The Irishman (A Legacy Novella) (The Legacy Series Book 7)

by Sheritta Bitikofer

  They fell in beside one another. Dustin continued to try and rub away the excess filth from his skin and clothes, spewing his vulgar Irish words and phrases as he went.

  “You really are improving,” Darren stated, hoping to fill the silence between them.

  Green eyes that appeared brighter because of the dark mask of mud over his cheeks, turned to Darren with cynicism. “If I was, I’d be able to do something so simple as stop by a feckin’ barrel.”

  “It takes time,” he replied. “It took me nearly ten years to hone my skills to near perfection.”

  Dustin stopped and looked him up and down, as if scrutinizing him for something out of place. “Ten years? But you said you were born this way, right?”

  Darren turned and nodded. “I was, yes.” After a moment of Dustin trying to do the math in his head, he decided to explain something he had been putting off for quite some time. “We don’t age the same way, Dustin. I’m one hundred and sixty-four years old.”

  For a moment, he wondered if Dustin was still breathing after receiving such a shock. “But… You don’t look much older than me.”

  No, he didn’t, but there would come a time when Eleanor and Lucy would look older than both of them. “As I said, we don’t age the same. I’ve been in France for almost a hundred and fifty years.”

  “Training with John, right?”

  Darren tried not to hide his surprise at the mention of his former mentor. He often forgot that Dustin could hear just as well as he could. No conversation, unless spoken in French, would be private in their house. But over the last three weeks, Dustin had been catching on quickly to their language. He could at least comprehend it, if not speak it himself.

  “Yes. John Croxen and many more loups-garous reside south of here in Albi. It’s about a two day journey.”

  Dustin took a few more steps to continue on the path. “Eleanor thinks I need to go to John… Why?”

  Carefully forming the words so as not to give offense, Darren replied, “John was my mentor and my alpha. He’s even older than I am and is more experienced in training up young loups-garous.”

  He made a sound of disbelief. “What is there to learn? As long as I don’t crash into people while running or accidentally break a glass in my hands, there can’t be much else to worry about.”

  If only it were so simple. “There’s much more to worry about. Your wolf won’t stay bottled up forever. Your golden eyes are proof of that alone. There are limitations to our way of life, which is why we’ve chosen to live in the country rather than in town like some do. I don’t doubt my control, but it’s easier to let a little of the wolf loose out here.”

  Almost losing track of what he intended to say, he reverted back to the topic of John and the chateau near Albi. He told Dustin all about the other boys who would be there learning alongside him. They were orphans or abandoned loups-garous who had no one to teach them how to work with the wolf they had been born with or forcefully given through the bite.

  During a slight lull in his story, Dustin questioned, “But, you’re teaching me everything John knows, right? Why send me away?”

  The way he talked made it sound as if Darren was eager to rid himself of his new ward, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Despite his foul mouth and enigmatic past, Darren somehow felt a connection with Dustin unlike with any other loup-garou he had met before. It was as if their wolves were lashed together somehow without ever forming a proper pack bond. The thought of Dustin going away to Albi, of handing him off to John in hopes that he’d come back to Landes Forest after his training was complete, tore up his soul more than he was willing to admit.

  “I’m not an alpha, Dustin,” he replied. “Not truly. You will need an alpha when it comes for your time to shift again. Do you know how long it’s been?”

  Dustin drew his brows together as he thought. “How long was I asleep?”

  “Nearly three days,” he answered.

  With a sigh, he gave up trying to search his memory. “Maybe soon. I don’t know… I don’t know how long I was drifting before coming here.”

  Darren saw this as an opportunity to pry more truths out of him. “Did you fall overboard?”

  Dustin shook his head. “No. I… I came straight from Ireland.”

  “On a ship,” he attempted to clarify.

  Once more, he shook his head. “No.”

  Darren grabbed for Dustin’s soggy, mud-blackened shirt sleeve. “You swam from Ireland?”

  He winced. “Not exactly.”

  His mind raced with what he could possibly mean and a more likely story took shape without Dustin ever needing to speak it aloud. Darren was almost too choked up with sympathy to speak it either. If he hadn’t been guided by John and Bartholomew as a young man, unsure of what he had become, Darren would have tried to commit suicide too. He couldn’t even fathom the sheer number of times they had come to the aid of a freshly turned loup-garou too late. They were nearly immortal and resilient, but not indestructible. When the soul was truly determined to die, it would find a way.

  Dustin glanced to Darren and gave him a look as if to say that this wasn’t the time for sob stories or pity. “How was I supposed to know that it wouldn’t work?” he asked with a shrug. “It’s in the past now. Can we just forget about it?”

  They were bold, incongruous words for a man who got lost in his own mind from time to time. If he truly wanted to forget, then he would have by now. Unless he didn’t want to forget.

  Dustin proceeded down the path and shed his soiled shirt before dropping it to the ground. The smooth skin of his bare back and shoulders were still speckled with the dirt and grime from their training session. Darren grimaced and scooped it up. Eleanor would be even more cross if Dustin came back to the house without a shirt rather than one that was so stained by the bog.

  “The past won’t go away just because you wish it would,” Darren said as he caught up with the Irishman who was walking at a brisker pace. “Believe me, I’ve tried. There are plenty of things that I never want to remember, but it doesn’t change the fact that it happened.”

  Dustin opened his mouth as if to contend with that bit of wisdom. But perhaps remembering that Darren had been alive for more than a century and a half silenced him before making such an argument. He had seen more than what most men would ever see in their lifetime.

  “Like what?” he asked instead, as if he had any right to ask about Darren’s past when he wouldn’t reveal his own except in tiny glimpses that told them next to nothing.

  “I grew up on a farm, just like you,” he began. “I never knew my father. I still don’t even know his name or if he’s somewhere out in the world. I suppose I have a right to be bitter. I’ve since healed from that wound as well. When I turned, the villagers in my hometown discovered the change in me and they didn’t take to it so well…” Darren paused as the flashes of manic mobs and glowing torches streaked across his mind. Screams and angry shouts wanted to roar in his ears, but he wouldn’t let them. He had forgiven himself for the behavior of the superstitious fools who upended countless lives. “They killed my mother when she wouldn’t tell them where I was hiding. I watched from a distance as she burned inside our home.”

  Now it was Dustin’s turn to pity his teacher. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Darren took a deep breath and exhaled out the rush of emotion that was irrevocably connected with these memories. “And I’m sorry that it happened. But no matter how much I may want to see my mother again, or wish that I had known my father during that time of my life, it won’t change anything. Whatever tragedy befell you in Ireland to make you want to take your own life, it’s done and there’s nothing we can do to reverse it.”

  It took a long moment before his despondent friend nodded in agreement. “I know you’re right… But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

  “That’s why we have our packs,” Darren said, reminding himself of the difficult task that was ahead. “Since you might be
close to your next shift, I think it’d be wise if we left for Albi soon.”

  Dustin turned to Darren as he rubbed a bit of soil from his chin with the back of his forearm that was just as dirty. “What does the shift have to do with John?”

  They were close to the house now and he could just make out his wife’s gentle humming as she prepared their dinner. “John is an alpha and he’ll be able to… integrate you into his pack better than I can.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Darren was at least happy to see that Dustin was taking an interest in the finer details of what it meant to be a loup-garou. Golden eyes and incredible speed were just the beginning. They skimmed the surface of pack dynamics and the different rankings, but Dustin would soon experience the difference between a beta and an alpha first-hand.

  “When you shift, you’ll be uncontrollable. Without an alpha there to claim dominance over you, it’s likely that you will hurt someone. John can do this for you better than I can.”

  Once more, something in Darren’s explanation struck a chord with Dustin. Only this time, he saw the kind of mental struggle take place behind his eyes. Ghosts from his past came back to haunt him one more time, but Dustin was resolved to take Darren’s advice to heart and put it all behind him. But whatever phantom reared its ugly head would not be shoved back so easily.

  Neither of them spoke a word as they came to the front lawn of the cottage. He saw the faint silhouette of his wife through the kitchen window and her face turned to watch both the men come up the walk. Her mouth hung open as soon as she took in the sight of Dustin.

  Just as he predicted, she hurried out to stop them at the door.

  “Don’t you dare come in this house looking like such a mess,” she chided. “Go around back and clean up. Darren, fetch him a spare pair of trousers to wear.”

  Both men exchanged amused looks before doing just as the woman said. Dustin had learned quickly over the last few weeks – more quickly than Darren had when they first married – that what she wanted, she would have. Lord help the man, woman, or child who went against her wishes and defied her. If it were possible for women to be loups-garous, she would have been the greatest alpha in history and that’s why Darren loved her so much. She wasn’t a flimsy, delicate thing that could be brushed off or disregarded.

  Dustin continued to wipe off the soil from his arms and shoulders as he made his way around to the wash station and well, while Darren went inside, but not before knocking off the sand and dirt from the bottom of his boots.

  Lucy instantly ran to greet him with her hands raised up, the way she always did when she wanted to be lifted into his arms. Darren had never denied her before, so he wasn’t about to now. He picked her up and propped her against his hip as she began to go on and on about the new things she had learned from her history lesson earlier that afternoon.

  “Did you read that new book we bought you?” Darren asked as he carried her into the kitchen where his wife stirred spices into a mixing bowl.

  “The one you and Dustin got me? I finished it this morning.”

  Darren’s eyes went wide in mock surprise. “So soon? We might have to make a trip into Bordeaux to get you another.”

  He saw Eleanor roll her eyes out of the corner of his vision, but ignored it. Which would she prefer? Lucy inside, sharpening her mind with hours of reading, or outside where she played in the mud and chased after frogs?

  “Is Dustin back too?” she questioned with renewed excitement.

  “He’s getting cleaned up.”

  “Can I go see him?”

  At this point, Eleanor chose to wedge herself into the conversation. “Absolutely not,” she snapped.

  “She needs to wash up for dinner too, mama,” Darren pleaded on behalf of his daughter. He didn’t like Dustin’s influence on her any more than Eleanor did, but what harm could a few minutes alone do?

  As soon as Eleanor’s flinty eyes fixed on him, Darren knew he had said the wrong thing. He then looked to Lucy who was still expecting an answer. “Did you finish practicing your figures?” he asked. She meekly nodded and that’s when he set her down. “Go on then and wash up,” was all he said after that. Lucy darted off and out the door with a squeal of delight.

  He had faced down raging loups-garous and had plenty of brushes with death, but in that moment, he was afraid to meet the glare of his wife. “I don’t know why you don’t like Dustin,” he said in a futile effort to break the tension she was slowly suffocating him with.

  She stomped closer and lowered her voice to that nearly indistinguishable whisper, knowing the subject of their discussion was well within earshot behind the house. She spoke in French, despite her hushed tone. “Because there’s something about him that I don’t trust. He’s guilty about something and the fact that he won’t tell us what that is makes me nervous.”

  Darren smiled and took his wife’s hands, feeling the slightly chalky texture of flour residue on her fingers. He wanted to console her with the fact that he had also been concerned about Dustin’s evasiveness, but that would only give her a stronger case against the Irishman.

  “Mon cheri, Dustin is harmless. He wouldn’t hurt Lucy.”

  He said it with total confidence. Dustin hadn’t done anything up to this point to make him untrustworthy. Eleanor just didn’t see that yet.

  The conviction in his voice seemed to pacify her and she let out a tired sigh. “Are you still going to send him to John?”

  Darren nodded, but in that, he didn’t portray near as much surety.

  Chapter Seven

  Dustin let the cool water wash over his arms. The water chilled his skin to bring him back to the present, instead of reliving those terrible few seconds of the past that made him want to scream and beat on the stone well. So that was it. He had only needed an alpha with him that night when he shifted for the first time. Maybe then, Cassandra would be alive right now. An alpha could have taken command over his wolfish form and stopped him from killing her.

  Over the last few weeks, he had learned more than he ever cared to know about the supernatural world. Very little of what Darren said matched up with the legends of the faoladh or the mercenary wolf shifters of Tipperary. What he called loups-garous were almost so entirely different that Dustin didn’t even regard them as the same anymore.

  He came to learn, without Darren’s instruction, that the wolf was like an inner spirit that lived within him. It’s what made him crave meat and get sick on vegetables. It was that essence that retained its own emotions and energies that he had felt since the moment he woke up outside Kenmare. He even recognized that it mourned for the loss of Cassandra just as keenly as Dustin did. It must have known what they did to her, what he did.

  Darren wasn’t inclined to believe that it was a spiritual tether between man and wolf. It seemed more like something that could be observed and studied; a physical, biological explanation that involved the psyche of the host rather than the soul. Given Darren’s dedication to science and education as opposed to religious or spiritual matters, that didn’t surprise Dustin.

  He had come to know the family so well over the last few weeks that he almost believed he could belong here in the swampy forest outside Bordeaux. But one mention of John Croxen and some loup-garou orphanage in Albi obliterated those hopes.

  Either way, he would miss the late-night talks by the fire and Lucy’s bubbly laugh when she played outside after her lessons were complete. He’d even miss Eleanor’s reprimands. She could slip from a sweet motherly figure to an unsympathetic woman who wouldn’t let him eat breakfast unless his bed was made first.

  One thing he wouldn’t miss were the guarded discussions between his two hosts. He knew they were talking about him. Why else would they drop their voices to a low whisper and speak in a language he didn’t understand? They made him feel as if something was going terribly wrong in his training, or that he was making himself into a burden that they couldn’t bear any longer.

  Dustin tried his
best to help with the household chores when he could and even took trips to town with Darren when they needed an extra hand to carry back their purchases. The deafening noise of Bordeaux would not bar him from being useful, and it served as an extra opportunity to refine his senses, choosing what he would and would not hear. Smells were a little harder to block out, but like Darren said, he was improving.

  He wasn’t quite sure whether to rejoice in his advancement in training or be troubled. A month ago, when he caught the first glimpse of what he truly was, Dustin would have scorned it and wanted to escape from himself in any way possible. Now, he wanted to know more and discover what he had inherited from the father he never knew.

  Just when he was ready to slip into another disturbing speculation about who his parents might have been and why they gave him away, Lucy came skipping around the corner of the house with a big grin splitting her pretty face.

  She came right up to the well and watched as he rubbed away the mud and remnants of bog from his hair.

  “You stink,” she stated.

  Dustin smiled at her candidness and couldn’t help but admire it. He hoped that it was a trait she would retain throughout her adulthood. God help the man who fell in love with her.

  “Your mother wouldn’t like you using that word,” Dustin admonished as he took the bucket of well water and dumped it over his bent head.

  Lucy giggled and jumped out of the way so she wouldn’t be splashed. “Did you stop at the barrel today?” she asked, tapping the edge of her little shoe in the puddle Dustin had made in the grass.

  Thinking back to his blunder in the swamp, his smile widened. It was funnier now than it had been when he first rose up out of the mud. “Not quite,” was all he’d tell her. She’d probably hear all about the story over dinner and she’d tease him for days afterward. Lucy always did when she found out about his tiny mistakes. Eleanor told her it wasn’t proper to tease, but she did it anyway.