12. Alban
Alban
I agreed to one more supper with my two unexpected cottage guests. And immediately came to regret it. Turned out I’d been right to tell Leora not to cook for me in the chicken house. The questionable breakfast for supper she put together while I was calming myself down wasn’t good.
It was feckin spectacular.
As I took the last bite, a new terror invaded my soul. I kent with bone-deep certainty that the taste of this breakfast would haunt me forever. Especially when I was alone again and staring down countless bowls of stew—the only thing I knew how to make for my own supper.
I acknowledged all of this. Then I raised my plate and asked for a second helping of everything.
Leora’s face went from tentative to delighted at my request, and that was even worse than the ambrosial meal. Just when I thought she couldn’t get any more beautiful, she proved me wrong by unleashing that smile.
I’d made her smile. I could practically feel my wolf’s tail wagging inside of me. At this rate, I’d never shut him up.
“Oh, we ate everything,” she said, rising to stand. “But I can easily make more.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said, even as my wolf rolled around inside of me like a dog anticipating a belly rub.
“I can see you’re really hungry!” She swiped away my plate as if I were one of those starving refugee kids you see on the telly in the Christmas campaigns. “I’ll make you another helping as fast as I can.”
I couldn’t stop my eyes from tracking Leora as she returned to the stove with my plate, still dressed in my kilt and shirt.
What would it be like to receive that look of delight every time I asked her for more? At my supper table—and in my bed with her lovely thick thighs wrapped around my waist and the warmest part of her wrapped around my …
“Don’t worry, it will only take a few minutes,” Dorie said, misinterpreting the thoughts behind my ravenous expression.
I couldn’t tell her the real reason I was staring at her mother, though, could I?
Anyroad, Dorie was an excellent distraction from the she-wolf at the stove. I tore my eyes away from the mother and focused on the toothless girl. “Never had boar bacon turn out that good when I make it.”
Dorie nodded as if to say, Of course, you haven’t, you poor, sad, stew-exclusive male.
“Maem is the best cook in all of Saint Albert. Even the helpmates and Wives who don’t like us have to admit that.
They wouldn’t talk to Maem most of the time, but they rushed to eat the dishes she brought to common meals. ”
I frowned, wondering, not for the first time since they arrived here, what kind of hell they’d escaped in Canada.
Leora had referred to me as an outsider earlier, but from what I could tell from Dorie’s strange stories of Benefactors and helpmates, they’d been treated like outcasts in their own village.
“The secret to Maem’s bacon is a little bit of honey,” Dorie kept explaining to me in that confidential tone. “She rains it on the bacon.”
“Drizzles it over,” Leora called out from the stove.
“Drizzles it over.” Dorie edited herself with a wide smile, giving me another flash of her missing fangs.
“Faoiltiarn is the only place in all the world to get that honey in my cupboard. There’s a hive behind your aunt’s castle that’s been there since before Canada became an official dominion.”
Dorie’s eyes widened. “Tell me more about the castle. Do they have horses there, too, like Queen Elizabeth?”
“Aye, they do. There’s a whole stable of English royals for the Scottish royal family to ride. King Henrys 4th and 5th, Princess Margaret, Duke Edward. And of course, good auld Queen Victoria. She’s getting up there in age. But she’s perfect for walking around the grounds if you want to have a go.”
Dorie gasped happily. “Could I really ride one of them? Girls aren’t allowed to ride horses or drive carriages in Canada.”
I inwardly frowned. That was a strange thing for Dorie to say. Tara had paid a pretty penny to buy horses and build a stable for the St. Ailbe Brides. Said they couldn’t be expected to survive without horses.
I glanced at Leora. Did her daughter not ken that other Wolfennite girls were riding horses and driving carriages inside Canada, too?
“Nicht die Ordnung von alles Kanada …” Leora said, using the same old-fashioned version of German that the St. Ailbe she-wolves spoke.
I didn’t understand any languages outside of Gaelic and English, but I guessed easily enough that Dorie was getting corrected about the situation in Canada even before she turned back to me with a sheepish look.
“Sorry, I didn’t know it was just our village that didn’t allow girls to do anything—especially if your mother is a helpmate. ”
My wolf growled inside of me, and I had to remind myself that their past was none of my business. Even if it was, there was nothing I could do about it. Joshua was dead. And unfortunately, you can’t kill people twice outside those zombie shows my cousin Iain liked so much.
Fortunately, Dorie quickly changed the subject back to Queen Elizabeth. How many brothers and sisters does she have? Did they all like apples? Why was I allowed to ride Queen Elizabeth if the stable was only for the royal family?
That was how I ended up explaining to Dorie that I wasn’t just a solitary mountain man barely tolerating their presence in my home.
I was also the Kingdom Defender. And besides that, cousin to the sitting king, son of the retired former king’s brother, and I also …
well, I stopped there. I didn’t bother to explain my main job.
That would only confuse the hell out of her.
Dorie crinkled her eyes. “So, you’re a Prince too—like some of the horses?”
“We don’t take our titles near as serious as the English humans. But aye, technically speaking, yes.”
“But if you’re a prince and the Kingdom Protector.”
“Defender—” I corrected.
“If you’re the Kingdom Defender, why are you living here in this cabin instead of in Faoiltiarn?”
I gritted my jaw. “I prefer peace and quiet. And Faoiltiarn is anything but that these days. That’s why.”
Leora came back to the table. “And that’s why we should let Alban eat so that we can get out of his hair.”
That declared, she set a plate down in front of me, heaping with food.
Too much food, I thought. Until I shoveled it all down. It wasn’t just the honey, I realized on this pass. She’d rolled the bacon in some kind of spice mixture, then cooked the eggs in the boar fat.
After I finished eating, Dorie asked her mother something in German, and this time Leora answered in English. “No digestion songs today.”
She glanced at me. “We don’t want to disturb anyone.”
Dorie’s shoulders sank with disappointment. “So, the same as it was with Joshua, then? We can only sing when we’re alone?”
A need to distinguish myself from that tadger who deserved the poker through the eye came over me without warning.
“Digestion songs, you say? I reckon I wouldn’t mind hearing a couple of those?”
Leora threw me a grateful look, and that somehow made speaking up on the subject worth it.
Then she said to Dorie, “Okay, clean up the kitchen while I dress the chicken.”
With that, they began singing a soft ditty about being grateful for the day God had made.
I hadn’t darkened the door of our town’s church since returning from the desert, but a warm light stole over my heart as their song filled up my cottage. Suddenly, I was reminded of how much I had to be grateful for, even if Faoiltiarn was changing.
Nae, I’d never be able to replicate this meal or the cozy emotions swirling around my chest as I watched Leora and her toothless daughter work together to pluck the chicken and clean the kitchen.
I found it hard to believe Dorie’s departed father forbade them from singing while they worked. If Leora were mine, I would—
Dangerous, dangerous thoughts.
What was I doing? Relaxing with two intruders? Thanking God for their presence? In the cottage that was traditionally meant to be a place of solitude for Kingdom Defenders?
I stood up so fast that the wingback chair I'd pulled up to the table made an ugly scraping sound against the old wood floors.
Both Leora and Dorie immediately stopped singing.
“Are you okay, Alban?” Dorie asked.
Leora froze with the chicken held high. “Were we singing too loud?”
She tried to hide it, but I caught the slight flare of fear in her brown eyes—heard it in the way her voice went from happy to careful in an instant.
She was scared again. Because of me. They’d been happy, but I cocked it up.
No, I couldn’t let them stay here another night. Not even one more hour.
I ducked my head and ground my teeth. “Leave the chicken and get your things. I’m taking the two of you to your sister.”
“But …” Dorie started her protest at the same time my wolf began whining inside of me.
“Do as I say,” I commanded them both before they could back-talk me too much. “I promised the real Queen to start a big solar panel project tomorrow, and I don’t have any more time to waste here with you two. I expect you to be ready by the time I’m done hitching the wagon.”
Dorie gave me a hurt look. Like she’d been kicked in the stomach by a donkey.
I refused to acknowledge it, though. Just turned to go.
Three hours of uncomfortable silence later, I pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the castle in the dead of night.
Considering how I rushed them out of my cottage, you’d think they’d jump down and run away from me like their hair was on fire.
But no movement came from the back of the carriage where they sat. Just a long bout of silence until Dorie said, “Is this really where my aunt lives? It looks like a drawing in one of my books!”
“Aye, she does indeed live here,” I confirmed. “Along with King Magnus and a crap-load of servants.”
More silence from the two of them. Then Leora finally spoke.
“It’s so late. And it feels like we’re …” She paused before seeming to settle on “Underdressed.”
Holy feck. She was practically begging me to look over my shoulder—to take another gander at her dressed up in my tartan and clothes. But nae … I refused to fall into that trap again.
I tamped down the urge to escort them inside and maybe even stay with them until they were settled into their room. I kept my eyes right where they were, reminding myself over again: They’re not yours. They’re not yours. They’re not yours!
They didn’t need me to go any further with them anyway. The castle appeared peaceful and still on the other side of the drawbridge. But as Kingdom Defender, I’d personally overseen the training of the night guards who were stationed just inside the gates. The castle was under 24/7 protection.
Like Faoiltiarn, the two she-wolves in the back didn’t need me. Not any longer.
I gripped my reins even tighter and ground down on my teeth to keep from saying anything further.
I’d already spent enough words on these two. More than I planned to use for the rest of my lifetime at the Brother’s Cottage. If I just stayed silent, they’d leave. And that would be the end of this nonsense with my wolf—I swear he didn’t even put up this much of a fight when Gail left.
Nae, I wouldn’t look. I wouldn’t speak. They’d eventually leave, and that would be the end of it.
All I had to do was say nothing, so saying nothing was what I did.