Building From Ashes
Page 127Hundreds of allies around the world. Years of friendship and favors. What else had it prepared him for but to protect those he cared about? To protect the woman he loved and the family he had nurtured? And in doing so, Carwyn knew that he and Brigid could protect innocent humans and vampires everywhere from falling prey to this madness.
Looking at the passionate woman next to him—who had already thrown herself into the struggle—Carwyn knew he could not have chosen a more perfect mate.
Wicklow Mountains
June 2013
Brigid ran her hands along the spines of the books. Some were familiar. Most were new. A few had been recovered from Ioan’s original library, shielded by the falling rocks that had collapsed in on them when Carwyn had pulled the mountain over her. She saw a few she remembered from childhood that remained curiously unmarred.
“Those were sent from Lucien,” Carwyn said.
She turned to see him leaning against the doorframe. “Ioan’s friend?”
“Yes. He’s somewhere in Africa right now, but I received a package from him several months ago with all the papers and books on vampire blood that Ioan had sent him to look over.”
“Anything helpful in there?”
Brigid shook her head and continued walking around the cozy room. “I’ll leave that one for the academics.”
“And I’ll agree with you. I’ve been told by my daughter that it’s always the right thing to do, agreeing with one’s wife.”
She laughed as he sat on the plush sofa in front of the fire. After a few more minutes of wandering, Brigid came to sit next to him. He wrapped an arm around her and quickly pulled her into his lap.
“You’re always dragging me about, Carwyn.”
“Well, you fit better on my lap than next to me.”
She smiled. “Because I’m so much smaller?”
“No.” He ducked down. “Because I can use you as a shield should someone try to attack me. You’re far more frightening than this old man, love.”
Brigid giggled as she grabbed his hands and wrapped them around her waist. Then she laid against his chest and nestled under the scruff of his jaw where he hadn’t shaved in months. Some things never did change.
“I love to hear you laugh,” he said quietly. “It’s my own addiction. I fall in love again every time you laugh.”
“Sweet man,” she murmured as she kissed his cheek. “I can’t laugh at that.”
She fell quiet for a moment as she reveled in the memories of Ioan’s library. Many were sad, like the night she had woken in pain as a new vampire, but most were happy. Memories of jokes by the fire and books shared by lamplight. Cookies stolen and eaten in the company of a good story. A safe place to rest when sleep eluded her.
“When I was a girl,” she said, “this was the safest place in the world. Nothing bad could happen here. It was magic.” She felt his arms tighten around her, but she continued. “But then, inevitably, life does happen. And you realize one day that no place is truly safe. And no one is truly untouchable.”
“And even things you love can burn you,” he whispered.
“But then…” Brigid began to smile. “You grow up a little more and realize that whatever happens, if you have love and love has you, you can build again.”
Carwyn rested his chin on her shoulder and they both looked into the fire. “And we did.” He glanced around at the walls of books. The wall where a painting of his lost son hung next to a picture they’d taken one Christmas with Tavish and Max. “I told you we’d build again, Brigid. It’s not exactly the same, but almost.”
Brigid smiled. “No, it’s not the same. It’s better.”
Dublin, Ireland
October 2013
Brigid walked through the door of the carriage house around midnight, waving at the human driver who lived in the small village near the estate. She wouldn’t see him until nightfall on Monday when he came to pick her up for the eighteen-mile trek back to Murphy’s offices in the city. After a long week, and an even more exhausting evening, the weekend was her own to spend at home. Their home. As her husband would say with a teasing laugh, Carwyn and Brigid’s little country cottage.
When Carwyn had said ‘fairly large house,’ what he actually meant was an estate won from a drunk baron in a game of cards sometime in the 1890s.
“Details,” she muttered, tossing her purse on the table and kicking the uncomfortable heels into the laundry room near the kitchen door. “Very sketchy on the details, that man.”
Carwyn had asked her if she wanted to live in the main house, but Brigid refused. The one maid that kept up the small carriage house was enough domestic help for her. There was a full-time staff that kept up the main house, but she didn’t want to be tripping over them in her bathrobe.
“Carwyn?” she called into the silence. “Hmm…”
She wandered through the rooms, but he was nowhere to be found. She heard Madoc lope down the stairs. “Where’s the man, Madoc? Upstairs?” But her senses told her he wasn’t anywhere near. She could only feel a trace of old energy in the usually lively rooms. Suddenly, she smiled softly. Brigid knew exactly where he was. She gave the dog a pat and slipped on some boots before she wandered out into the pebbled courtyard between the carriage house and the main.