Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

There were three horses, two grown and one small, a black with a white jagged mark on his haunch that Lucien saw when the horse turned sideways. There was a figure garbed in a black cloak, hooded so that it obscured the face of the person beneath the folds of cloth.

At one side of the silent figure was a glossy black wolf, with a dark green collar, and on the other side a fully mature mountain lion with a silken coat of ruddy brown and sporting a deep blue collar. Both animals were ominous-looking, and as Lucien gazed upon them, he had never seen a more welcome sight.

He heard his family appear behind him. They all muttered to themselves about the strange group presenting themselves at the door.

His father spoke loudest. “I would see those horses. Who is that? What kind of person goes around with those kind of animals?”

Lucien walked down the steps, ignoring his family and the noises they made. Her pull on him was too strong to disregard—like a bee to a flower—and he stopped a short distance away from the figure that was well-protected by the animals. He could have heard a pin drop—for the first time, his entire family was silent as they watched the scene unfold before them.

“Hello, Wolf.” The husky voice tinged with velvet floated from beneath the hood, enveloping his wounded soul like the coolness of a summer breeze on a sweltering day.

“Ciara.” He spoke the word almost reverently, as if she might disappear and he would wake to find it was all another dream.

“As promised, the first son of Nyama and Epona.” The hood bobbed in the direction of the colt between the mares.

“Take off your hood. Let me see you.” His order was quiet but everyone heard. Everyone watched as the command was obeyed.

Ciara stood tall and pushed back her hood.

When her hood fell, Lucien drank in the sight of her. She was just as beautiful as he remembered in his dreams. With all the regality of a queen, she stood for his perusal and that of all others present. Her eyes stayed wary and he saw that the animals had not relaxed their guard either.

“Faolan? Kosse?” Lucien got down on one knee. He had to focus on something else or he would grab her. Both animals looked at Ciara and, at her minuscule hand gesture, she released them. The animals swarmed him, Faolan wagged his tail and Kosse purred. His stepmother screamed and fainted—for once not a fake swoon because she hit her head hard—while his brother paled even more and retreated behind the nosy servants.

Ciara spoke a single word and both the animals were back on either side of her.

“Who are you?” the duke yelled as he came down the stairs. “Where did you get these horses?”

Ciara never even blinked. Her eyes followed him and only when he got close to the horses did she speak, her voice impassive as if he were not worth her time.

“Those are not your horses. Keep away from them.”

“Wench, I am a duke. I can do whatever I damn well please.”

Lucian saw the flash in her eyes and stepped forward to intervene when she flicked her hand and Faolan placed himself in front of the duke and between him and the horses.

“He does not ask. You will get no more warnings. Step away from the horses.” She turned back to Lucien, her voice soft once again. “The bay mare next to the colt is a gift for your sister. Her name is Angel. Epona’s second daughter.”

Devonna walked down the stairs and past her brother, who was trying not to run up and grab this woman, and stopped in front of her.

In a soft voice she asked, “Are you Ciara?”

“Aye. I am. You must be Devonna.” A slight nod of her head was all the deference she acquitted her regardless of her station.

She blushed. “I am. Thank you for the horse. Can I see her?”

Lucien was shocked to see his sister speak so open with a stranger like that, as was the rest of the staff.

“Of course.” She gave a low whistle and Angel broke away from the group and trotted up to Ciara. Picking up the rope, she placed it in Devonna’s hand. “She is very gentle. I hope you find happiness with her.”

Another whistle brought a mare and the colt to her. That left the duke facing a large wolf. She untied the colt and placed the rope in Lucien’s hands.

“My promise has been fulfilled.”

“Where are you going?”

“I am staying… That is none of your business. I have to go. It was wonderful to see you again, Wolf. I hope you have found your happiness.”

“Wait.” He couldn’t let her leave, not now after all this time. “Would you like to see my stables? I mean, after all, you helped with the planning.”

“Just let her go. She is obviously not of your class.” A high, nasal voice reached everyone.

“Emma. Shut up.” Lucien faced them both. “In fact, if the two of you, and you as well, Richard, can’t be nice to her then you will be removed from the property. That is it. If you stay, you will be polite.” He turned back to Ciara. “Well?”

“Fine. Can I water my horses?”

“Sure, your horse?” He bit back the urge to grin like a schoolboy. She was within his reach again. He didn’t intend to let her go this time.

“No, horses.” She made a sound like a bird and out of the trees came another horse with a small person on its back. It was a very nice gelding, chestnut in color. It was the passenger who caught Lucien’s attention, though.

A boy, lanky with youth, rode tall on the horse. He was golden-skinned but not as dark as the woman he was with. His hair was thick and wavy, an inky black. As he stopped beside her, he swung down with agility, despite the height of the horse, which bespoke his familiarity with horses. He stood beside Ciara.

“Are we here to rest for a bit, Mama?”

Mama? A sword pierced his heart. She did have children, which would explain the cool reaction she gave him. Here he had been dreaming of a woman who had gone and had a child.

“You have a son? Congratulations.” His voice was sharp and tense. Even he heard the pain. The knife settled between his ribs as he saw his dreams leave his reach. “How old is he?”

“Yes. This is my son, Brenden Kumi McKay. Bryn say hello to Wo… His lord, the Marquess of Heartstone.”

“Good day. Thank you for allowing us to rest our horses.”

The boy was polite even though his address to the marquess was not correct. His voice was like a gentle rain, falling anywhere without fear. And why should he fear? He was well-protected.

“Not a problem.” Each word killed him a little more. The boy even sounded like her, with an accent on certain words. He looked at Ciara and saw her gaze on her son, full of love.

“Bryn, go play with Kosse and Faolan. I don’t think his horses are used to them.” She turned her amber gaze back to Lucien. “Is there a place they can play?”

“By the lake.”

“You heard him, Bryn. What do you say?” A small victory as Lucien noticed that she didn’t ask if he would be safe.

“Thank you.” The child who went by Bryn looked up at him and smiled. Lucien stared in shock, his heart coming to a halt as he gazed into a mirror image of his own eyes. Thick dark lashes framed them, giving him a very exotic and innocent look. His eyes were going to be a very big attraction for the ladies when he was older. His eyes did not leave the boy until he was headed to the lake.

“How old did you say he was?”

It couldn’t be. It’s impossible, isn’t it?

“I didn’t. A little over six years.” Her amber eyes were guileless as she looked at him.

“He’s mine.” He swore. He grabbed her arm and pulled her up flush against his chest. He heard the gasps of shock from his father, stepmother and the rest of the vultures listening in on them. “Deny it! Damn you, deny it.”

His entire body quivered with rage. Rage that he had been denied his son.

Faolan looked back, and as he saw Lucien reach for her, he turned. Ciara sent a word to him. The large black wolf continued with Kosse and Bryn.

“I can’t. He is yours.” Ciara still spoke with the calm assurance that he had always admired about her. Now it just added fuel to the fire.

Meeting his gaze head-on, she asked, “I thought you were going to show me your stables. Has that changed?” She was unflappable—her calm settled over her like a suit of armor nothing could get through.

Eyes hardened. “No, it hasn’t. This conversation isn’t over.”

He knew she didn’t lie about him being the father—it wasn’t in her to do so. But she had kept it from him for seven years. She hadn’t even sent him a missive. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Weeks still watched.

“Weeks, see that the green room is made up for her. She and herson will be staying the night.”

He swung off toward the barn, never once letting go of her arm. He entered the stables and stopped a stable boy and gave him the reins to Artemis. “Take care of her horse. It needs water and some grain. The other ones need some as well.”

He stalked to the back of the stable where it was low light and found an open stall and pushed her through then followed. He snapped the door shut behind him and glared at her.

“Explain yourself.”

The edge in that tone could have cut steel. This was the tone that made him good at being a marquess, it demanded an answer—her answer. He was beyond angry. He shook with untold anger as he tried not to put his hands on her. Truth was he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t do her harm.

“I don’t owe you any explanations.”

“You don’t owe me any— You can’t believe that? That’s my son, damn you! I had a right to know he even existed. You had no right, none, to keep that from me.” Lucien’s voice rose and he shouted with no regard to who might overhear.

“Perhaps not. Maybe I handled that bad—”

“Maybe? There is no maybe about it, you—”

“But surely you gave some thought to what happened between us. You never once pulled out of me. Or did you forget that when you got back here to your ‘golden-haired’ beauties with their ‘skin the color of cream’? Don’t take this out on me.” Ciara’s bitterness cracked through her normally calm demeanor.

“I never held any idea of trying to get money from you or anything for him. I love my son. I came to fulfill my promise and to let you know of his existence. I will not let him come to harm in your society.”

She meant to leave him. Fresh rage swept through him. “I could keep him with me. He is my son. I have the right to keep him with me.”

Ciara’s eyes flashed with danger as she advanced on Lucien. He had found the chink in her armor. Her entire body trembled with fury. “Don’t you dare threaten me with taking my son from me. He is mine.”

Lucien found himself retreating a step under the wrath of her vehemence. As he realized that there was also fear in her gaze, he understood what he had done. He held up his hands in a surrendering gesture. Bloody hell, this woman—his woman—was magnificent.

Ciara stopped when he put up his hands. Her breaths came short and fast. It wasn’t only from the yelling match either. She was aroused.

Lucien saw her eyes darken, with desire this time. His eyes flared and he grabbed her into his arms and kissed her. Kissed her with all of his worry and love for the past seven years. He crushed her to him as he imbibed deeply her smell.

“Umm. Humm.” The sound of a throat being cleared brought them back to earth. Lucien snapped his gaze to the door and saw Rafe there with a smug grin on his face. “As the rest of your family is on their way, perhaps you would like to put some light between your bodies.”

They stepped out of the stall just as his family came down the aisle. All speaking—no, demanding—at once so it was hard for him to tell which person was yelling at him.

“Who is she? What is this about your son?”

“Where did she come from?” Richard asked.

“What is she to you? What is her family line?”

“Where did she get those horses? I want some like them.” That from his father.

Ciara stood erect between the two men and faced the storm that was his family. Lucien placed his hand on the small of her back and stared at them until they quieted. “I will answer your questions, inside. One at a time.” Once again he had become the unflappable marquess, no task too great for him to handle.

The family glared at her but stepped to one side of the aisle to allow them to pass. When they got back outside, Ciara stopped. Lucien looked down at her and tried to nudge her forward but she wouldn’t move.

“What?” he asked in a low tone.

“I will go to check on Bryn.”

“Will you leave?” She stared out toward the lake where her son, their son, played and didn’t answer. “I would have your word you won’t leave.”

“Very well. I will not leave until I speak to you again.”

“No. You will stay the night. Your word or I drag you with me.” Lucien knew that his family was shocked by his behavior. He didn’t care. He wanted her word of honor.

“One night we will stay.” She pinned a look on him and added, “As long as he is safe.”

He sketched a bow at her and smiled.

“Until later then.”

He strode off to the house while his father continued to berate him. Lucien didn’t even take offense when she had said that he might not be able to keep them safe. She was here. After seven long years she was here, with him. And he had a son.

“It is just a woman. Who cares if she leaves? Her word is useless to you.”