Jan Delima - Celtic Moon

Luc was seated at one end of the long table with five other empty place settings around him. Sophie gave an inward sigh of relief that Dylan had thought to make this a small gathering.

Luc stood as Dylan waved Joshua forward. With long black hair and features too harsh to be handsome, he formed an intimidating presence. His eyes were light silver circled in navy, liquid mercury on ice, an eerie contrast against his dark skin.

With her new perspective, Sophie recognized the Egyptian heritage in Luc more than in his siblings. Although, in her opinion, Dylan’s features were just as unusual, with thick blond hair, golden skin, and black eyes that followed her every move.

“Sister,” Luc greeted Elen as she entered the room, pulling out the chair next to his.

Elen accepted her brother’s assistance with tight-lipped annoyance. She was the only sibling who hadn’t inherited any dark traits, except for her current expression.

All three, without question, were the purest combination of ancient races.

Perhaps sensing Joshua’s unease, Dylan stepped forward. “My son,” he said to his brother. “Joshua, this is your uncle Luc.”

Luc held out his hand. “Welcome home, nephew.”

“Thank you.” Joshua shook his hand.

“Sophie,” Luc acknowledged with a sharp nod. “Glad you finally came to your senses and brought our boy home.”

She was not offended by his blunt tone. She had expected worse. “Hello, Luc.”

Luc assessed Joshua with the eye of a warrior. “I train the children of the village for”—he shot a glare in Sophie’s direction, changing his tone and modifying his words—“ in defensive fighting techniques. I have a session tomorrow afternoon. You’re welcome to come and watch.”

“I’d rather help,” Joshua said.

Luc snorted at the cocky reply, a slight grin tugging at his lips. “Can you defend yourself, nephew?”

“Yes,” Joshua said with confidence.

Luc’s eyebrows raised in challenge. “With weapons?”

“With anything you put in front of me.” He shrugged. “Or with nothing.”

That gained Luc’s attention. The edge of humor left his voice. “We’ll see. Tomorrow morning then, around eight, you can show me what you know.”

“Sure. Where?”

“The courtyard.”

“No,” Dylan interrupted, “not the courtyard. You can spar at the lake house. I’ll be there as well.”

Luc nodded. “I’m good with that.”

“Me too,” Joshua answered, showing no sign of concern. On the contrary, he looked excited at the prospect of sparring with his uncle.

Lord help me, Sophie thought as she took a seat next to Joshua, across from Elen and Luc, while Dylan sat at the head. Not long after, Enid marched into the room, serving their first course, gray sausage links and wilted greens, possibly European sorrel smothered in a sour white sauce.

It smelled like fermented meat and had the consistency of lake slime. The poor animal that had sacrificed its life for the sausage was a mystery. Pig, perhaps. Or its tendrils.

“This was your mother’s favorite dish.” Dylan watched Joshua push a link around his plate with a three-pronged golden fork. “It always surprised me that she enjoyed this. I never favored it much myself.”

Sophie stared down at her own plate and tried not to gag.

Joshua shot her a sidelong glance, knowing full well the predicament she was in. As a lesson on the consequences of withholding information, she had shared with him a few of Enid’s creative past torments—like serving unpalatable food.

Joshua’s shoulders began to shake. He was laughing, the little shit. She tried not to join in, but laughter, embarrassingly enough, was more infectious when denied, and even worse in uncomfortable situations.

“Did I miss something?” Elen asked.

Joshua stifled a sound, half snort, half giggle. And it triggered the end of Sophie’s restraint. She burst out laughing, pulling the napkin up to hide her face.

Luc and Dylan frowned at each other. Elen looked annoyed.

And that just made it worse.

“I’m sorry,” Sophie coughed out, feeling her face turn hot with embarrassment.

Enid had gone completely still, glaring at Sophie over Dylan’s head. In the past, Sophie had always taken her little attacks in silence.

Dylan spoke to Joshua, aggravation clear in his tone. “May I ask what you’ve found so amusing?”

His father’s disapproval silenced his antics. He turned toward her, his gaze searching for permission to break her confidence.

She gave him a nod. “It’s okay.”

“Mom hates this dish,” Joshua admitted. “It used to make her puke every time she ate it.”

Dylan’s dark eyes landed on Sophie, quieting her giggles. “Then why did you keep asking Enid to make it for you?”

Sophie ignored Enid’s glare. “I didn’t.”

“Liar,” Enid sneered. “Dylan, she’s a liar.”

Sophie said calmly, “Enid knew the effect this dish had on me. In fact, I think she enjoyed it.”

“And yet you never told me.” Dylan’s tone had gone dangerously low. “Why?”

Enid started shaking her head; her voice turned frantic. “You can’t believe anything this woman says.”

Dylan held up his hand. His stance, even while seated, emanated power. He spoke in a language Sophie didn’t recognize, nor had she ever heard it from him; it was the same dialect as Elen’s first words after examining Joshua. It had to be their original tongue, an early version of Welsh.

It was a strong dialect, almost guttural, and more than a tad foreboding when spoken in anger.

Enid turned away, her head lowered in submission.

Dylan’s dark eyes turned to Sophie, his anger controlled but still present. “Please answer the question.”

It was the “please” that softened her answer. “I never told you because I was young and stupid and wanted your friends and family to like me. I thought that by keeping silent they would learn to trust me. I now realize what a foolish notion that was and no longer care if they like me or not.” Sophie smiled, and she knew it wasn’t a nice smile. “But hear me now, Enid.” She waited for the woman to look up. “And be sure to pass this information along to all your cohorts in crime—I am not the same woman you once knew, and if anyone treats my son as I was treated when I lived here, they will regret it.”

Enid took a step back, frowning at Sophie’s changed behavior.

Joshua spoke up at that point, voicing his own agenda. “I don’t have to eat this, do I?”

Sophie patted him on his arm. “I want you to try it. If it’s not to your liking, then no, you don’t have to eat it.”

He leaned over and whispered, “Will you make me a pizza later?”

“Mac and cheese,” Sophie offered back.

“Homemade?”

“Sure.”

“Deal.” He took a bite; his swallow was visibly forced. With flared nostrils and a sad shake of the head, he announced, “I don’t like it.”

“Enid,” Dylan said, his voice heavy with displeasure, “clear our plates and bring the next course.”

NIGHT 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.