Surrender to Me (The Derrings #4)(58)

Her smile slipped and she looked down at her plate of half-eaten food.

Indeed. They both had lives waiting for them. She in England. He across the ocean.

“Think about it. You’re needed here,” MacFadden insisted, casting Astrid an accusatory glare, as if she had something to do with Griffin’s refusal to stay.

She stared back, keeping her expression cool and unmoved.

A sudden disturbance drew their attention to the front of the dining hall. A tall middle-aged man in a swirling cloak entered, a thick scarf of MacFadden blue and green tartan wrapped around his neck and shoulders. A woman followed him, cloaked from head to toe in a rich dark blue cloak. She hung back several steps, her movements slow and hesitant.

“Cousin,” the man called, striding forward, eyes widening as they shifted from MacFadden to Gallagher. “I had barely stepped from the carriage when I was beset with all manner of outlandish tales. Although none so astonishing as the sight of you breaking bread with this devil.”

“Thomas,” MacFadden rose in greeting, chuckling wryly as he came around to embrace the visitor, the older man’s large frame swallowing that of his cousin. “It’s not something I expected to happen in this lifetime, to be certain.”

“Well, what brought about this miracle?” Thomas asked, slipping off gloves of fine kid leather and snapping his fingers for a servant to bring forth a chair. He untied his cloak and tossed it at a serving girl. Dropping into the chair, his gaze roved first over Griffin, then Astrid, his sharp eyes lingering on her face in a way that made her want to fidget in her chair. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap and forced her spine straight.

No one moved to fetch a seat for the young woman or offered to take her cloak. She remained standing, an unobtrusive shadow lurking beyond Thomas. Only Astrid seemed to notice her, and she decided that the girl likely made a habit of being invisible.

Indignation burned darkly through her as she strained for a glimpse of the face hidden within her cloak. Ink-dark tresses escaped the hood to coil over her breasts like the curl of a demon’s fingers.

“Griffin, this is my cousin, Thomas Osborn.”

Griffin nodded in greeting at the man sitting across the table from them. Osborn returned his nod with an uncertain one of his own.

“Wondrous news, cousin.” MacFadden grinned and leaned forward, heedless of the fall of his hair in his stew. He clapped Griffin on the back heartily. “Conall’s son has returned to us.”

Osborn stared, speechless for several moments, looking back and forth between Griffin and his cousin. “H-how can that be? Conall did not have a son.”

“Like I always suspected. Conall ran away with Iona Gallagher.” His gaze flitted to Griffin. “They had a son together.”

“I see,” Osborn drawled slowly. “And how can we be sure this man is their son?” His eyes flickered over Griffin as if he were some mangy cur come to beg for scraps.

“Aside that he looks just like Conall?” An edge entered MacFadden’s voice, defying his cousin—anyone—to challenge him on the matter of Griffin’s paternity. “And that he bears the same birthmark on his shoulder that his father did? And me?”

“A coincidence, surely.”

“And why,” Griffin inserted, his voice dangerously smooth, “are you so certain that I cannot be Conall MacFadden’s son? What is it you stand to lose?”

Color spotted Osborn’s narrow cheeks. “I merely think someone should question the arrival of a stranger and examine his motives before accepting him so readily into the fold.”

“I seek nothing here,” Griffin stated with remarkable evenness. “I only came to learn a bit about the parents that died before I could know them.”

“’Course, lad,” Gallagher’s voice boomed out as he glared at Osborn. “We only hope to convince you to stay and take your rightful place here. You’re a part of us.”

A part of us. Astrid wondered what that would be like. To be part of a family. To belong. To be wanted.

Osborn shoved to his feet, the chair clattering to the stone floor. “This is madness! Let me see this birthmark.”

Griffin’s eyes glittered in warning, no doubt recalling the indignity of being forced to the ground and stripped of his clothes against his will. “I will not remove one stitch of clothing.”

“Thomas, calm yourself. You’re acting the fool. I’ve already seen it.”

Osborn turned beseeching eyes on MacFadden. “Cousin, you cannot mean to offer everything to this…stranger!” His face twisted with anger as the woman behind him quietly set his chair upright again.

“Calm yourself, Thomas,” MacFadden advised. “As I have no intention of expiring soon, I don’t see your lot having altered much. I’m only eight years your senior, after all. Now cease delving into my affairs. Tend to your own. Shouldn’t you be preparing for the grand nuptials? What are you doing here anyway?”

“The wedding’s off.” Osborn’s declaration sent goose bumps over Astrid’s arms. “Which is why I’ve come. As head of the family, you need to be apprised of any matter that may bring shame on us.”

MacFadden’s eyebrows dipped together. “Speak plainly, man.”

“It appears Petra’s betrothed has been murdered.”