Page 65 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
He didn’t come willingly.
I knew it in my very core.
The road curved, and suddenly Thorne Manor appeared before us in all its gothic glory. Three storeys of weathered grey stone, mullioned windows, and a slate roof that seemed to touch the clouds. Gargoyles perched at the corners, their faces worn smooth by centuries of Highland rain.
Could Dev be locked within the depths of the manor’s halls? Maybe even the basement, where I’d spent many a night myself?
Maxwell pulled into a small gravel parking area to the side of the house, the tyres crunching as we came to a stop. “Bloody hell,” he whispered. “I can’t quite process that you grew up here. Neither you nor Kit act like you came from this sort of money.”
Before I could make a joke about stealing some crockery to fund buying a new car, movement caught my eye. The massive oak front door swung open, and several figures emerged onto the steps.
Shit. I’d hoped we might slip in unnoticed, maybe have a moment to prepare myself. No such luck.
Please not her, please not her,I silently begged, scanning the faces.
Relief washed through me. No sign of my mother. Instead, my uncle Alexander stood at the front, his short grey hair and beard neatly trimmed as always. Beside him was my cousin Isla, her bright ginger hair unmistakable even from this distance. There was also a man I didn’t recognize—tall, dark-haired, probably in his forties.
As we watched, Alex turned to the stranger, exchanged a few words, and the man nodded before heading back inside.
“That’s my uncle,” I said, unbuckling my seatbelt with suddenly clumsy fingers. “And my cousin.”
“Stay here,” I hissed at Freddy, napping by my feet.
My hand was shaking so badly I had to stuff it into my pocket as I climbed out of the car. The distance between us and the manor steps seemed impossibly vast—each step forward was torture, the crunch of stones beneath our feet the only sound breaking the Highland silence. I couldn’t remember how to walk normally. My shoulders hunched forward of their own accord, my free hand swinging awkwardly at my side. What did people usually even do with their arms?
Suddenly, Maxwell’s warm fingers wrapped around mine, pulling my hand from my pocket. I let out a rush of air in surprise, turning to look at him in shock.
Right. The boyfriend act.
But this… this felt different. He was squeezing my hand tightly, his thumb rubbing soft, reassuring circles against the back of my hand. That wasn’t pretend. That wasn’t for show. That was… comfort.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at him as my heart rate skyrocketed, the steadythump thumpin my chest drowning out even the sound of our footsteps. With Maxwell’s hand in mine any nerves about approaching my uncle faded away.
“Rory,” Alex greeted calmly when we reached the steps, his familiar Scottish burr washing over me. His eyes flicked between us, clearly trying to take in Maxwell while maintaining his composure. All I’d mentioned in my email was that I’d be bringing my boyfriend.
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Five years of silence, and now I couldn’t even manage a simple hello.
Maxwell didn’t let go of my hand as he extended his other toward my uncle. “Theodore,” he said, leaving off his surname. “Thank you for having me.”
“Aye, of course,” said Alex smoothly. “You’re most welcome.” His eyes flicked to me as an amused smile crossed his face—because Maxwell wasn’t going to be welcome here at all, and we both knew it.
“Rory,” Isla stepped forward, her voice gentle. “It’s nice to see you.”
I stared at her, momentarily stunned. Gone was the gangly teenager I remembered. Now she stood tall and confident, her bright ginger hair framing a face that had lost all its childish roundness. No longer were we pups chasing each other around the estate, playing hide-and-seek in the forest. I’d heard through our very limited grapevine that she was studying medicine in Edinburgh—it was possible she was also here against her will this week.
“You too,” I managed, my throat tight, then blurted out, “Where’s everyone else?” desperate to fill any silence that threatened.
Alex cleared his throat. “I said it would be best for just us to greet you. We thought we’d show you to your room, help Bernard with your things.”
Bernard? I was surprised he was still here. The head of household staff had been nearing retirement when I left five years ago, always grumbling about his aching knees while sneaking me extra biscuits when my mother wasn’t looking.
Then the rest of Alex’s words registered, and panic shot through me.
Your room.
Our room, in the house I’d lived in for so many painful years.
My feet felt rooted to the gravel as memories crashed over me like ice water. The grand entrance hall with its sweeping staircase where Father had once dragged me down by my ear. The formal dining room where I’d endured countless silent meals, every scrape of cutlery amplified in the strained quiet. The library where both Ma and Dad had lectured me forhours about my responsibilities to the pack while I fidgeted, unable to focus, earning his disappointment again and again.
