Page 32 of Fall of a Kingdom

Moira chuckled. “I’d never tell you your children are a handful, but—”

“Why do you think we have three nannies?” I asked.

“Fair point. Hold on, James wants to say hello.”

There was some shuffling and then a moment later, my uncle’s face appeared on the screen. “Are you spending Christmas with us?”

I looked at Barrett.

“Not this year,” Barrett said. “We do promise a family visit soon, though.”

“We’ll take it,” James said. “It really has been wonderful having the boys here. They’re growing so fast.”

“They are,” Barrett murmured. “Thank you for watching them.”

“Anytime. The invitation always extends to the both of you,” Moira said. “We want to see more of you.”

I grinned at Barrett.

“You could always come to Scotland, you know,” Barrett said. “But I realize your children live close to you, so holidays at your house makes sense.”

“Only because we’ve been doing it this way for so long,” James said. “Maybe next year I can convince Moira to spend Christmas at your castle.”

Moira piped up, “There he goes, blaming things on me, when really he just wants to drink his whiskey on Christmas Eve and get to bed early.”

“Let’s call this a stalemate,” I said. “Or we’ll never get off the phone. We’re flying out tomorrow. We’ll call again in the morning and tell them we’re coming.”

“Sounds good, lad,” James said.

“Bye,” Barrett said.

I hung up the phone and tossed it aside. I leaned back against the couch and Barrett cuddled into my embrace.

“I forget sometimes,” she said.

“Forget what?”

“That I have a beautiful life.” She looked up at me, her eyes glistening with love and emotion. “Thank you.”

“For?”

She smiled. “Everything.”

Chapter12

BARRETT

We tookour private jet and landed in Belfast and then drove to James and Moira’s home outside the city. Their yellow house had a picturesque postcard appeal and smoke from the stone chimney puffed into the sky before dissipating. It was a winter wonderland, as if a painter had brushed a dream into existence.

The front door of the house opened, and my three perfect, exuberant, and heathenish children ran outside. Before Flynn had even parked the car, I was unlatching my seatbelt and opening the door. I barely made it two steps toward them before I was engulfed by tiny arms.

“Mam!” Iain cried, wrapping himself around one of my legs.

Hawk spoke in rapid fire Gaelic, his face a perfect mirror of Flynn’s as he looked up at me.

Quiet, sensitive Noah stared at me with something akin to understanding. Only six-years-old, and he saw more than a boy his age should be able to see.

Flynn shut his car door, and my children let go of me to run to their father. I turned just in time to see him squat down to greet them. Due to their excitement, they knocked him to the ground, causing him to laugh as he squeezed them with all his might.