Page 21 of Bad Luck Vampire

Ludan grunted what might have been agreement.

“Aye,” Inan said with a slight scowl for his nephews, and then his expression faded and he said judiciously, “But then they don’y ken any better. They don’y have the huge old bastard rogues we’ve been getting in Europe. Most o’ the rogues in North America are younger, born when pistols and muskets were the weapon o’ choice and muscle was no’ in fashion. Not the longsword-wielding rogue bastards that ha’e been growin’ in number in Europe lately.”

Alasdair’s gaze sharpened with interest on his uncles. “You’ve had older, larger rogues across the pond lately?”

Ludan nodded. It was Connor who said, “Aye. A fair number o’ late. Children and grandchildren o’ pairings from the last conciliare are reachin’ the age when some who are still unmated are losin’ their will to live and goin’ rogue.”

“The last conciliare?” Alasdair questioned with confusion, not recognizing the word.

Inan goggled at him. “Ha’e ye been taught naught about yer own people?”

Before Alasdair could respond, Connor suggested, “Google it.”

Recognizing the words he’d tossed out to them about blind dates, Alasdair knew they wouldn’t explain and pulled out his phone even as Colle did. His brother was faster at typing, however.

“It’s Latin for to reconcile,” Colle said with a frown.

“And that means?” Ludan asked patiently.

“I ken what to reconcile means,” Colle snapped, his accent thickening with his irritation. “That doesn’y explain—”

“Does it no’?” Connor interrupted, and then arched an eyebrow and suggested, “Google to reconcile.”

With a little huff of irritation, Colle bowed his head to his phone and started tapping again. After a moment, he began to speak in a tone suggesting the meaning was exactly what he’d thought. “According to Oxford Languages to reconcile means to restore friendly relations between, cause to coexist in harmony; make or”—he paused briefly and then finished more slowly—“or show to be compatible.”

He read that last part with a growing understanding even as Alasdair himself understood. He glanced sharply at his uncles. “A conciliare is what you used to call a life mate matchmaker like Marguerite?”

The men nodded solemnly. It was Connor who said, “The last time we had a conciliare as proficient at matching life mates as Marguerite was more than a thousand years ago.”

“At a time when men wielded clubs and longswords,” Inan added, and pointed out, “They had to be big and muscular for those weapons.”

“As did the children o’ those matches, at least the ones born over the next three or four centuries or so.”

“And the last conciliare made hundreds o’ pairings ere passin’, and those pairings resulted in twice that many first and second born bairns. Now those children are old, many unmatched, and some no’ doin’ well,” Inan said quietly. “A guid number o’ them are now goin’ rogue.”

“They’re big bastards,” Connor told them. “Strong and cruel. Tearing their victims apart with their bare hands some o’ them.” He shook his head.

“Time to change the subject, boys. The ladies are on the way back,” Julius said suddenly, and Alasdair turned to peer at the man with surprise. He’d been so quiet that Alasdair had forgotten he was even there.

Shifting his gaze past the man, he spotted Marguerite and Sophie walking back toward the table. The two women were laughing over something, and damned if Sophie wasn’t the loveliest flower Alasdair had ever seen.

Movement from Julius had him looking to see that the other man was standing to pull out his wife’s chair. Alasdair immediately stood as well to do the same for Sophie as she reached them.

“Thanks,” she said with a wide smile as she settled in her seat.

“My pleasure,” Alasdair murmured as he reclaimed his own. He then reached for the pitcher of water and topped up her glass, earning another thanks. Silence fell on the table as she drank. Alasdair watched her, but didn’t realize everyone else was too until she peered over the glass, and then lowered it and raised her eyebrows at his uncles. He glanced their way to see the concentrated expressions on all four faces and knew they were reading her.

“Is there something on my face?” Sophie asked with sudden amusement. “Or maybe my hair is a mess from the breeze outside?”

“Nay, lass,” the uncles all said as one.

Connor added, “Ye’re perfect as a picture.”

“Aye, bonnie,” Odart growled.

“Ha’e ye any sisters fer poor wee lads like us to meet?” Inan asked.

A surprised laugh burst from Sophie, but she shook her head and set her glass back on the table. “I’m an only child.”

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