by Mae Clair
Derry. Veronica.
The thought of his son and the woman he loved spurred him to try again. Straining for a better grasp, he tightened his grip. But the glove was slick, the metal too smooth. Risking a single-handed hold, he snagged one glove in his teeth, tugged it free, and spit it from his mouth. It fell to the ground like a flightless bird. Exhausted, he groped for the rail.
And encountered flesh.
Solid, wonderfully strong, impossibly anchoring. A firm hand locked onto his forearm, holding him in place when fatigue would have let him fall.
“Did you think I’d let you down, Caithelden?”
Caith tilted his head back and looked up into the eyes of his father. “Dad.” His smile felt foreign, the warmth that accompanied the name, odder still. “Pull me up. I need to find Derry.”
“Derry’s safe.” Reaching over the side, his father snagged his belt and hoisted him onto the catwalk. Somewhere in the distance a siren started, gradually increasing in volume. Caith got no further than dragging himself to a sitting position before Derrick barreled from the landing.
“Dad!” He flung himself into Caith’s arms.
Relieved, Caith hugged him close. “It’s all right, Derry. You’re safe now.” Soft curls brushed his cheek. A residual tremor of fear raced through Derrick’s body. Gripping him by the shoulders, Caith pried him back. “Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?”
Derrick shook his head. Caith scanned his face, ran his hands over Derrick’s shoulders and arms. He saw no visible damage, but emotional and psychological wounds were harder to heal. “Derry…this is all my fault. You shouldn’t have been involved.” He faltered for words, finding them tangled with secrets he’d locked away for too many years. His kid had a right to know. About Trask, about him, about why he’d been taken tonight. Cupping the back of his head, Caith pulled him close, hugging him fiercely. “If I’d lost you…” He couldn’t finish the thought. The warmth of his body appeared to ease Derrick’s fears, and his son’s shivering gradually subsided.
His father laid a hand on Caith’s shoulder. “I found him outside,” he said quietly. He squatted, still wearing his Civil War costume. What a sight they must make—a highwayman, a Union general, and a terrified child. “I think he’s more worked up over seeing you in that fight than what happened to him. He was petrified you were going to fall like McClure.”
“You saw?”
“Most of it.” The hand on his shoulder tightened. “You were both on the catwalk when we came inside, but I couldn’t get to you in time.”
“How’d you find me in the first place?”
His father shrugged, grinning crookedly. “It wasn’t hard. I made myself think like you. I tried to imagine who Kelly would use as an accomplice, and that led me to Lance McClure and here. I’ve been following your career for so long, I know how your mind works. The moment I came inside and saw you on the catwalk, I called Duke Cameron on my cell. Not bad for an old man, huh? I would have helped you in the first place, but you left the house in such a damn hurry.”
“I had to.” The words caught again.
“I know.” Reaching around him, his dad ruffled Derrick’s hair. “I was worried, too. And not only about my grandson.”
Derrick stirred in Caith’s arms and raised his head. There were tears in his eyes, shining on the surface, blue and liquid as seawater. “Dad…that man. He said things. He was gonna hurt me.”
“But he didn’t.” Carefully, Caith cupped his chin, and then smoothed a hand over his silky curls. “I know what you’re feeling, Derry. It’s okay to be afraid as long as you don’t let it control you.”
Derrick sniffled, nestling closer. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“I know you don’t.” He paused, making a decision. He didn’t want his kid growing up with the same fear he’d kept bottled inside for so many years. A terror so constricting, it kept him from telling the woman he loved he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. If his kid could put tonight behind him, he could do no less with his own past.
He’s spent his entire life fearful his name and connection to the Breckwood fortune would put his son in danger, but his family was the one thing he never should have kept from Derrick. His family was his strength, not his weakness. There would always be unscrupulous people looking to profit from the misery of others, but he couldn’t safeguard Derrick from everything. He couldn’t expect his kid to live in a bubble, nor could he live in one himself. It was time to face the world for what it was, to let go of the chokehold Trask’s death had held over him for far too long.
“Derry, Trask didn’t die accidentally. We were kidnapped when we weren’t much older than you.” He swallowed hard and blundered ahead. “Trask died saving my life. When you’re ready, I’ll tell you about it. Maybe afterward, you’ll tell me about tonight.”
Puzzled, Derrick raised his head. “But you told me you were playing in a basement. That he got hurt.”
“I know, but that’s not what happened. It’s my fault for not telling you the truth.”
“Mine, too.” Caith’s father stood and offered his hand. “It’s time we both faced the past, Caithelden. I have some explaining to do to Derry as well.”
Caith looked from his father’s hand to his son’s shining eyes. Somehow, he didn’t think either had anything to do with past events as much as future promises. It made him realize he still had one to give.
To Veronica.
Chapter 19
Idiot!
Veronica paced back and forth on the enclosed rear porch of the Breckwood home, trying to decide if she wanted to lynch Caith or kiss him. It was typical of the Caith she remembered to run off and do something stupidly heroic. What she couldn’t conceive was why he hadn’t called the police when he’d arrived at the welding shop.
Maybe he’d been distracted, thinking of his son and the past. Or maybe he was just so damn cocky and self-assured, used to solving things on his own, he didn’t believe in police assistance.
A certifiable idiot!
Fuming silently, she passed an electric cauldron in the corner for the sixth time. Simulated orange flames danced across the top, sending ripples of light over the ceiling and floor. Earlier, the home had been cleared of guests, the ghoulish and fantastical landscapes now seeming out of place with only family remaining.
She’d cried herself silly when Caith brought Derry back, fussing over him like he was her own child. She’d helped Caith get him settled in bed, leaving only when Derry asked about Trask.
That was a private moment for father and son, one Veronica wasn’t sure Caith would see to conclusion. But Stuart told her Caith had promised Derry the truth. He also told her about the fight between Caith and Lance McClure. She’d seen proof of it when he’d returned to the house. Bruising on his neck, a cut above his eye, and a swollen ankle that left him hobbling.
She’d wanted him to see a doctor, but he’d shrugged it off as unnecessary.
A certifiable macho idiot!
He definitely deserved to be lynched, not kissed. She was exhausted, on the verge of tears. The entire night had been an ongoing series of traumatic events. Duke Cameron had reported back to inform them Kelly Rice was now in custody, and warrants had been issued for Galina Brady. Balin was remanded to his father’s care until the extent of his involvement could be determined. Lucy McClure was notified of her husband’s demise, gossip spreading faster than it could be manufactured.
Stuart called a friend who was a doctor, begged a favor, and asked him to visit Caith at the house. By then, Caith’s ankle had swelled to the extent the boot had to be cut from his leg. Fortunately, the doctor determined the swelling was the result of a bad sprain and it was highly unlikely anything had been broken. He suggested x-rays in the morning to be on the safe side. In the meantime, the ankle was wrapped, packed with ice, and Caith was given orders to remain off it as much as possible.
He’d used the time to stay with his son
. Derry fell asleep, waking once with nightmares when she’d checked in. After an initial bout of bad dreams, he’d slept soundly.
Deciding her certifiable-macho-idiot boyfriend needed rest of his own, Veronica headed upstairs. It was still fifty minutes before midnight. Halloween’s final hour.
She found Caith as he was leaving Derry’s bedroom. He closed the door slowly, holding the knob to muffle the sound.
“Asleep?” Veronica asked.
Caith nodded. He looked haggard. He’d shed his tunic along with his remaining boot. The white shirt gaped at his throat, exposing purpling bruises on his neck. She wondered if the sight had disturbed Derry as much as it did her. Her eyes tracked to his bandaged ankle.
“You shouldn’t be standing. I thought you were supposed to stay off your feet.”
“I needed to see you. A lot’s happened tonight.” Catching her wrist, he drew her into his arms. His lips moved against her hair in a tender kiss. “God, you smell good.”
She wanted to be angry for the danger he’d placed himself in but couldn’t summon the effort. He’d reacted as she would have to protect Derry. It made her realize how much she loved them both.
“I need to talk to you.” Taking her hand, he led her down the hall to the guest room she’d been given for the night. The late hour and concern for Derry kept the family gathered downstairs, bringing a sense of security and warmth long absent from the Breckwood home.
Caith pulled her into the room and closed the door. She’d been here earlier, leaving a small hurricane lamp burning on the nightstand. It created a halo of yellow that accompanied the moonlight streaming through high, steepled windows. A Victorian four-poster bed with a lace coverlet was draped in filmy white bed curtains. Another time, Veronica might have thought the ambiance enchanting, but her mind was too occupied with Caith.
“You really should sit down.” Nervously, she moved to tuck her hair behind her ear and realized it was still caught up in combs. Clearing her throat, she motioned to the bed, hoping to mask her uneasiness. “Doctor Grossi said if you don’t keep off that ankle, you’re going to make it worse.”
He grinned. “I think you just want to get me in bed.”
His brashness took her by surprise, oddly out of place after the events of the evening. Befuddled, she fell back on sternness. “Caithelden.”
He slipped his hands onto her shoulders, using his thumbs to tip up her chin. Heat flowed from his body, warm and inviting, promising passion to come. His lips hovered just shy of her own, ghosting her skin.
“I make a better lover than a highwayman.” Bending forward, he moved his mouth gently over hers, sending sun-soaked warmth shooting through her veins. When the kiss ended, he looked intently into her eyes. “But I’d be a better husband than a lover.”
Veronica’s heart thudded against her ribs. “What?”
He cupped her face. “I love you.”
Awestruck, Veronica watched a grin spread across his lips. Bright and dazzling, it was the smile she loved best.
“I’ve loved you since we were kids, but I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t want anything to happen to you.” The smile faltered along with his words. Something clouded his eyes. “I’ve been an idiot, Veronica. I wasted years we could have been together. I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me.”
“Hate you?” It was happening too fast. Her head reeled as she tried to make the moment last. He’d said it, really said it: I love you. Words she’d thought him incapable of uttering.
“You need to know the truth.” Anxiety crackled through him. She felt it as strongly as she’d felt his pleasure a moment ago. Taking her hand, he drew her to a seat on the bed. His thumb tracked over her knuckles, but the gesture was more likely meant to calm him rather than her.
“When we were together that first time at the lake…I loved you so much it scared me. I thought something would happen to you. Like Trask. That being with me could get you killed.” Releasing her, he lurched from the bed and prowled a short distance away. “I know it’s stupid, Ron, but I couldn’t make it go away. So I wrote you that letter.” He hobbled back and stood staring down at her. “There never was anyone else. It was always you. Only you. I made the damn thing up.”
She shook her head, disbelieving. “Why, Caith?” Confusion, betrayal, and hurt rushed together, resurrecting the pain she’d felt when she’d received the letter. She’d carried that scar for years. Even now, as much as she loved him, the wound was bitter. To know he’d inflicted it deliberately…
“Why didn’t you talk to me? Tell me what you were feeling?”
“I couldn’t. Don’t you get it?” Anguish flared in his eyes. “You would have wanted to stay with me. I couldn’t have that. I couldn’t live with the possibility of something happening to you because of who I am.”
“The heir to a fortune.” She said it bitterly.
“Yes.”
Veronica stood. “And now?”
Caith lowered his eyes. “Now I know I’ve been a complete ass. To you, my father, my family, even my kid. I’m my own person with or without the Breckwood name.” He drew a breath, meeting her gaze squarely. “I told Derry about Trask tonight. I told him everything. I don’t want my son growing up with the same fears I had. Ten years from now he could meet someone and make the same stupid mistake. It might be too late for us, but I’m going to work like hell to make sure that never happens to Derry.”
Veronica’s heart sank to her stomach. “Do you think it’s too late for us?”
“You need to decide that.” Caith moved forward. She saw fear in his eyes. Not the obsessive fear that had controlled his life, but fear he would lose her. Fear she would turn and walk away now that he was ready to make a commitment.
“I love you, Veronica. I couldn’t say it before, but if you give me the chance, I promise to tell you for the rest of your life.”
Hot tears flooded her eyes. When he took her hands, her whole body trembled. She tried to blink past the watery haze, but her vision only blurred further. Still holding her hands, he crouched awkwardly on one knee.
“Your ankle.”
“My mother will skin me alive if I don’t do this right. One knee. It’s in all of the books.”
“Caith.”
“We’ve played at myth all of our lives.” He looked into her eyes. The smile was back. Not as self-assured as before, but full of love nonetheless. “I don’t want what-ifs or make-believes. I want you, Ronnie. I’m sorry I don’t have a ring for you. I didn’t plan on proposing tonight. After what’s happened, I just know I don’t want to spend another day without you.” He drew a breath, tightening his grip on her hands. “Veronica Kent, will you marry me?”
Tears crested her eyes and flowed down her face. Her throat closed up but she managed a pitiful squeak.
Looking worried, Caith tilted his head. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes!” She flung herself into his arms, remembering his ankle too late. Off balance he reeled backward, taking them both to the floor. Veronica laughed. “I’m sorry. Your ankle.”
Grinning, he rolled on top of her, tucking his knee between her legs. “I’d rather have the bed, but this will do.” His mouth closed on hers, warm and giving, sealing his promise.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Only then did she realize he’d proposed on Halloween. Perhaps somewhere in a realm where myth and magic combined, a blond-haired boy in a green baseball cap watched and smiled.
Trask would approve.
* * * *
Veronica gave Dean Porter a quick once-over as she passed him the key to his suite. It was amazing the difference a few months had made in the scrawny writer. He hadn’t gained weight as much as confidence. His suit was immaculate and his thinning hair styled for distinction. Going from hack tabloid writer to respected journalist with a major newspaper had done miracles for his self-esteem. Wanting to keep Roth-Deckman out of the press, the CEO had been more than willing t
o listen when Caith suggested an introduction to Porter. While the tabloid writer flourished in his new position, Galina Brady had been stripped of hers. Both she and Kelly were disgraced but free on bail, pending trial.
“Third floor,” Veronica told Porter, with a nod for the steps. “But we don’t call it the Hummingbird Suite anymore.”
Porter read the engraved name on the old-fashioned key tag with a shrug. “Camelot?”
Veronica smiled. “Fit for a king. Or in this case, a journalist.”
The observation made him puff up with pride. Preening, he headed for the stairs.
Veronica sighed, satisfied to have the lodge full again. There was no longer a need for anti-stress sessions, or bans on cell phones and laptops. The lodge was open to the public, replacing its corporate theme with one of myth and romance. It had been Morgana’s idea, changing the theme and the name.
Myth and Magic had replaced Stone Willow Lodge in mid-November. Veronica still had occasional single guests like Porter, but more often, couples came to celebrate anniversaries, honeymoons, and romantic holidays. The rustic decor had been replaced with soft pastels, romantic lace, and antique furnishings. Theme suites, meals, and events were built around famous couples from folklore—Arthur and Guinevere, Tristan and Isolde, Robin Hood and Marian. At first she feared the idea wouldn’t take, but the lodge had received favorable write-ups in countless magazines and online sites, most courtesy of Roth-Deckman.
Veronica grinned. Sometimes there were benefits to having a private investigator for a husband. Abandoning the registration counter, she walked to the rear of the lobby, then stood staring out over Stone Willow Lake.
When Caith proposed, she’d never expected him to stay in Coldcreek. But a week later he’d made arrangements to sell the house in Boston. They’d bought a two-story Colonial not far from Aren’s farm. The wedding had been small, family and a few friends. Jake and Connie from Boston and Nick Fontaine, with whom Caith had developed an amazing, if unusual, rapport.