Page 3 of Bryce

If that were the case, what was the point of anything? Was the treasure stored beneath our mountain, back in Scotland, still there? Had we, too, fooled ourselves into believing we served a higher purpose?

Had we wasted our long lives?

My kin were wise enough to leave me on my own for a while, allowing me to brood in peace. There were several dozen books at my disposal, not to mention all the music and entertainment I could imagine at the tips of my fingers, all controlled by a small remote and available through the flat-screen TV mounted on one wall.

I wanted for nothing.

Nothing except purpose.

It was hours before the growing commotion in the hall outside my door stirred me from the bed, where I’d passed the time with a thick novel whose plot I’d hardly paid attention to. My thoughts were far too dark and clouded to allow me to pay attention.

“What’s this?” I asked, poking my head through the door.

Martina noticed me. “Mom’s guys,” she explained. “You might’ve met them in St. Lucia.”

She was in too much of a hurry to hang about and explain further, not that I needed it.

My head buzzed. It hadn’t occurred to me. I hadn’t given it even a half-second’s thought.

Was he among them?

The very idea set my heart to racing, leaving me no choice but to lean against the wall for support while I strained to catch my breath. Bryce. Was he one of them?

Did I want him to be, when he had not bothered even to write? When I’d fought my traitorous heart for months in the hopes of forgetting him?

I held my breath, willing myself to be calm. There was a good chance he’d remained at Mary’s side, or that she’d sent him elsewhere.

The woman had eyes and ears all over the globe, or so I’d heard countless times. With so many at her disposal, the odds of Bryce being one of the lions she’d sent to assist us were slim.

Why, then, could I not convince myself to greet them?

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