Chapter 58 Mallory Plantation—Tavis
Mallory Plantation—Tavis
Rick moved beneath the dappled sunlight of Charlotte and Braham’s sprawling backyard garden, carrying his nine-month-old twins, Addison and Avery, their small bodies tucked securely against his chest, their coos mingling with the soft rustle of leaves.
Nearby, Tavis lingered at the granite bar in the covered entertainment pavilion, nursing a mug of coffee.
His gaze—distant, contemplative—followed his friend’s easy, paternal rhythm.
He watched the tableau of domestic bliss from the edge of his own anxieties.
By late summer, Tavis would cradle twins of his own—if all went well.
He tried not to think of Astrid, his first wife, lost during the delivery of their second child, or the daughter who hadn’t survived.
He knew, rationally, that twenty-first-century medical care bore no resemblance to twelfth-century practices.
Still, memory fed a persistent worry as Aislinn’s labor drew closer, an unease he couldn’t quite silence.
Tavis set his cup down with a soft, decisive clink and stepped out of the shadow of the pavilion, moving into the garden’s warm, scented air. “Hand over one of those kiddos.”
“Take this one,” Rick said, a knowing smile played across his face, offering Avery to his friend.
“Come to your Uncle Tav, Baby Girl,” he whispered, his voice softening into a gentle rumble as he took her in his arms. “I’ll take care of you.
” Tavis lifted Avery slightly, breathing in the sweet, powdery scent of her skin.
He sniffed again, a small, genuine chuckle escaping him.
“You know, out of all the guys, the prospect of changing diapers has honestly never bothered me.”
“Doesn’t bother me either,” Rick replied, “but since you’re volunteering your services, her diaper bag is waiting for you over there on the table.”
Tavis secured the bag and eased himself down onto the outdoor sofa, immediately enveloped by the comfortable, radiating warmth of the roaring fire nearby.
After a quick forage through the bag for supplies, he changed Avery, noticing again how much she favored Penny’s delicate features rather than Rick’s rugged ones.
Addison, conversely, was a perfect miniature of his older brother, Jean—a true mini-me of his father.
Tavis didn’t really care who his children favored, but a persistent thought remained.
He didn’t want them to resemble his father.
Who, after all, wanted a baby who looked like a Viking warlord?
Rick filled a mug with the rich, dark coffee from the glass carafe resting on the counter of the outdoor kitchen. “You’ve got a few months to practice before Aislinn delivers the twins. Stick around me, jump into the chaos, and you’ll be an expert by then.”
Tavis settled the now-fresh baby onto his lap, his large fingers gently teasing her with a brightly colored teething ring he’d unearthed from the diaper bag. “On that note,” he asked, his gaze lifting to meet Rick’s, “what are your thoughts about the logistics of when we should head out?”
The scent of Addison’s baby powder and the soft rustle of the blanket filled the space as Rick settled onto the couch next to Tavis.
He cradled the infant on his shoulder, his large hand a comforting weight on his back.
“An hour or two,” Rick said, his voice a low rumble.
“Maybe tomorrow. Whenever we’re ready. Remy’s going to erupt when he catches wind of our trip.
We need to be in and out before his call comes. ”
A heavy silence settled between them before Tavis finally spoke, his gaze distant. “His surgery’s coming up. I don’t want to make things harder for him.”
Rick reached into the canvas bag for a fresh cloth diaper, smoothly folding it over his shoulder without disrupting the peaceful baby nestled against him. “Are you okay taking Clay with us?” he asked, his eyes seeking Tavis’s.
Tavis paused, the question hanging in the air. He hadn’t given it much thought. How did he feel? “I’ve never traveled with him,” Tavis finally admitted. “But he has deep roots in the brooch world. We know he’s the Senior Elder’s son, and that might grant him some protection—a shield, maybe.”
“A shield?” Rick prodded, intrigued. “How so?”
Tavis reached into the bag and pulled out a soft woolen blanket.
As he gently wrapped the little girl in the blanket’s warmth, she gave him a gummy smile that melted his unease.
“We may never know for certain, but I suspect Clay was supposed to die in the Adirondacks while traveling with Roosevelt. I visited the site and examined the cliff where he had fallen. In that downpour, with all that mud, survival should have been impossible. Yet, he lived. I believe Violet used JC as her intermediary to guide Clay off that ledge.”
“Why the go-between?” Rick asked. “Why not just appear herself?”
Tavis leaned his head back against the seat cushion, rolling his neck, hoping to massage away the tension coiling there. “Clay might not have taken Violet’s warnings seriously, and that was a risk she couldn’t take. She had already lost him once to fate. She wasn’t prepared to lose him again.”
“What about his rock-climbing accident?” Rick pressed. “The broken arm and leg? You think he was supposed to die then?”
Tavis settled his head. The cushions offered meager comfort.
“Escaping a single brush with death can be chalked up to dumb luck. It’s an improbable outcome, but still within the cold realm of chance.
Surviving a second, nearly identical fall makes the probability of mere coincidence astronomically low.
That,” he stated with conviction, “suggests the deliberate intervention of a higher power.”
Tavis gazed off, tracking the fireflies beginning their nightly dance across the garden.
“Violet’s daughter, Alana Martin, likely rejected Brooch business and refused the man her father demanded she marry.
That defiance perhaps deemed her unfit to become an Elder.
Maybe that same defiance, that choice for freedom, is what finally severed the cord of telepathy between mother and child, which explains the silence when Alana was in Buffalo—no bridge left between them. ”
“So, you think Clay is a temporary stand-in until Violet births another daughter?” Addison shifted in Rick’s arms.
“Or a granddaughter,” Tavis added with a heavy sigh, the very thought a bitter one. “It’s a calculated idea, but one that aligns with the chilling logic of Violet’s line.”
“Then we should probably warn Clay. If he falls again, it’d better be before he brings a daughter into this complicated world.”
Tavis managed a faint smile. “I think we have some breathing room,” he said, the tension in the air easing just a fraction.
“Clay is crazy about Marcelle, but she’s got to wrap up her entire life in the Windy City—sell her townhouse, move to Richmond, plus start a new job.
She has so much on her plate, and he still has a novel to wrestle into submission.
It might take a while for them to settle into anything resembling a serious relationship. ”
“Don’t forget Marcelle has spent little time with Robert,” Rick said. “What if Clay and Robert get into another high-stakes competition over a woman?”
Tavis didn’t hesitate. He covered Avery’s ears. “Fuck! They can’t do that again,” he growled, the raw emotion clear in his voice. He removed his hands, leaned forward, and placed a tender kiss on her forehead. “You worry too much.”
“I think holding Avery reminds you of Joseph at that age. I don’t know how you took care of him without even disposable diapers.”
“We relied on the softest animal hides or absorbent mosses and grasses. But the real turning point was learning to read the shifts in Joseph’s little body, the tiny cues that signaled his need to pee or poop.
I held him close almost constantly, humming songs to him.
Life in Jarlshof was an unforgiving lesson in sheer survival.
There was no room in my mind to mourn what I was missing.
I poured my energy into teaching Joseph numbers and letters, a shield of knowledge for the day Elliott would inevitably come for us.
It feels like an eternity has passed, but it’s barely been a year.
The Council bristled at my unconventional ways, but I simply told them to shut the fuck up.
” He covered Avery’s ears again, a futile, protective gesture. “Sorry, little one.”
Rick gestured with his mug, smirking. “Doing that after the fact doesn’t count.”
Tavis dipped his head and pressed another lingering kiss to Avery’s forehead. “Aislinn insists I need to refine my vocabulary.”
“Yeah, but I don’t see that happening soon,” Rick said. “SEALs and Marines aren’t just known for profanity. It’s practically a cornerstone of the culture. The habit is a beast to break.”
A comfortable quiet settled over them as they savored the fire’s crackle, the rich black coffee, and the peaceful, deep breathing of sleeping infants.
With every passing moment, Tavis felt a profound sense of calmness and a solid emotional bond forming—not just with Baby Avery, but surprisingly, with Rick too.
Rick finally broke the quiet with a change of topic. “Do you think Erik will show up in Chicago, just like he did for Clay and the others in New York City?”
Tavis only shrugged. “He phased in and out of my life like smoke for years. I’ve never known when or where he’ll appear. I need to talk to him about Mom, about their entire history. He owes me that much, at least.”
“It gets tangled, doesn’t it?” Rick said.
“Just look at Skye’s situation. I don’t believe that Mallory effect bullshit. Do you?”
“I don’t know,” Rick sighed. “It’s hard to wrap your mind around it.”
Avery picked that exact, tense moment to connect the toe of her bootie with Tavis’s crotch. “Ouch. Sweet Jesus, she aimed for the jewels.”