eaten slowly, procrastinating for as long
as possible before he had to face Taryn. Lachlan had taken the
revelation with surprising aplomb, but Broc now realized that
oddities were an everyday occurrence in his son's life. And
although Taryn had been indoctrinated into otherworldly existences,
he didn't know her well enough to predict her reaction to what he
had to confess.

The door to the nursery was
opened. He stood at the threshold, awe-struck by the scene. Winston
and Deliah sat in matching rockers, side by side, hands entwined,
their expressions radiant. Six human-sized fairies and countless
wee ones fluttering about, blocked something between the two
elongated windows across the room.

Broc heard cooing sounds. A
feminine voice.

He was about to step into
the room but hesitated, the presence of the fairies unnerving him.
Heat gushed beneath his skin, and the food that had tasted so good
minutes before, soured in his stomach.

First one hovering fairy,
then many, turned in his direction. Deliah and Winston looked his
way. The larger fairies turned their heads, and parted, revealing
Taryn standing in front of an oak crib, cradling Willem Chance
Connery in her arms. It was as if an invisible fist hit Broc in the
stomach, robbing him of breath. Never had Taryn looked more
beautiful, her face glowing as she cooed and spoke to the infant.
Amidst the fold of the white blanket, Broc could see a black shaggy
head and a pink brow.

"You're a sweetie...such a
sweetie," Taryn said in a singsong fashion to the child. "Oooh, the
ladies are going to flock to you, one day. Yes, they
will."

Broc's mouth went dry. How
could he tell her?

"Come in," said Winston, a
knowing gleam in his eyes.

Broc worried his lower lip
when Taryn looked up and flashed him a smile.

"Come say hi to Willem," she
laughed.

Broc crossed half the
distance, and froze in place when several of the wee fairies buzzed
around his head and giggled in his ears. He resisted a strong
impulse to sweep them away with a hand.

He met Deliah's vibrant blue
eyes, eyes so very much like her brother's, Reith, and found he
could not break the visual lock. She rose and stepped to his side,
Taryn engrossed once again with the baby, and slipped an arm
through Broc's.

"Ye must learn to trust us,"
she whispered by his ear.

"I have no fault wi' ye," he
murmured, her proximity building the heat in his body.

"Broc, come take a closer
look," Taryn invited.

Easing his arm from
Deliah's, he forced himself to stand next to Taryn, and forced
himself to look into the face of the infant. He wasn't sure why he
dreaded this moment, for he had avoided getting close to Willem
since his arrival at the estate. Now, although he remained edgy in
the small confines with the fairies, he, too, was captivated by the
child's angelic features. Rosy-skinned, black hair and eyebrows,
and vibrant blue eyes. Willem's features were a combination of his
parents.

"He has such wee hands,"
Broc said, watching as the tiny digits of Willem's left hand closed
about Broc's index finger.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Taryn
said, staring into the child's eyes. "So perfect."

"Aye."

"Tis time for Willem's
feedin'," Deliah announced.

Broc looked up to find the
fairies—large and small alike—watching him with
curiosity.

His body temperature rose
with alarming speed.

"Taryn, I need to speak wi'
ye."

"Okay," she said, easing
Willem into Deliah's arms. "Thanks for letting me hold him," she
added to Winston and Deliah.

"Any time," Winston
said.

Broc clasped Taryn's hand
and herded her toward the door.

"Something wrong?" she
asked, and said when they entered the hall, "Your skin is hot. Are
you sick?"

"No," he assured, pulling
her along.

"Broc," she laughed
unsteadily, "did you and Lachlan—"

Broc stopped abruptly on the
landing in front of the stairs leading to the third floor. "Taryn,
I just need to tell ye somethin', and it canna wait."

"Did Lachlan say
some—"

"Lachlan and I are fine,
lass," he said impatiently.

Taryn worriedly searched his
eyes for some indication of what was bothering him. "You're not
acting fine."

Broc's shoulders slumped.
"Forgive me," he sighed. "Tis just...weel, I need to get past this
last hurtle. Please, Taryn, can we go to our room wi'ou' further
delay?"

"Sure," she said in a small
voice, and followed him silently until their bedroom door was
closed behind them, and Broc urged her to sit on the bed, while he
set to pacing its length.

"You're scaring me, Broc.
Have I done something wrong?"

"Naught but love the wrong
mon," he said bitterly, without thinking, and stopped short and
gestured an apology with his hands. "Tis so hard to...tell ye,
lass."

"I love you," she said
quietly. "I can take whatever it is you have to tell
me."

"Can ye?" he asked, pacing
again. "I wasna forthcomin' abou' the whole reason I pursued the
treasure at the standin' stones."

"Okay."

Broc released a breath
through pursed lips. "I need to just tell the all, Taryn. Dinna say
anythin', please, till I finish."

"Okay."

"I had to find tha'
treasure, for it was the only way I could see to change ma standin'
in the village. Ma kith and kin afeared me since I was a wee child,
and I couldna bear no mair bein' shut ou' o' their
lives.

"I knew verra young I was an
ou'cast. Ither children wouldna play wi' me, and folk couldna look
me in the eye. I was abou' six when ma mither told me why.
Reluctantly so, but she hadna the heart to hear me weep, or keep
avoidin' ma questions.

"A
changelin
I be, were her words, and it
was some years on I learned the stigma o' tha' distinction. Ma
mither claimed her rightful son was abducted by fairies who left me
in the infant's place. 'How can ye be so sure I be no' yer own?' I
asked, and she replied, 'Ma son was sickly, no' strappin' as be
ye.' Her true son's hair was fair, while ma own, dark.

"By village law, it was upon
her to leave me far from home, and let me die. She couldna, and
told the villagers she feared the wrath o' the fairies if she
carried ou' tha' law. Afeared themselves, they chose to ignore
me—all but a few o' ma cousins, who defied their elders when we
reached puberty.

"I told ye Rilla—the lass in
ma village I wanted to marry—wanted ma cousin Kennaugh. Truth be,
when we were sixteen, her mither caught us abed. She beat me till I
was sure I was dyin', and by the time I was healed enough to leave
ma mither's hut, she had forced Rilla to marry Kennaugh. Had I a
bloody conscience, I would have let it end there, but, och! ma
pride wouldna abide tha'!"

Broc stopped pacing and ran
his hands down his face. "There were ithers, girls who slept wi'
me—the evil changelin'—because it gave them a thrill. I wanted
Rilla. It didna occur to me tha' she could fall in love wi' ma
cousin, but love him she did. Her mither hated the sight o' me.
Feared I would
bewitch
her daughter and ruin her life. Tis when she cursed
me."

Broc looked into Taryn's
bemused face and stiffened his spine. "Ye and I can never have a
child, Taryn."

Taryn blinked once. Twice.
Then, as if unable to stop herself, she laughed outright. "I'm
confused. Your mother told you you're a changeling, and Rilla's
mother put a curse on you? Am I getting this straight?"

"Tis no' amusin'," he said
angrily.

"What kind of curse?" Taryn
asked, straining to hold back a grin.

"Tha' me and any child I
sire, as weel as the children they sire, will live a long life o'
torment." Broc shook with the force of his raw emotions. "Canna ye
see, Taryn? I'm over two-hundred years old! Do ye think ma life has
been in any way...
good?
And wha' of ma son's life? Och! Raised by a sadistic mon, and
then murdered by his own bride? Would ye say his life has
been....
good?"

Sighing sparingly, Taryn
stood and folded her arms against her chest. "Few people live a
perfect life, Broc."

"Knowin' wha' ma son has
suffered," Broc said, trembling, "twists like a dirk in ma heart,
Taryn. I didna go into details wi' Ciarda, but she knew I was
cursed and promised me—swore on her honor!—if she found herself
pregnant wi' ma child, she would end the pregnancy."

Broc whirled away, turning
his back to Taryn, and raked his fingers through his hair. "I didna
tell Lachlan this—abou' his mither's promise. And I didna tell him
tha' when I read the journal and knew twas ma son, this Lachlan,
she wrote abou', I damned her in ma mind, ma heart, and ma
soul!"

"Because you worried what
his remaining life was like after she died?"

Broc nodded.

From behind him, Taryn
wrapped her arms about his middle, ignoring his feeble attempt to
shuck off her touch. She rested the side of her face into his soft,
thick hair, and sighed again, this time, contentedly. "Broc, are
you really sorry Lachlan exists?"

"Gawd, no," he moaned. His
warm palms slid over her hands. "I canna explain wha' I feel when I
see him, lass. Ma chest gets heavy wi' pride, and ma heart...ma
heart kens such joy, tis frightenin'."

"He's an incredible man,"
she smiled. "Like his father."

"He be a better mon than
me," he murmured. "No truer words have I spoken."

"I happen to be quite fond
of my MacLachlan half, thank you very much," she chuckled. Her tone
grew somber when she asked, "So Lachlan knows abou' the changeling
and curse?"

"Aye. Weel...he kens the
whole truth, which I've yet to tell ye."

Withdrawing her arms, Taryn
walked around to face him, and frowned when his gaze remained
downcast. "There's more?"

"Och, aye. Blue explained ma
lineage."

"Blue?"

He nodded, his gaze creeping
up to meet hers. "The good news be, I am no' a changelin',
Taryn."

"I already knew that!" she
laughed. "C'mon! I can't imagine fairies abducting
babies—"

"They do," he interrupted.
"Some. They have their good and bad, as do humans. The curse is
verra real. She verified tha'."

"Oh."

"In Karok's chamber, she and
Reith recognized me for wha' I truly am. So have the ither fairies,
here. I canna hide from their knowin'."

"And...what is it you're
supposed to be?"

"A
uirisg."

A new frown played across
Taryn's brow. "I've heard that word before, but I can't remember
where."

"Willem."

Taryn's eyebrows arched.
"What about him?"

"He be one, too."

"I don't get it."

"The offspring o' a
fairy...and a mortal," Broc said, watching her closely.

"You're...what?"

"Accordin' to Blue, the
womon who raised me
is
ma mither. But ma da...he was a...fairy. A fairy wi' ma color
hair and eyes."

"Oo-ear-sig," Taryn said,
pronouncing the Gaelic word as Broc had. "How can she know
this?"

"Blue?" He sighed from the
depths of his sorrow. "All fairies know o' every
uirisg
born. Accordin' to
Blue, seldom be one born o' a love atween the two species, mair
because a human or fairy created one to tip the balance o’ the two
worlds."

"Why to tip the
balance?"

"Blue told me, there was a
time durin' the early Dark Ages when humans and fairies went to
war, each determined to rule the Earth. A
uirisg
doesna require a ring o'
passage to enter either world, because the configuration o' the two
species in one body, defies the magic tha' protects the
portals."

"So, a
uirisg
was considered a powerful
being," Taryn said thoughtfully. "But you're an eighteenth-century
man, so it doesn't make sense you weren't created through
love."

"No, lass," Broc said sadly.
"Mair likely, ma mither was seduced by this fairy—whatever his
reason—and she used the changelin' story to appease—if appease be
the right word—her husband."

"And Blue's positive your
real father was a fairy?"

"Aye."

A madcap grin broke out on
Taryn's face. "So...that makes you half-fairy, and Lachlan a
quarter. No wonder he gets along so well with them! Can you sprout
wings?"

"Och! no!" Broc said on an
explosive breath. "Lachlan and I be spared o’ tha'!"