Chapter Two Douglas

W hat in the name of St. Gertrude and all of her cats just happened?

And what in the hell does Ian Fenclan mean, "his wee'n"? That beautiful vision of womanhood is the little pink bundle that made Ian a father back when I was just becoming a man?

It can't be.

But it is. Georgia Fenclan looks a good bit like her mother, but as she returns, face no longer red and eyes and nose clear, I can see her father and brother in her as well. An Orc can spot another Orc, even a Half-Orc. Georgia's height and build point to Orc strength, and the wideness of her smile and the slightest point to her ears speak to her heritage.

Not that I care. Of course I don't care. I'm forty-three and she's probably— I do some quick maths... She's about thirty.

She's probably married. I cast a quick glance at her hand. No ring, but she's working in a restaurant with food and probably washing her hands every few minutes. It's probably tucked away. Even if she's not married, she's bound to have someone somewhere.

That beautiful blonde with the sunny smile is off-limits in multiple ways.

Even if she wasn't off-limits, I know she'd never be interested in me, a dried-up old widower.

Thank God for that. I don't need to have any awkwardness between me and one of my oldest friends. I certainly don't need to pretend that romance could have any place in my life after Nicola.

A wave of detached distance slips back over me, cool and comfortable. It's easier to move through life without thinking and feeling. Just existing. Working. Crunching numbers for the International Aviation Consortium.

Yes, Orcs can be accountants. I quite prefer to work from home, so I can get the blather done with on the computer and then take care of my land, hunt, fish, and do the things I'm meant to.

This time, the familiar coldness has a sharp stab in it. I nod and smile as Ian and Farrah talk, but I don't hear their words. Back home, I have a small part of the Wickstaff clan lands. A very small part. I don't have sons or daughters to pass it on to. I tend to leave the hunting and fishing for the Orcs with little mouths to feed and children to teach. If I can't stand to be cooped up any longer, I "tend to my roots" and spend the day hunting and fishing. At the end of the night, I always give my catch to a family and retreat back to my cottage.

Some Orc I am.

"Coffee?"

Georgia's voice snaps me back into the present. "Yes, thank you. Black, please."

"Thank you for coming in for the wedding, Dougie." Ian slaps his hand on my back. "You'll probably feel as though you've never left home, mind. Half the Fenclans are roosting in our lodges and back at the house. Where are you staying?"

"Oh, I'll book myself in somewhere local. I'm sure you don't need another guest underfoot."

"Nonsense! I haven't seen you in—" Ian frowns into space, missing how my face tightens.

He hasn't seen me in eleven years, since he came home for Nicola's funeral. Oh, I'm sure he's come home since then, but I haven't been around. I make it a point to avoid big gatherings and reunions.

I wouldn't even have come to this wedding if my brother, Finlay, Ian's best friend growing up in the Hebrides, could have attended. Finlay's currently sitting back home with his wife and half-dozen children in York, nursing a bunch of broken ribs and a healing collapsed lung after falling off a roof. (Orcs may be sturdy, but a thirty-foot fall is nothing to sneeze at.)

Ian looks at me, face sober now. He's clocked it. "It's been a wee while! How's Finlay mending?"

"His wife is a wonder at healing. He'll be back and tearing around as sound as a pound. His Callum is getting married this year, too." I smile and nod, hoping no one catches the pain in my voice.

"Callum! The wee babby?"

"The wee babby is twenty-eight and late to make a match."

"Aye, well. So is our Georgie. And our Georgia, for that matter."

Farrah Fenclan clears her throat, a wordless admonition. Georgia suddenly ducks into the back and returns with brown paper napkins for the already full dispenser on the counter. "Better to be later but happier, isn't it, Douglas?" Farrah gives me a significant smile.

It doesn't land the way she intends. I know Farrah is trying to use me as a golden example of a "late matcher." Everyone thinks Nicola and I finally found "the ones" when we got married. That's a lie, but I can't tell anyone that, certainly not during a family wedding where all sorts of relatives and friends will be in attendance. "Indeed."

"Coffee." Georgia pushes the coffee across the counter along with a pastry. "You should taste Georgie's baking, Mr. Wickstaff. Claire's, too."

"Please, call me Douglas." I don't need any reminders that I'm probably ancient to you.

Georgia turns a bright smile to her parents. "Dad, Mom, what's on the docket for the rest of the day?"

"Organizing the hunt!" Ian pounds one fist over his chest. "You ladies can have your hen party—"

"A bridal shower, Dad. Already had it."

"Whatever. Georgie usually plays cards on Wednesday, but tomorrow night, we'll be after another sort of game!"

Ian and Farrah laugh loudly, and I manage a smile. "Sounds wonderful. Looking forward to it. I'd best be heading to your local car hire service, Ian. I don't want to burden you with chauffeuring me about. Besides, I have to check on some work matters."

Farrah nods, her face beaming as she leans on her husband's arm. They're the picture of love that has never lost its spark, only deepened into a blazing warmth. "What do you do for work, Douglas? Something with airlines?"

"His father worked for Aer Lingus," Ian pipes up.

"I didn't fall far from the tree there. I'm an accountant for the International Aviation Consortium in England, headquartered in London."

Ian shudders. "London."

I know what he means. To Orcs, the confines of cities aren't natural. "I work remotely, Ian. I only have to go into the office once or twice a year. When my contract was up for renegotiation, I took a pay cut so I could continue to work completely remotely even though there's been a push for people to return to their regional branches. After all, an Orc doesn't really need much in the way of creature comforts to survive," I toss out carelessly.

"Good for you, Dougie! Do you have your laptop in your luggage in the boot?"

"Aye."

"Grand. All right, I'll walk you down a few blocks to Manny's. He's always got a few cars to rent. I saw a Land Rover on the lot that might suit ye. It's a used one for sale, but if it hasn't been bought, Manny'll rent it to you."

"Thank you. Thanks for the coffee, Georgia. I'll see you at the rehearsal dinner."

"Oh? Not before?" Her blue eyes hold my gaze just a second too long.

Is it my imagination or does she seem—saddened by the fact that I'll be elsewhere? "No, not before. I have to go to New York on Thursday and I'll spend tomorrow getting ready for a big meeting. Don't worry, Ian. I'll still be there for the hunt."