Page 23

Story: Vow of Vengeance

CHAPTER 23

Ophelia

My heart is in my ears. Thrum-thrum-thrumming like a base drum. I feel dizzy. “What’s her name?”

He pauses, then says, “Freya.”

Finally hearing for the first time the name of the woman who saved me, my fingers go to my neck, searching for the pearls I’m not wearing. “Freya.” I let the name roll around in my mind.

Does she have long blonde hair like I picture her? I feel silly asking, so I don’t.

“Let me start at the beginning so I don’t confuse you,” Gian says. I listen, hanging on to his every word as he reveals everything he’s learned about my past. “When your mom was nineteen, she briefly dated someone older than her. A man named Ross Macdonald. He was a gang member of the Hoax.”

“The Hoax is the one based in Glasgow—” I swallow my remaining tonsil, clarifying, “The one you said was really bad. Right?”

“’Fraid so,” Gian says softly. “Your grandparents never took to him, even before they learned about his criminal past. During that short time, Leah got pregnant by him. He wanted custody of you when you were born, and he got it.”

The question slips from my mouth. “How?”

I wait for the part where Gian reveals the terrible thing my father did to take me away from my mother. The violence he used against her with the power of the Hoax. The threats he made against her.

He shrugs, offering, “She was young. She was broke. He was older and had resources, and your mom relented.”

“Oh.” My thoughts fall away. I feel numb. Was it that easy to give me up? I’m young. I’m eighteen. If I was pregnant, I can’t imagine leaving that baby without a fight. Haze wraps an arm around my shoulders, holding me closer.

“I know more about your father,” Gian says. “I’ll start with his real name.”

“Was it not Ross Macdonald?” I ask.

“No.” Gian shakes his head. “That was an alias he used to keep away from the law.”

I feel my face wrinkle with confusion.

Haze interjects with, “It’s common in our world.”

“His real name was Tartan Erwin—when he died, he was a thirty-four-year-old Scottish man with prior convictions.” Gian continues, “He had blue eyes—lighter than yours, I’ve heard—and a vine tattoo on his neck.”

“A vine tattoo…” A faraway vision comes closer, my finger tracing the outline of an oval-shaped leaf. Another false memory of him pieced together by tidbits I’m hearing, or is it real? I look at Gian. “Do you know what type of vine it was on the tattoo?”

“I have no idea, sweetheart.” Gian lays a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve never even seen a picture,” I admit.

Haze rubs comforting circles on my back. “Your family should have given you a photo to have.”

“No kidding…” I murmur.

I’ll never speak ill of them, but now, with Gian almost a stranger and realizing how important it is for me to know about my past, I’m angry at my family. How can they not see that hiding my father from me is not what’s best?

We three are quiet momentarily, the two men allowing me time to process. Gian turns to Haze and says, “Get her a wine. She needs it for her nerves.” Haze hesitates to leave my side, but his eyes flicker over my face; what he sees makes him decide I need the wine. He leaves us, going to the bar.

Haze returns with a chilled glass of white wine. “This will take the edge off. Riesling. It’s a little sweet. I haven’t seen you drink, so I thought this might be a good starting point.”

Grateful, I thank him. I sip, the bright, cold flavor bursting on my tongue. “It’s sweet. I love it.” What I love more is how he slips his arm around my shoulder. The feel of his warmth, weight, and strength against me calms me.

My eyes lock on Gian’s as I steel my nerves and ask the question I’ve been in desperate need of the answer to for so long now. My palms feel damp, and I wipe them over my thighs. “How did my dad die that day? What happened?”

Gian takes a breath, takes a sip, and steels his own nerves. He pops an olive in his mouth and chews. Finally, he locks his eyes on mine.

What he says next comes as a complete shock.

“He was trying to leave the Hoax,” Gian says. “For your sake.”

I let the idea settle in that my father loved me and that he wanted what was best for me, and that the reason he died was because he was trying to make things better.

For me.

“He was hiding out with you in Edinburgh. But that’s the thing about a crime family.” He and Haze exchange a glance. Haze looks away. Gian says, “Once you join, you can’t leave.”

Gian continues, “He was crossing the street with you in his arms when he spotted the hitmen of the Hoax. He saw Freya across the street. He didn’t know who she was, but something about her made him choose her. He thrust you into her arms, and moments later, he was shot.”

My father holding me. The loud noise.

My vague memories… are they… real? I’ve done my research. I paid attention in Psych class.

I was what? Only two? Maybe two and a half. You can remember things that young, especially if the memories are tied to trauma.

“Freya and her husband took you home with them. She called you Pearl for the necklace she wore that day, the one you liked to play with so much. Also, she thought your face looked like a little white pearl encapsulated in the dark shell of your hair.”

It’s too painful thinking of my father’s death, so I focus my mind on Freya. In my memory, she’s like a beautiful, golden ray of sunshine. The thought of being her wee black pearl—it’s lovely. I think of myself as a pearl buried in a dark, shining oyster shell.

“Oh, that’s… so nice.” My voice cracks.

Don’t cry, Ophelia. Don’t you dare cry.

Gian puts his smooth, manicured hand over mine. “She and her husband live in a miniature castle and run it as a bed and breakfast. The same one they brought you home from Edinburgh to. It’s right here in Inverness. They’re waiting for us there now.”

Freya is waiting for me, and I’m invited to the place I went to moments after my father died. The idea is wonderful but overwhelming. I lift my glass, bringing it to my lips—and down half the glass. The wine is cold in my mouth but warms as I drink it. I pinch the stem between my forefinger and thumb, twisting it as I absorb the idea of seeing Freya in the flesh.

“The woman with the pearl necklace is waiting for me,” I say. I correct myself. “I finally know her name. Freya is waiting for me.”

“Freya and her husband, Fredrick Frisque, also fell in love with you during your stay at Inverness,” Gian says, “and we’re all going to see her now.”

“Oh, my God.” I try to process, but I can’t.

“The Frisques have sent a car. It’s waiting for us outside.”

Gian takes the front passenger seat on the ride. Haze sits in the back with me, his shoulder close against mine, my hand tightly in his. We ride through the town of Inverness, following along the river, my heart in my stomach the entire way. The castle comes into view, and my breath catches. Do I remember this place?

A sturdy, two-story red sandstone square sandwiched between three towers. All the windows are arched at the top in half-moons facing the river. A woman stands at the top of a tall set of stone stairs.

My heart sinks. It’s not that the person standing in front of the beautiful wood doors of the castle doesn’t seem like a perfectly lovely person—she’s just nothing like my memory of her.

The woman is much older than I remember. She is short-statured and has an air that makes you think of homemade cookies with milk. Her steel-gray hair has white streaks and is pulled back in a severe bun. Tortoiseshell glasses are perched on her nose. She wears a light-blue apron. I can’t make out the emblem from here, but I’m sure it’s for the castle.

My disappointment in my false memory disappears as we exit the car. We’re about to enter a real castle tied to my past and my dad, and I feel a childlike joy.

Haze stands to my right, Gian to my left. My complicated lover/protector and my best friend.

I love my family, yet can’t help but think of the deceit, lost stories, and forgotten memories. They wanted to protect me, but cutting every memory of my father from my life wasn’t the right choice for me. I think of how, at this moment, my mom would be chattering about how lovely the castle is, how Grandma would be fretting over our outfits, thinking we weren’t dressed up enough, and Grandpa’s face would be pinched up at the opulence of a castle as a home.

Yes, I love them dearly; I’d do anything for them. Even marry a stranger. I peek at Haze’s, my husband-to-be’s, side profile, which is as achingly handsome as every other view of him. I’ll marry up in the looks department, but hopefully, I will bring some much-needed sunshine to our partnership.

Sensing my stare, he shoots me a look of reassurance, reminding me, “This is a good thing.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone else beside me now,” I whisper to them.

“Aw, bless, bambina!” Gian flicks away a tear. Haze and Gian each take one of my hands, Haze squeezing tightly. We stare up at the castle for a moment.

“Well, are ye comin’ in, or are ye waiting for me to come to carry ye up the stairs?” The woman staring down at us plants her hands on her hips, removing her right hand just long enough to give me a demanding wave. “Ms. Pearl, get yourself up these stairs. I haven’t seen you since you were a wee bairn! Come give me a squeeze, wain.”

The warmth in her stern voice has me leaving the men, running up the stairs, and flinging myself in her arms. I feel silly because tears spring up as she embraces me warmly. “Oh, Pearl, to see your face again…”

“Don’t steal all the hugs, Morven.”

The melodic voice instantly draws my attention. I turn to look over my shoulder. Standing in front of an open castle door is a beautiful woman. Tall and thin, with pin-straight ice-blond hair hanging down her back, she is dressed in black couture, a dress with an asymmetrical neckline and hem, looking elegant with a little edge I love.

If I ever wore a dress, it would be like the one she wears now.

My memories may be fuzzy and scarce, but I feel the familiarity as I stare at her. “Freya.”

“Pearl!” Freya quickly corrects herself. “I mean, Ophelia. Look at you!” The woman who must be Morven releases me. I move to Freya. “My goodness, you’re stunning. And yet your face.” She presses a cold hand on either of my cheeks, staring deep into my eyes. “Same as I remember.”

I stand in awe, feeling her hands on my face. “I think I remember you too…”

A well-dressed man joins us, sliding an arm around Freya’s waist. Freya introduces him as her husband, Fredrick. He shakes my hand, speaking with a hint of a French accent. “Ophelia. It’s been a minute since we’ve seen you last. I believe you were in diapers last time you were here at Wee Inverness.”

“Wee Inverness?” Haze asks.

Freya laughs, the sound like tinkling bells. “That’s what we call the castle. It’s a mini replica of the real thing. And yes, you were just a wee little thing.” She laughs again. “We’d never changed diapers before your stay. I’m sorry to admit—I put yours on backward before I got the hang of things.”

My face heats, and I change the topic before Haze can hear more about me in diapers. “I’d love a tour of the castle! It would be fun to see if any memories spring up.”

“Yes! Let’s! Come on, everyone,” Freya says. “I’ll lead the way.”

“All except me,” Morven says. “I’ve been touring this castle every day for twenty years. I’ll go make the tea.”

As we walk the halls, Freya fills me in on what she can. Besides my many likes and dislikes as a toddler at the castle, she doesn't have much more information than Gian already shared.

She does say one thing that grabs me. Walking to the renovated ballroom, she says, “Your grandmother, Cass, worked at the police station outside Glasgow for many years.”

I feel my ears prick as she says it. This is news to me. My brows shoot sky-high as I ask, “She did?”

“She was the first woman hired and brought on as secretary, but others say she ran the place over time, and the men looked to her for guidance.” Freya leans into me as if telling a secret. “I heard she was a tech whiz, too, and doubled as their IT department.”

My hair stands on end, and creepy-crawling tingles go down the back of my neck. My grandma, grandpa, and mom have never mentioned that my grandma worked for the police. My grandma, who can’t change a television channel without me, is a tech whiz.

Haze and I exchange a glance.

Freya opens the double doors, revealing a grand room that looks like it has been prepared for an upcoming wedding. “This is the ballroom!”

“Excuse us one moment.” I grab Haze’s hand, dragging him out to the hallway.

“Oh! Okay…” Freya gives us a curious look as we go.

Gian steps in, helping out. I hear him talking to Freya and Fredrick as I pull Haze out of hearing range. “Look at those arches!” he says. “Were those hand-carved?”

We come across an alcove built into the hallway wall decorated with dark pink and blue floral wallpaper and a dark wood table between two small chairs. An old-fashioned landline phone sits on the small circular top.

I pull him into the small space. “Thank God for Gian.”

“He’s smooth. I’ll give him that.” He stares at me. “What do you think about what Freya said about your grandma?”

“I don’t know what to think!” I bite my lower lip, wondering. “It seems crazy that she would be the one to set all that up and steal the money, but…” My eyes lock with his. “Who else possibly could have done it?”

“If she lied about her technical abilities, could your grandfather have too?”

I shrug. “No idea.”

We stand there together, thinking. Finally, he looks at me. “You know what?”

Has he figured it out? “What? Tell me.”

“You know what?” he says again before shaking his head. “It doesn’t even matter right now.”

“I guess you’re right.” I think of Freya’s confused look when I pulled Haze away for this chat. “Let’s go back to the ballroom. I don’t want to be rude.”

“Agreed.” Hand in hand, we walk back to the ballroom, sneaking a few kisses along the way.

Freya claps her hands to see us return. “You’re back! Let me show you the altar we have set up.”

I try to focus on the décor she’s showing me, but my mind wanders to my grandma’s police work and all the family secrets I’m hearing. My attention shifts back to Freya as she tells me her memory of her wedding, right here in this ballroom where I was a guest.

She leans her head on Fredrick’s shoulder. “When this man kissed me, the first kiss after saying our vows, I was so overwhelmed with joy I felt like I was floating. And I saw you in Morven’s arms, clapping your wee hands, and your giddy wee laugh—” She’s overwhelmed by emotion. She slips a hand in the pocket of her dress, pulling out a tissue. “See, Fredrick, I knew I’d need this! I came prepared.”

“Freya rarely cries,” he explains.

“I hate crying. It’s hard enough to be a strong woman in a man’s world without ruining my mascara. But happy tears are different.” She captures both my hands in hers. “You were at our wedding, and it was such a special day. And now, we’re going to be at yours!”

“My what?” I ask.

“Your wedding!” She looks from Gian to Haze, then back at me. Whatever she sees in the two men’s faces makes her drop my hands from hers so she can throw them on her hips, demanding answers from Haze and Gian. “You didn’t tell her!”

I turn to stare at Haze. “Tell me what…” He’s avoiding my gaze, raking a hand through his hair.

Gian is not much better, staring at the toes of his polished black boots.

“Okay, men.” I borrow a gaze from my strict math teacher, focusing it on Haze first, then Gian. “Spill it,” I demand. “What is going on here? What have you two planned?”

“You’ll have to excuse us again.” Haze steps in, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as he says, “We’ll be right back.”

I look at Gian again, but Mr. Smooth only offers a sheepish grin. Haze guides me down the hall until we’re out of the others' hearing range. He moves me so my back is against the wall. His hands are warm on my waist, calming my nerves.

But even he can’t stop my nervous chatter as I fire questions at him. “What’s going on? What is Freya saying about a wedding? And what did you want to ask me?”

“I meant to ask you—” He stops speaking and stares at me with an intensity I’ve never experienced before.

I’m suddenly overwhelmed.

Learning about my father, meeting Freya, and being at the castle again is a lot. I need comfort; I need to be close to him. I wrap my arms around his neck. I want a hug, a kiss, to crawl into bed and snuggle for an hour.

“Kiss me,” I beg. “Make the whole world go away like you do.”

"Always," he says. “And only for you.”

His intense gaze softens into a warm stare, heating me from the inside out. I know what's coming, and the anticipation is almost as thrilling as the feeling of the actual kiss when his lips meet mine.

Everything else fades away at this moment.

I love how he does this—how he makes the world disappear until it's just me and him. Us.

His tongue expertly explores my mouth, murmuring past my lips, “I love the way you taste.”

“Same,” I say. “All man, clean and powerful and sexy. And you smell just as good as you taste.”

“Damn, girl. You know how to make a man feel like one.” He deepens the kiss and holds me closer. I lightly scratch my fingertips over the back of his head, getting lost in the tangle of his soft hair. He gives a soft growl. “God, I love it when you do that.”

He begins to run his hands over my body with an urgency I don’t fully understand. His hands are all over me, smoothing, grasping, kneading my curves. My own desperate fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, running over his broad shoulders and down his back.

He breaks the kiss only long enough to whisper to me, “I want to know if you’re wearing panties or not.” He slips his hand down the back of my jeans, then goes back to kissing me while squeezing my bare ass.

His hips press close, and I can feel his arousal pressing hard against me. I’m fully consumed by an overwhelming need to lose myself entirely to him. Then I remember where I am.

This kiss—it’s getting out of hand.

Freya’s not seen me in over a decade, and this is not how I want her to find me—with my boyfriend’s hands down the back of my jeans. I mean, my fiancé’s hand? What are we? Either way, I don’t want her seeing him wandering down the back of my jeans.

As everyone at school says—it’s complicated.

I pull away, breathless. “What did you want to ask me?” I watch as he moves. He’s dropping down onto one knee. Now, he’s slipping something from his pocket.

“If you like this or now.” He flips open the lid of a small black jewelry box, exposing a silver ring with a green turquoise oval in its center. “It’s just for now. I wasn’t sure what kind of ring girls your age like, but we’ll replace it with whatever you like.”

It’s unique and special and gorgeous. Instantly, I want to hold it. I lift the ring from the box. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

“Really? You do?” He stares up at me, smiling so hard his dimple shows.

“I do.” I turn the ring, taking in every detail.

Blue and brown veins run through the stone. But what does it mean? It’s not like a typical engagement ring—when a man opens a box to reveal a diamond, a woman knows his intentions.

He’s clearly down on one knee, but nothing is obvious when it comes to Haze.

Is this a gift? Or a step toward our future?

“I love it,” I say. “But tell me more about what it means?”

There’s a sense of urgency in his voice. “You told me to be a better man. Now I am. I’m keeping my promise. I’m asking, not demanding.” Then he answers my question: “Will you marry me?”

I stare down at the ring, knowing it holds the weight of my future. “Marry you…”

Suddenly, my stomach is a charm of hummingbirds and my knees are missing, and my legs are weak. I’m so drawn to him. I can’t fight it.

Yet…

He felt familiar even at the earliest of our time together, like we were somehow connected. But how could that be? He’s twice my age and comes from a completely different world than mine.

Yet again…

His beliefs about family and loyalty mirror my own, which is what matters most to me. Gazing at that alluring, always-bordering-on-naughty smile and into those dark, sparkling eyes ties my stomach in nervous knots of doubt and fills me with a profound longing for him…

For family, for us, for our forever…

And I want to say yes.

But that’s wild. I’m only eighteen. I’m supposed to make rash decisions as a teenager, but this – to potentially give up my independence and take a husband – would be the craziest thing of all. I’m torn between the familiar safety of my lonely life and the potential for something more with him.

“What do you say,” he pleads.

He’s giving me the power, forcing me to make the choice.

Asking me to choose. To choose him. Not just for now.

Forever.

I stare into his eyes. And I want to say yes. Doubt creeps in.

He’s a dangerous man. One who first demanded I marry him out of revenge. I could get hurt in so many ways.

Is it worth risking everything for… him?