Page 12 of Unveiled

Chaos erupted the moment Connor set foot in the reception room at the castle. Worried faces stared at him as he walked in, amid echoing calls of, “What was it? Are you all right? Are we safe?”

He held up a hand to cease the noise. “We’re all safe. There’s no threat here. However, it’s early and everyone should go back to bed. I’ll call a meeting later today and explain everything.

“Rest assured, there’s nothing to be afraid of, and the storm is passing. I know you’re all curious, but honestly, I’m knackered and I’d really like to get some sleep. Perhaps I could get a cup of hot chocolate, if I may, Moira.”

He smiled gratefully at his housekeeper. She nodded, her wise eyes taking him in, and seemingly reassured that Connor was unharmed, she made her way to the kitchen, gentling people back to bed as she went.

Within minutes only Connor and Fraser remained. Fraser tipped a salute at Connor.

“Bugger hot chocolate, I’ll have a whisky,” he muttered. “I can’t wait to hear what cock-and-bull story you’re going to tell them.” He yawned. “Right, I’m off. See you later. Try to make it later than eight o’clock, please, for your grand explanation. I’d like a bit of a lie-in.” He winked at the people who remained in the room.

Connor waved a hand at him. “Taigh nam gasta ort,” he said testily.

Fraser shook a finger at Connor. “Ha. Nice. Telling me to fuck off. But I’m gone. See you tomorrow.” He nearly trotted to the corridor and was soon gone from view.

Connor puffed out a tired sigh and stretched his aching muscles. Even though he kept in shape, being up in the early hours and discovering a strange magical village on his doorstep had left him drained of energy.

And the unsettling knowledge he’d been claimed as Valour for a people he knew nothing about. He’d be glad to climb into bed and polish off his hot chocolate, one of his evening vices. No doubt he’d lie awake, though, figuring out how much to tell his clan later today.

Being supernatural beings themselves, it wouldn’t be all that much of a hard sell. Everyone had a legend they clung to, or a fable to hold on to. But telling them that fucking Brigadoon had appeared in the Highlands might be a step too far.

As for the pull he’d felt with Adrian, well, he must’ve been tired and unsettled. That was all.

He chuckled as he walked up the stone stairs to his bedroom. He’d been a young lad when his mother had told him the story of the magical village, and he’d loved every moment of it.

The romance and loss of the characters and their stories had kept him captivated and intrigued by something other than the world he knew.

He’d always been partial to a bit of a fairy tale, even though he’d never tell Fraser that. The man would use it in any way he could to tease him.

While the village on his land was unsettling in its appearance, the apparent backstory of someone trying to control it had him simmering eagerly, something he couldn’t yet name.

When he entered his room, his deerhound Sallie uncurled herself from before the fire. She began pacing the rug in a tight, silent loop, nails catching on the stone, head low, ears speared forward. Her brother, Cairo, stood rigid by the window, his chest vibrating with a low sound that was half growl, half warning. Neither of them looked at him. They stared at the dark beyond the glass as if it were staring back.

“Easy,” he whispered, “I know you’re unsettled but I promise you it will all be OK.” He scratched Sallie behind the ear; she didn’t lean into it. Cairo walked over, looking for his bit of attention too. He let out a soft huff—impatient, afraid. Sallie growled softly.

He guided them back toward the hearth with a hand on each collar. Reluctantly, they lowered themselves in front of the embers, bodies tense, muzzles angled toward the window. The fire crackled in sharp snaps, too loud in the silence—like distant bone breaking.

Connor sat in his armchair and took the hot chocolate from his bedside table, adding a wee dram of whiskey. Bless his wonderful housekeeper. He didn’t know what he’d do without the spry seventy-year-old, who controlled more of the clan and the castle than he did. Moira was a force to be reckoned with.

He drank as if it could burn the feeling out of him. It didn’t. It only warmed his throat while the cold stayed lodged under his ribs.

When he finally sank back into the chair, it wasn’t because he felt safe. It was because his body betrayed him—heavy-lidded, slow, demanding sleep like a drug. Connor kept his gaze on the window until the dark blurred and the firelight smeared. Finally he climbed into bed.

He fell asleep with the thoughts of the village in his head, and a rather disconcerting vision of the face of Adrian Gauthier laughing with a young child on his broad arms.

***

Something soft smacked his face, and Connor, who’d been dozing quite comfortably between sleep and wakefulness, gave a startled, “Oi.”

The giggle that accompanied his bleary awakening was music to his ears. As part of their familiar game of fierce monsters, Connor reached out, grabbed the little girl standing by the bed, and waved her furry teddy bear’s paw under his nose.

Little Alicia screamed with delight as Connor grabbed her and began to tickle her sides. “Come and wake the big bad wolf out of his sleep and see where that gets you,” he mock-growled. “This big bad wolf is going to eat you all up.”

Alicia was the daughter of Louella, the clan’s Head Chef. The little girl delighted in her mischief—especially with Connor. Her favourite time to playfully attach him was in his bedroom when he was sleeping.

Alicia escaped his searching hands and sped to the opposite side of the bed, standing above him, using her bear as a shield. “Fuzzduddy will protect me,” she squealed, her blue eyes sparkling and her dark brown braids swinging on either side of her sweet face. “He’s magic, and he can turn you into a snail.”

Connor grinned and leaned back. “Well, we don’t want that, do we? I’d better give in and give you the spoils of war before I find myself a slug with its home splattered on the floor.”