“Might ye be Drake Gregory?” Though it pained him to do so, he’d left his blades hidden in the van, not wanting them to consider him a threat.
“Aye. Who wants to know?” The man leaned against the doorway, the arrogant look reminding Callan of when he first met his half-brother.
“Will always was a nosy bastard.” Drake grumbled to himself, making Callan press his lips together to hide his smile.
With a deep breath Callan said before he could change his mind, “My name is Callan Graham, once of Clan Graham, kin to Lord Blackford of Blackford Castle, and lately of Boston.”
He gestured to Daisy. “This is Daisy Smith. My … she kindly took me in when I first arrived in this land.”
The man before him drummed his fingers against his hip, a pattern that seemed instinctual. William had done the same thing, and Daisy had pointed out that Callan did the same thing. The absence of a blade. William always said not having it by his side felt odd.
Could it be?
The man waited as if time had no meaning, and something in his gaze made Callan send up a plea to the fates, and take a chance.
“William, Lord Blackford, is my half-brother. I met him after aiding his lady, Lucy Merriweather, in escaping a wee bitch named Agnes who was most intent on murdering us both.”
The man blanched. “Merde. You do have that look about you.” He stood back. “Both of you better come inside.”
He turned and called out. “Mildred? We have guests. Guests that say they know Lucy.”
“Hell’s bells.” Came the voice from the stairs.
As he let Daisy go ahead of him, the weight of the moment, all the unspoken questions, hung heavy in the air.
The man led them to a sofa, politely ignoring the towel wrapped bundle Callan held in his hand. Before he sat, Callan reached in the pocket of his jeans, pulling out one of the three coins he had kept. He had decided to keep the other two. One for luck, and one, in time, to hopefully pass down to his own son or daughter.
“I brought this with me,” he said simply as he held out the coin.
Drake’s eyes widened as he took the coin, examining it closely.
“What year was it when you brought it with you?” He asked, cautiously, turning the coin over and over.
“The Year of Our Lord 1311. And ye, when did ye travel to come here? For I hear my brother’s voice in your speech.”
Drake leaned back against the cushions, fingers tapping against his thigh. “1335.”
Mildred strode into the living room, fussing at Drake, a tray of sweet tea and cookies in her hands. He rose to take the tray, kissing her on the cheek.
They shared a look between them, the love for each other evident on their faces. He and Daisy might have such companionship and love, if only she would let go of her past.
“Gracious. Why aren’t you all sitting out on the porch while it’s still cool?”
“It’s going to rain.” He and Drake said at the same time.
Mildred turned to Daisy, hands on her hips. “Isn’t it annoying how they always know?”
The first smile since their stramash last night crossed her face. “It is. But I’m glad when I don’t want to carry an umbrella.”
The older woman laughed, and while she was still attractive, Callan could see she must have been a great beauty in her youth.
“Be careful. Sweet tea takes some getting used to,” Drake said as he handed a glass to Daisy and then to Callan.
“Aye. I found out when we arrived in town yesterday.” He took a sip. “I have come to like this tea.”
The sofas were upholstered in a sand dollar print; the chairs adorned with starfish patterns, all covered in plastic to protect the fabric.
His lass shifted, making the plastic squeak, and her face turn bright pink.
