British Black Sheep - Lauren Smith Page 0,39

and intimate in a way that made her hungry for more.

Alec slipped away from the group while everyone enjoyed hot toddies or hot chocolate. He wandered the halls of the old manor house until he stopped at his grandfather’s study. Although he’d obviously been drawn to it like a magnet, he hadn’t even realized he was walking in this direction. His hand shook as he touched the door latch, but with a deep breath, he opened it. Memories assailed him as he stared about the room.

Nothing had changed. Two tall African spears stood in one corner, whispering tales of when Walter had been a young man. He hadn’t hunted on safari like many of his peers. Instead, he’d helped a chief in Kenya hunt down a group of poachers to save a herd of elephants. The chief had given him this pair of warrior spears as a gift.

Alec ran his finger over the head of the nearest spear. The cold metal was smooth and sharpened to a deadly point. Thin, rough rope bound the dark wood of the shaft to the spearhead.

Behind the spears was an old black-and-white photo of his grandfather with his arm around a young chief’s shoulder. Walter couldn’t have been much older than Alec in that photo.

How many stories had been lost when his grandfather had died? The whole room was a powerful shrine to Walter’s life. War medals were carefully displayed in a case on the desk. Alec remembered wanting to wear them when he played soldier with Morgan. Byron had never wanted to let them, but Walter had chuckled and pinned the medal to Alec’s chest.

“It’s just a bit of metal and ribbon,” Walter had told Byron. “The men who fought beside me wouldn’t mind, not if it gives the boys a sense of honor while they play.”

Alec remembered how carefully he’d played while wearing the war medal, knowing only a little of the sacrifices his grandfather had made to earn such an honor. He’d been a young man when he’d fought in Korea and had lost several friends.

War is not pretty. It’s not something a man wishes for, but peace can’t always be earned by kindness. Sometimes evil can only be stopped when good men go to war. Walter’s voice seemed to echo in the room from a lifetime ago.

Alec opened the box of medals and ran his finger along the collection: the Victorian Cross, the Military Cross, the George Medal, and the Queen’s Gallantry Medal. The silver on the medals was still shining even after all these years.

Beside the box of medals was a leather-bound journal with his grandfather’s initials and a date in the 1960s. A leather strap bound the journal tight, protecting whatever thoughts Walter had jotted down. As much as Alec wanted to read it, it was too much like peering into his grandfather’s soul. Far too private a thing for him to open uninvited.

“I haven’t had the heart to change anything,” his father said behind him. Alec turned to see Byron leaning against the door jamb, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Alec’s gaze swept over the bookshelves that lined one wall. There were artifacts from all over the world tucked in between books almost as an afterthought. “It’s like he’s still here.”

“In a way, he is.” Byron moved deeper into the room beside Alec. “He was an amazing man. I wish you could have had more time with him.” Byron picked up the leather journal and held it out to Alec. “He wrote hundreds of these over the course of his life. You should read one.”

“What? No, I can’t—”

His father pressed the journal against Alec’s chest. “I insist. Discover who he really was. I know that his death still affects you in ways it never has with Morgan. We all handle death differently. But you should know him, the real him. He would want you to.”

Alec’s hands curled around the leather which had grown soft with age. “Have you read it?”

His father nodded. “I read everything of his about two months after he died. It brought me closer to him. I think you need that, Alec.” His father patted his shoulder and left Alec alone again in his grandfather’s study.

With the journal clutched in one hand, Alec looked around the study once more. The large walnut wood desk had always had a drawer of peppermint hard candies and the pocket watch now resting on the black leather desk protector had never left his father’s side.

Alec