Raised By Wolves 1 - Brethren by Raised by Wolves 01 Read Free Book Online Page B

submitted to the doting of the cook and the other five members of the staff. Apparently my uncle had told them lavish tales of my adventures as related from my letters. As he was something of an adventurous man himself, and also dearly in love with a good yarn, he had embellished what little I told him a great deal. I was amused to learn I had seduced a princess in Austria and fought a duke in France. I hoped I did not disappoint them, as I was sure my uncle had told tales of a far taller and handsomer man while he was at it.
    By the time the meal and tale-telling were finished, it was dark yet again. I returned to bed with a snifter of brandy and a book from the library, only to find I did not wish to read or sleep. I watched the lamplight flicker on the ceiling and sipped from my glass. I felt warm and comfortable and well sheltered from the rain pattering on the roof.
    Yet it did little to calm the unease in my soul.
    Nothing seemed to have changed since the last time I visited here.
    That would have been a month or two before I departed. I felt the imposter in this happy place that stood safe from the ravages of time. I had surely changed; yet they treated me, despite the stories, as if I had not, as if I were still that boy. And thus I felt I was still that boy, and I found it alarming in the extreme. That boy I had once been knew so very little of the world.
    He would not have realized that it was odd that they had not spoken of my family or asked why I had left and then returned. They had wanted to hear stories of my travels, yet they had given me little back.
    With this thought, I understood that I had indeed changed in their eyes. They knew all too well that I was no longer the boy. This eased my worries some, and with the brandy warm in my belly, I turned down the lamp and settled in to sleep again. I only checked for the pistol and dirk under my pillow once.
    My uncle arrived during the evening of the next day, and his embrace nearly brought a tear to my eye: not out of heartfelt emotion, but from the reverent force of it. He was as big a man as my father; and as I had the night before, I felt small and young again. When he let me breathe, we retired to the study to eat by the fire and drink and talk.
    He studied me with a critical eye, and I returned it. He was older, and it showed about his blue eyes and wide mouth. His hair was grey now. He was still well-muscled, though, and seemingly in robust health.
    “You look well,” I commented.
    He smiled. “As do you, my boy.” His eyes narrowed. “You have grown into yourself. I daresay traveling and adventure has suited you.”
    “Some would say so, but there are times when I wonder what I would have become if I had stayed.”
    His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and he looked away. “You would be miserable.” He grinned widely and adopted an enthusiastic tone.
    “Married and bored and hoping for any chance to see a tenth of what you have seen now.”
    “Aye, aye, but there have been times I wished for…” I had planned to say the safety of home, but that would have been absurd. That was a fantasy I had concocted, the history of a character I had played in many drawing rooms. I had not come from a loving or safe home, which was why I had left. I watched the brandy swirl in my glass and started again.
    “There have been times when the situations I found myself in were fraught with danger or irritation, and I have wished for a quiet place to retreat to.”
    My uncle smiled. “A den to hide in is a fine thing indeed, but one cannot stay in it long without it becoming cramped and even more irritating. I have been here too long now. I have not traveled in over a year. I had planned a trip to the north to hunt this fall; and then London burned and I had matters to attend to. But I have discovered something even better now.” His eyes twinkled with an inner light that far outshone the flames reflected in them.
    “And what would that be?”
    “The New World.