Jan Delima - Celtic Moon

“See . . . that’s what I’m talking about.” Joshua rolled his eyes. “Saying stuff like that will only freak Mom out.”

“I’ve noticed.” The dialect of a modern teenager made a grin tug at Dylan’s lips, a brief moment of joy that quickly turned to concern.

Having been protected all his life, Joshua’s personality was carefree and unsullied by cruelty. Was he ready for this world? Would he have been better left to his mother’s care, ignorant and safe, away from the Guardians?

Maybe, for a while, but time had a way of hardening the innocent. And may the Goddess help them all, Dylan vowed silently, if keeping his family here, if this one selfish decision, resulted in their harm. Because he would spend the rest of eternity punishing those responsible, and anyone who got in his way.

“Okay,” Joshua said, “if you really want this to work . . . you’re gonna have to listen to me.”

Taken aback by the offered assistance, Dylan couldn’t help but respond, “What do you have in mind?”

IF SOPHIE COULD HAVE PREDICTED THE COURSE OF THE day, watching her son carry their suitcases back out of the lake house and down the porch to her car would not have been one of her choices. Neither would she have predicted her mother’s easy acceptance of Dylan’s little demonstration.

“If you don’t stop frowning, you’re going to get ugly lines on your forehead.” Francine leaned against their car and dug through her purse, pulling out a compact. “It runs in our family, you know.”

“Somehow I’m not worried,” Sophie said, wishing Dylan was there to take her frustration out on instead of her gullible family—who had, in less than a day, fallen for his charm. “I can’t believe you’re siding with him .”

“Grandma’s siding with me, Mom.” Joshua strode by with a cooler over his head. “ I want to go live with Dad. It was my idea. And I want you to come with me, but I understand if you don’t want to.”

Dad? Sophie crossed her arms and studied her child. “You’re up to something. I can feel it. Did your father put you up to this?”

“Leave the boy alone,” Francine said. “From what I’ve seen, Dylan’s been very gracious under the circumstances. It’s not an unreasonable request to have us stay where he can get to know his son better. You should be thankful he included us in the invitation. If I were in his position, I wouldn’t have.”

“You’re not helping.” Sophie watched with growing disbelief as her mother casually applied another coat of lipstick. “You’re primping like we’re going on some grand vacation. Believe me, we’re not.”

“Why would I want to go on a vacation?” Francine closed her compact, her rose-colored lips turning in a smooth, well-cultured smile. “Sweetheart, have you seen the men in this place? I’m fifty-eight, not dead.”

“Oh. My. God.” Sophie ran her hands over her face. “This is ridiculous. They’re wolves, Mum. That doesn’t frighten you? Not even a little?”

“Of course it does.” Her mother gave a nonchalant wave. “But living alone and without my family frightens me more. And I’m not that egotistical . . . I realize there’s more to this world than I alone will ever know.” Her direct gaze never wavered in her conviction. “But I would rather live life to the fullest, with my eyes open, around the people I love, than fear the unknown alone.”

“It’s not the unknown I fear.” Sophie pointed toward the lake house. “At least here, if things get bad, we have a chance to escape. We won’t inside Rhuddin Hall.”

“You’ve made this bed, Sophie Marie.” Her mother sent her a narrowed glare, full of reproach. “Dylan is the father of your son. And the man you chose to marry. It’s time to stop running and deal with the consequences of your choices.”

Joshua threw the last suitcase in the trunk and slammed it shut. “Dad said you could stay at the lake house if you wanted to, Mom. I can bring your bags back in if . . .”

“I don’t think so.” Without the support of her family, Sophie felt a bit lost, especially as she realized her adorable and conniving child may have counseled his “Dad” on how to manage her . “I’m not letting you go there alone and you know it.”

His lips turned into a devilish smile as he threw her the keys. “Thanks, Mom.”

UNCERTAINTY WAS NOT A STATE OF MIND DYLAN particularly cared for, or wished to repeat anytime soon. He had taken to the outdoors an hour ago, the walls of his home an annoyance as he waited, wondering if he had given Joshua an impossible task. The sound of a vehicle arriving lightened his mood considerably.

“Bloody hell, it took that woman long enough,” Porter muttered as he opened the gate, pointing for Sophie to park by the side of the main house. “As if we don’t have enough to do with preparations for the gathering.”

“Sophie has no knowledge of the gathering,” Dylan warned. “So be sure to keep your comments to yourself.”

“I’m thinking you might want to tell her before Friday,” Porter muttered under his breath, shrugging off Dylan’s glare.

Sophie stepped out of the car, her displeased gaze landing on Porter and then Dylan. “I see your pit bull is still here doing your bidding.”

With exaggerated motions, Porter cocked his head to one side. “Am I hearing a harpy screeching . . . or is that just the wind?”

Holding his tongue, Dylan ignored the exchange, shoving two suitcases at Porter to keep the man occupied. The mere fact that he had reacted to Sophie’s comment gave an indication of . . . well, not fondness, but perhaps respect, as in the kind reserved for a worthy opponent, one who had eluded a very aggressive chase. Otherwise, he would have just ignored her.

“Your rooms have been prepared,” Dylan told his son and mother-in-law as they crowded around Sophie. “Follow me and I’ll send someone to get the rest of your bags.”

Francine looked around with widened eyes. “This is a fortress.” At the sound of the closing gate, her lips thinned with displeasure. “Whenever it’s convenient for you, Dylan, I’d like to have a word in private.”

“Find me after you get settled.”

She gave a brisk nod. “I’ll do that.”

As they made their way through the courtyard, Sophie remained sullen, ignoring his presence until they passed several rows of mounded roots and broken earth. She paused, her head turning toward the side garden located just below the master bedroom. “What happened here?” Her hand lifted above her eyes to screen the afternoon sun. “Is that George? Why is he digging up his roses?”

“Because I ordered him to pull them up,” Dylan said without remorse.

“But why?” she asked, obviously confused. “They were so beautiful.”

“Because George informed me this morning that he chastised you once for cutting a rose.” Dylan inclined his head toward the ground. “This is his punishment.”

Unfortunately, George hadn’t been the only one offering a confession. Several others had come to Dylan throughout the morning, prompted by Enid’s move to the village, to confess their past transgressions against his wife. To George’s misfortune, his admission had annoyed Dylan most, simply for its sheer pettiness—a denial of a flower from a plant that only thrived from being cut.

Sophie blinked, taken aback, and her frosty attitude thawed with disbelief. “You did this for me? Because I was denied a rose?”

“I did this because you were treated unkindly in my home. And their unkindness resulted in your unhappiness.” Very aware of their audience, he closed the few steps that separated them, and whispered next to her ear, “And I was denied you because of it.”