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Apparently satisfied with Cam’s abbreviated answer, his uncle dismissed the wreck of the carpet. His aunt and sister less easily. They both focused on the stain with wide eyes.
His uncle jerked his chin at the ceiling. “Has Miss Bligh gone?”
“No. She hasn’t.” He couldn’t help it. Despite the shock he knew he’d inflict, he offered his uncle a look that told a story of its own.
Brodie swallowed a laugh, but his uncle remained unfazed. “Mrs. Kennett-Holmes—”
“Will need to look elsewhere for a new husband. I’m sorry, Uncle Josh. I can’t woo a woman whose sole enticement is her money, her connections, and her calming influence.”
His uncle changed tack. His face softening into less belligerent lines. “Cam, are you prepared to jeopardize your future? Your sister and brothers’ futures for this woman? We’re your family, Cam. We need to hold together.”
“Family?” Cam spat, his earlier weakness burned away. “A family’s supposed to accept you as you are. Not as they wish you would be. I tried for years to be the man you wanted me to be. And spent more years apologizing when I didn’t measure up. I can’t do it anymore.”
Finally, his words seemed to get through.
Uncle Josh dropped into a chair, his hands curling over the arms, his expression full of self-contrition. “I blame myself.” He sighed. “You’ve inherited too much of your father. Even my upbringing was not enough to hold back the worst of his excesses coming to fruition in you.” He straightened. Pointed an accusing finger in Cam’s direction. “But I’ll say one thing—your father may have been a reckless gadabout, but he knew the importance of family. To him, being a Sinclair meant honor. Pride. He’d be as disappointed as I am to hear you’ve spurned it all for a woman of Miss Bligh’s character.”
Cam’s hand unconsciously reached for his cross. “We won’t ever know what my father would think. But I do know what Gran-da thinks. And he’s given me his blessing.”
“You’ve seen…” Uncle Josh jerked back against the chair, a flicker of something Cam might take for belief at the corners of his gaze. And why not? Joshua Sinclair had been raised in Caithness. Had walked the same lonely mountain tracks. Stood on the same fog-shrouded shores. Heard the same stories of the old days when a winter’s storm held families close to the fires.
A warmth filled the emptiness in Cam where the last shreds of family duty had been pounded to dust. A healing that let him see his uncle as the tired, besieged old man he was. A final gift from his grandfather? A product of Morgan’s love?
“So you’re calling my bluff. You don’t think I’ll ruin her?” His uncle’s question froze the room to silen
ce. A final desperate attempt to hold Cam within his orbit.
Brodie’s hand went to his waist as if he might draw steel.
Euna jumped, her gaze sweeping from her uncle to Brodie to Cam.
“Joshua!” Aunt Sylvie stood, her nervousness whipped to steely resolve. “Do you hear yourself? Do you see what you’re doing?”
His face seemed to melt into defeat, shoulders slumped. “I see Cam throwing away a chance to put his unsavory past behind him and start fresh.”
“And can he only do this in the arms of Sally Kennett-Holmes? Can you not put aside your stubborn Sinclair pride long enough to hear your nephew out? Morgan Bligh may not be our choice, but if she can bring a smile back to Cameron’s face, I’m willing to withhold judgment.”
His uncle snorted, but remained silent. Again, Cam had the feeling that mention of his grandfather had tipped a scale somewhere in his favor.
This time, his aunt did cross the room. Cupped his cheek. “It’s been too long since a true smile lit your eyes, Cameron.” She mouthed silently, “Leave him to me.”
He’d never noticed the stubborn jut of her chin before, or the dogged gleam in her eyes. But they were there.
And for the first time in a long while, Cam saw hope for the square peg.
Chapter 27
Doran trusted few. It was how he’d survived as long as he had. First as a soldier in the Duinedon’s army, fighting his way beside his brothers across India until one by one they’d fallen. Later as student and soldier in Scathach’s order of Amhas-draoi where he’d finally understood firsthand the discrimination of Other by true Fey. The way the most potent magics were held in tight-fisted secrecy by the faery world. Any excuse to keep the Other away from real power.
Well, the all-seeing Scathach hadn’t seen everything, had she?
So arrogant in her superiority, she’d never gleaned his reasons for such diligent study, such single-minded determination in becoming the best of the Amhas-draoi. Only one within the order holding greater innate ability. And he’d gone soft over some woman.
So who really was stronger?
But now this miserly bestowal of his favor proved a difficulty. Three of his closest followers dead. Just one remaining he believed in enough to follow through on his instructions. And the dubious talents of the sewer rat, Rastus.
“You have your orders, North. Bring the woman back to me here.” He caught a look cross the man’s face. “Untouched.”
