Cheated by his mate

His son

18 months later

*Merida*

I thought I was prepared for the shame I would endure at this precise moment. I was wrong. It hits me with a force so strong that I almost regret my decision to return to England. I have often heard that love is blind and fully capable of transforming even the wise into fools. Apparently, I'm no exception. Love so deep and profound that it has the power to overwhelm and bring me to tears at the most unexpected moments has driven me here. Well, love and my father’s carriage.

Despite my conviction to the path I travel upon, I'm quite surprised that I'm finding it so blasted difficult to hold my head high and meet the gaze of the Alpha prince of West Cliff. With his dark hair and sharp features, he looks nothing at all like his half-brother, Blake Moonshadow.

While Barkley is the youngest of the three brothers, he wears the mantle of responsibility on his shoulders and wears it well, as though it were a second skin. He understands the influence of his title and gives the impression he isn’t one with whom a person should trifle. Within his dazzling green eyes, I see evidence of a calculating mind as he studies me as though he has just pinned me to a board for bugs and, after careful scrutiny, determined me to be little more than a maggot.

Obviously, he doubts the veracity of the incredible tale upon which my father has just expounded.

I'm the first to look away, in the pretense of admiring my surroundings. We're in the front parlor of Barkley’s Castle. The room, almost as large as my father’s house, has more than one sitting area. White, yellow, and orange dominate the fabrics, giving the room a cheerfulness that would have welcomed me and made me smile if I were here under different circumstances.

I imagine that on the coldest day of winter one could find warmth within these walls. I'm presently sitting on a sofa nearest to the massive fireplace. Still, the heat from the writhing flames fails to ease the chill in my bones that had settled in while my father and I had traveled here. A chill that had intensified as Barkley raked his gaze over me.

“Well?” my father bellows, standing behind me as though he can no longer stomach the sight of my face. I jump, but Barkley’s steady gaze never leaves me or falters. I suspect he would have been as courageous on the battlefield as his brother. Blake had arrived in the Crimea as a captain, but his daring exploits during battle had seen him rise with surprising swiftness to the rank of major. "Your boy got my girl with babe. You have damned well better do right by her.”

The aforementioned babe is presently having his cheek stroked by Barkley’s mother. The Princess looks up at her son. "He very much reminds me of Blake at this age.”

“All babies look the same, Mother.” The prince says.

“Not to a mother.” She shoots back.

The Princess’s formidable gaze comes to bear on me, and I fight not to wither beneath it. I can’t imagine possessing the confidence that these people have. Ihave been forced to shore up my own courage for this encounter. I knew it wouldn’t be pleasant, but I also knew my only hope for happiness resided here. So I will stand my ground until the final bastion has fallen.

“Or to a grandmother, I suppose,” the Princess adds.

My original plan had been to simply leave the child here, within his relatives‘ safekeeping, but in the end, I wasn’t able to give him up. It's astonishing, how much I have come to love the baby in the three months since his birth. I would do anything at all to protect him, to remain with him. I would sell what remains of my soul to the devil if need be.

“What did you name him?” the Princess asks.

“Brandan.” I say.

She smiles, “A strong name.”

I nod. These are good people. I shouldn’t have brought my father into the matter. I should have come here first, only I didn’t know where to begin to find this family, and I couldn’t very well live on the streets while I made inquiries. After all I have seen and suffered during my months serving as a nurse, I thought my father would be as grateful to have me home as I was to have arrived.

I knew him well enough, though, to suspect he wouldn’t look upon a new life as something to be cherished, regardless of how it had come about. My father had not watched as hundreds of men died. He was landed gentry, and by arriving on his doorstep with a babe in my arms, I’d brought shame to him and his household.

But I don’t regret what I have done. I can’t. I won’t.

“Your father mentioned that you met Blake during the time he served in the Crimea," the Princess says, but her voice also holds a question. The East is far away, not a place to which a young she-wolf should travel.

“Yes, my princess. I was serving as a nurse in Scutari.” I discovered that few people truly understood the geography of the area. Although the Princess may have been an exception. In a corner of the room stands a globe, the portion of the world that has caused so much turmoil and heartache clearly in view. I wonder if the Princess pressed her hand there in an attempt to feel closer to her son, to somehow bridge the endless miles that separated them. “Many of the soldiers were brought there to be tended.”

“Admirable. Then you were one of Miss Nightingale’s she-wolves?” She asks.

Miss Nightingale. To the nurses, the doctors, and the patients, she had simply been Miss N. “Yes, my princess.”

“The newspapers paint a rather gruesome portrait of the war. I do not know how anyone could remain there with the deprivations, the cold, and illness. They say more men die of disease than battle.” She sighs.

I nod, force a tremulous smile. “Brandan is the only good thing to come out of the war as far as I’m concerned.”

The Princess‘s brown eyes soften. Blake had not inherited his eyes from his mother. His were a rich, warm blue. I remember the concern I had seen reflected in them just before he had taken me into his arms. So tenderly. After what I had endured at the hands of three ruffians, I had thought I would be unable to suffer the touch of a man, but he had proved me wrong.

How I long for those powerful arms at this moment. But I will never again know their strength, will never again feel the firm muscles beneath my fingers. He had been killed in September. Because of the wonder of the telegraph, the names of the fallen were known quickly and reported in the newspapers. I'm surprised the Princess isn’t wearing mourning clothes, but instead wears a dress of deep purple.

“Well?” my father bellows again. “I want to know what you are going to do for my girl.”

“I suppose you are looking for some sort of monetary restitution,” Barkley says.

He nods, “That would be a start. But she is ruined. No decent man will have her now. She went to do good work and he took advantage.”

“Father!” I growl.

“Shut up, girl. The last thing I expected was for you to come home with some bastard.” He huffs.

“Don’t call Brandan that.” I would fight to the death to protect Brandan. How could my father not see beyond the child’s illegitimacy to what he means to me? In a world devoid of joy, he is the only bright spot.

I breathe in deeply, “Please, My prince, I want only to stay with Brandan. I could serve as his nurse, his nanny. I would require very little.”

“That will not do at all," my father says. "The shame that has been brought to my household . . . I demand this be made right. You, sir, my prince, you should step in where your brother didn‘t."

Barkley’s mouth twitches, and he looks as though he might burst into laughter. It is the first sign he has given that he might not be as blasted serious as I had assumed. “Are you suggesting I marry your daughter, sir?"

“I am indeed.” My father says.

“Father, no!" I groan.

“She needs a mate,” he continues as though I hadn‘t objected. “I’m washing my hands of her."

Madness is surrounding me. I don’t know how to stop it. “My prince, this is not why I brought Brandan to you. You are his family. I expect nothing."

“Miss Dawnweaver, do you swear that the child to whom you gave birth is my brother‘s son?" Barkley asks, a kindness in his voice that had been lacking before, as though he is beginning to understand that regardless of the unconscionable position in which I find myself, I place the child first and that my father only adds to the difficulties of my situation.

I am grateful that the print of his hand is no longer visible on my face. He had slapped me for my foolishness, then slapped me for my sins.

“I swear to you, my prince, by all that is holy, that Brandan is Blake‘s son."

“I do not doubt it," the Princess says succinctly, her opinion obviously carrying a great deal of weight with the prince.

Barkley nods slowly, and then in long strides, he crosses the room and opens the door. “Find Blake and inform him that I need to have a word."

I am on my feet before Barkley has finished shutting the door. Dizziness assails me. My heart pounds with such force that I am certain they all can hear it. My throat knots up and it is all I can do to force out the words. “He is here? He can’t be. He is dead."

Barkley seems quite surprised by my outburst. As am I. I am not prone to hysteric, but this turn of events is not at all expected. Relief dances with fear. This changes everything. Everything. My legs weaken, but I force myself to remain standing. Better to face the devil on my feet.

“Yes, the initial reports were that he had died," Barkley says, studying me. Does he have to continually examine every blasted inch of me? What the devil is he searching for, what does he hope to find? Evidence of my deception? “Considering what I have since learned of the c*****e that was Sevastopol, I’m not surprised mistakes were made. He was gravely wounded and not expected to survive. But those who doubted his will don‘t know my brother. He is as stubborn as the day is long. He arrived home only a month ago. He’s not quite up to snuff, still recovering."