With a flick of the reins, he sent the horses racing through. As if sensing the end of their journey, they leaned into the harness; trees flashed past, massive ancient oaks bordering the lawns that rolled away on either side. He barely noticed, his attention-all his senses-locked on the building towering before him.

It was as massive and as anchored in the soil as the oaks. It had stood for so many centuries it had become part of the landscape.

He slowed the horses as they neared the forecourt, drinking in the gray stone, the heavy lintels, the deeply recessed windows, diamond paned and leaded, set into the thick walls. The front door lay within a high stone arch; it had originally been a portcullis, not a door, the front hall beyond, with its arched ceiling, originally a tunnel leading into the inner bailey. The front faзade, three stories high, had been formed from the castle’s inner bailey wall; the outer bailey wall had been dismantled long ago, while the keep itself lay deeper within the house.

Letting the horses walk along the faзade, Royce gave himself the moment, let emotion reign for just that while. Yet the indescribable joy of being home again was deeply shadowed, caught up, tangled, in a web of darker feelings; being this close to his father-to where his father should have been, but no longer was-only whetted the already razor-sharp edge of his restless, unforgiving anger.

Irrational anger-anger with no object. Yet he still felt it.

Dragging in a breath, filling his lungs with the cool, crisp air, he set his jaw and sent the horses trotting on around the house.

As he rounded the north wing and the stables came into view, he reminded himself that he would find no convenient opponent at the castle with whom he could loose his temper, with whom he could release the deep, abiding anger.

Resigned himself to another night of a splitting head and no sleep.