Isabel smiled. “Ioan lived a wonderful life. A life of joy and companionship and love. But to lose a child, no matter how long you have loved them, is to lose part of your own heart.” She shook her head. “Humans take so much for granted now. I considered myself lucky to see my two sons live to have their own children.”
“But then you lost them, too.”
“I did.” Isabel gave him a sad smile and leaned against his shoulder. “It is not a unique loss, Father. You will move on from this. Ioan would have expected it. It is Deirdre I am more concerned about.”
Carwyn took a deep breath. “She sired Brigid out of her grief. It was not the young woman’s choice.”
“Does she have peace about it?”
“Deirdre or Brigid?”
Isabel shrugged. “Both, I suppose.”
He cocked his head. “They will find their peace. They have time.”
“Time…” Isabel reached up to squeeze his hand. “We all have time. Beatrice will have time to recover from her father’s loss and find joy again in her union with Gio. Deirdre will have time to mourn Ioan and maybe, one day, she will find love again. Brigid will have time to find her place in this world she did not choose.” Isabel paused. “What will you do with your time, Carwyn?”
“What I have always done, I suppose.” His daughter was silent. Carwyn looked at her. She had an odd, thoughtful look on her face. “What?”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you resist change?”
He blinked. “I—I don’t.”
“You do.” She leaned away from him and crossed her arms. “As rebellious as you can be, you resist change… maybe more than any other immortal I have known. You know what respect I have for you, for the Church, for an eternal calling, but…”
“But what?”
“I wonder…” She frowned. “Who is watching over your flock, Father?”
“I am. Though there is a young priest from Cardiff who the bishop sent up to fill in while I’m dealing with family issues. Sister Maggie says he’s doing very well. He’s very popular with the young people in the village.”
Isabel nodded. “And who is watching over our clan?”
His voice was hoarse. “I am. As well as I can.”
Isabel squeezed his hand again. “You do very well, Father. We’re all well, even if we mourn. We are safe. Secure. You have blessed us with your wisdom for hundreds of years.”
Carwyn leaned over and pressed a kiss to his daughter’s forehead. “Thank you, Isa.”
“And who is watching over you, Father?”
He drew back. “What?”
She patted his chest, covered in a purple and green floral shirt that night. Isabel tugged at the collar and smiled. “Your heart has been pulled in so many directions for so long. You have to run away from all of us from time to time just to stay sane. And I don’t blame you. You have lived a life dedicated to others for hundreds of years. Dedicated to the church. Your family. Your friends.”
“What are you trying to say?”
She frowned a little. “Ioan’s death changes things. He was as much your brother as your son. Other than Gio, he was your best friend. Definitely your oldest one.”
“He did too much. There were too many things I left him to deal with on his own that I should have—”
“What?” Isabel broke in. “We’re not children. We call you Father, but we are all quite capable of taking care of our own affairs. We love you, Carwyn, but we don’t need you. Not like we did when we were young. Most of us have our own mates and our own clans now. We’re safe. Secure—”
“Not secure enough.”
“There is no such thing as secure enough. There are always dangers in the world, but you…”
He shifted in his seat and crossed his arms, frowning at her. “What?”
Isabel struggled, but eventually, her face broke into a grin. “You need to get a life!”
His mouth dropped open. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I have a very full life. Too full at times.”
“Yes, but it is full of other’s needs.” Isabel grabbed his collar and pulled it together at his throat. “You use your collar—the Roman one, not the flowered one—as an excuse. A shield, in some ways. You’ve been alive for a thousand years, Father. Even I would say that you’ve paid your dues to the church.”
“It is my calling.”
“But it is no longer your joy. Not as it was. Does God want that?”
He growled and pulled away. “Vows are not always about enjoyment, Isabel.”
“I know they’re not. I’m married, aren’t I?”
Carwyn rolled his eyes and stood up, pacing the length of the small den. “So you know—”
“I know that you will always be a servant of God. You will always be the one to comfort and care for whoever is in need. But you have devoted a thousand years to serving others.”
“A leader should be a servant.”
“But should he always serve alone?”
Carwyn shook his head and tried to brush the memory of smoke-tinged eyes from his mind. “I don’t know what you think you see, but—”
“I see you.” Isabel stood and walked to him. “I see the way you look at Gio and Beatrice.”
He frowned. “What are you talking about? Beatrice is my friend. I have no—”
“Not her. Them. Your best friend has finally found his partner in eternity. His true mate. Like Ioan did. Like I did. And I see how you look at them, Carwyn.”
He stood stock-still, his heart pounding in his chest. “I do not envy you.”
“Not envy.” She shook her head. “Not envy. Desire. It is not a sin to want someone to walk through eternity by your side.”
Carwyn said, “It is if you’re a priest.”
Isabel raised an eyebrow. “Do you really believe that?”
Carwyn looked away from her piercing gaze. He had never felt guilty as a mortal for loving his wife and his calling in the church at the same time. His own father, an abbot, had taught him that the love between a man and wife should be the purest reflection of God’s love for the church. A joy and testament to the people they guided.
In his heart of hearts, he knew what Isabel saw.
“I’m… lonely,” he finally said. “I can accept that.”
Isabel smiled and a pink sheen of tears came to her eyes. “You shouldn’t have to. Not if there is someone God has brought into your life.”
He cut his eyes at her. “You and your siblings talk too much.”
She smiled innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And you’re a horrible liar.” He walked over and pressed her cheeks between his hands, looking down at her lovely face. “I love you all so much. You have given me so much joy and companionship. I love my family.”
Isabel patted his chest where the red outline of Brigid’s hand still marked him. “And we love you. But it’s not the same.”
He finally smiled and shook his head. “No. It’s not the same.” He pulled his daughter into a tight hug.
“It’s a good thing that breathing is no longer a requirement, Carwyn.”
He laughed and set her down, feeling lighter than he had in months. Perhaps years. He put his hands on his hips and looked around the room, suddenly feeling restless.
Isabel watched him with a smile. “You look ready for something, I’m just not sure what.”
He grinned. “Neither am I.”
“Ready for a change?”
“I think so.” A knot of discomfort settled in his stomach. “I hope so.”
“Ioan would like this.”
“He would, wouldn’t he?” Carwyn nodded.
He moved to the window, watching Gus and Ben grapple along the edge of the meadow. The boy was growing fast and strong. Adapting quickly to his new reality. A wry smile twisted his lips. If a thirteen-year-old runaway could adapt, then
a thousand-year-old vampire should be able to, as well.
Isabel asked, “Will you leave the church?”
“I don’t know.” He looked over his shoulder. “Do you think I need to?”
She paused. “There’s no need to make any decisions right now. But I’m glad you’re thinking about it. Even the most devoted servant can have a change in calling.”
“True.” He pursed his lips. “Perhaps I should just give it some thought.”
She smiled and patted his shoulder. “You have time.”
And so did someone else. Carwyn rubbed the scar over his heart and glanced out the window into the black night. “We have time.”
He was perusing the one book of Ioan’s that Gustavo had borrowed about vampire biology years before. Gus’s interest had been in muscular development, but it did have some of Ioan’s theories about blood, as well.
‘Because of the elemental nature of our energy and our need for blood as sustenance, it stands to reason that there is a connection between the four elements and our blood. In comparing phases of matter, we see that the ties between classical elemental theory and modern science begin to find some common ground…’
He heard Giovanni approaching. The fire vampire had been ensconced in his remote cabin with his wife for almost a week. Carwyn had been seeing to Ben’s lessons.
Sort of.
Giovanni said, “Good evening.”
He glanced up. “Hello there, Sparky. How’s the wife?”
“Doing well. She’s swimming right now. And I think she and Gus are practicing some grappling later.”
Carwyn smirked at the carefully restrained growl in his friend’s throat. Would he ever get over seeing Beatrice as someone to be protected? The young woman’s strength was quickly becoming formidable as an immortal. Then he thought about his own instinctive reaction to Brigid Connor working security for Murphy and decided not to say anything.
Giovanni unwound the scarf from around his neck and hung it on the peg by the door. A thought tickled the back of his mind. Something Brigid had said.
“Why do you wear scarves? It’s not as if you get cold.”
“I like the feel of them,” he said with a shrug. “That’s all.”
He frowned. Brigid had liked the pressure of the earth against her skin. “Is that because of the fire?”
Giovanni sat across from him, pulling a letter from his pocket. “Possibly. I think it’s different for all vampires. But for fire vampires, there is a kind of… prickling sensation under our skin most of the time. Not uncomfortable or painful. It just… is.” He shrugged. “Clothing irritates it. So it’s most comfortable to be clothed from head to foot or not at all.”
Carwyn’s breath caught when the idea of ‘not at all’ and Brigid Connor collided.
“Oh, God.”
“What?”
He cleared his throat and willed away the mental images. “Nothing. What’s the letter?”
“It’s from Tywyll in London.” Giovanni set his elbows on the kitchen table and looked at him. “I’m going to have to leave. I’ve already called the plane to Santiago. Can you stay?”
“Of course.” He ignored the pang of disappointment. He had hoped to get back to Scotland in the next couple of weeks. “What’s in London?”
“The irritating bastard has journals that Stephen left with him for Beatrice. I have a feeling they have to do with the elixir, so we need to get them and he won’t send them. He’s asking me to come fetch them myself.”
“That is irritating, but I’m guessing they’re important.”
“I won’t know for sure until I see them, but I hope they might shed more light on the elixir Stephen was so concerned about. And since I’m going to be there, I thought I’d try to meet with Jean in France and Terry and Gemma, as well. Should I go by to see Deirdre?”
Carwyn shook his head. “I don’t think you need to. She’s quite busy right now. There was some damage to the house in Wicklow. They’re having to rebuild.”
“Oh?”
He debated telling Giovanni about Brigid, but what was there to say?
I’m irritatingly fascinated with a woman for the first time in hundreds of years. She’s young, intriguing, and I’m suddenly feeling older than dirt. She’s also Roman Catholic, so she probably won’t touch me with a ten-foot pole.
He cleared his throat. “Nothing to concern yourself with. How long do you think you’ll be gone?”
“I’m aiming for no more than two weeks, but we’ll see. Who knows how long it will take me to track down Tywyll once I’m there.”
“He does operate on his own timetable.” The enigmatic water vampire always had. He was an information trader, or that was as much as anyone seemed to know about him. Tywyll went where his whispering sources led him, up and down the River Thames as he had for thousands of years. His wells of information were vast and mysterious. Who knew what he might know?
Giovanni was still talking. “And I think we’ll probably end up going to Rome soon. Stephen mentioned a contact there, and I have a few ideas about who that might have been.”
“Oh?” He cringed internally. Carwyn hated Rome, but if Giovanni and Beatrice went looking for clues into Ioan’s murderer, he’d go.
“I want those journals before I draw too many conclusions, but this elixir…” Giovanni crossed his arms and shook his head. “When I first heard of it, I had so many hopes that it might be a cure for our thirst, but the more I find out, the more dangerous it seems.”
Carwyn frowned and a thought began to tickle the back of his mind. “So… this elixir. It was supposed to give humans vampire-like health and healing?”
“Yes.”
“And then if a vampire drank from one of them, it was supposed to cure bloodlust so we wouldn’t need to drink again?” He had to admit, the thought of being free from bloodlust was more than appealing.
“That’s what the book Stephen found said. It was written by Geber, a medieval Persian alchemist. He was working with four vampires, one of each element, and his manuscript said that he had stabilized vampire blood so that human beings could ingest it and reap the benefits.”
Carwyn rubbed a hand along the stubble that dotted his chin. “A cure for bloodlust?”
“Apparently.”
“Given by altering human blood.”
“That’s what it sounds like. What are you thinking?”
Pieces of a conversation months before drifted to his mind.
“She asked me if there were any drugs that could be intoxicating to immortals.”
“Ridiculous question. …alcohol and drugs do nothing to us… nothing. Trust me, I’ve tried.”
Carwyn frowned. “I’m thinking that this elixir sounds an awful lot like a kind of drug for immortals.”
“I suppose…” Giovanni shrugged. “In a way, I suppose it is.”
Both immortals fell into silence until Giovanni said, “I should get back to my wife.”
A sharp longing rose in Carwyn as he remembered his conversation with Isabel. What would it feel like to find that person? The one who completed you. The one who embodied home and belonging. It was hard to imagine. He had been alone for so, so long.
“Give her my best. Tell her I’ll be up later tonight, if she’d like some company. And she should call Ben when she gets a chance.”
The dark-haired vampire chuckled. “Yes, Father.”
Chapter Sixteen
Scotland
March 2011
Brigid was lying in bed, her eyes closed, trying to picture the last image of the sun that she could conjure. When was the last time she’d looked at her shadow? At the light reflecting off the river? She had woken for the night and opened the shutters to a beautiful full moon, but her thoughts had immediately turned to its more vivid cousin.
“Brigid?”
A quiet knock came at the door. It was Max. She exchanged a glance with Madoc, whose ears had perked when he heard the sound. “Yes?”
“You’ve
a guest downstairs.”
She frowned. “A guest?”
“Someone Cathy brought from town.”
Brigid rose and slipped on her shoes, tucking the journal she’d been writing in under her mattress. She walked to the door and opened it; the dog poked his head through. Max was looking sheepish.
“Who is it?” A warm rush filled her chest. Could it be Carwyn? She dismissed the thought almost as soon as it arose. Max would never announce Carwyn. He was as welcome here the same as any of his family’s homes.
“It’s Patrick Murphy.” Madoc gave a soft huff and pushed through the door, headed to the stairs.
Brigid was still trying to gather her thoughts. She’d spoken to her employer the week before. Surely he would have mentioned coming to Scotland. Wouldn’t he?
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure it’s him?”
Max said, “I have met the man before, Brigid. Yes, it’s Murphy. Cathy said he had to make some last minute trip to Edinburgh. She ran into him. He asked to come up to the house.” There was an awkward pause. “Are you refusing to see him?”
She looked up from contemplating the floorboards. “What? No! I was just surprised. Why would he want to see me? I’m…” Thirsty. Confused. Edgy. Without my live-in psychologist. “Hungry.”
Max smothered a grin and nodded. “Of course. I’ll warm some blood for you and bring it. He’s in the front parlor.”
“There’s a front parlor?” Brigid looked down at the black leggings and large green sweater she was wearing. Then she imagined Murphy in his tailored suits and perfectly knotted tie. She looked up at Max. “I’d better change.”
Just ten minutes later, she pushed open the huge door to the front parlor. At least, she was guessing it was the front parlor door. She’d changed into a fitted button-down shirt and pressed slacks she hadn’t worn since she’d left Dublin. The clothing felt itchy and constraining against her sensitive skin. She heard Max and Murphy’s voices from inside the room. “Hello?”