“Of all the things your family has asked me to do, this is the most offensive in the eyes of the Lord!” Father Barclay sputters as I walk him to the door. I’d offered to have a guest room made up for him so that he could eat and rest first, but he was having none of it.
“I know you spoke with my father,” I say patiently. “This solution stops a war. No bloodshed. All the lives you are saving surely helps settle your conscience?”
He fixes me with his most terrifying look. His blue eyes are pale, a cataract in the left one making it a bit milky. Yet his penetrating gaze is just as alarming to me at thirty as it was at thirteen. “I have never performed a wedding ceremony where the groom had to pin his bride to the couch!”
“Didn’t Cameron have to do that?”
This is the wrong response because there’s a vein pulsating on his forehead.
“The parish needs a new children’s center and school,” he finally says, mouth pursed with disapproval.
“Wasn’t that the fundraiser Ma’ threw last month?”
His eyes narrow to slits. “I would like a larger center for the children, with more amenities.”
I tap the bank app on my phone. “What would make you happy, Father?”
He tells me. I groan silently and send the money to the parish bank account.
“Go with God, my son,” he says serenely, sailing out the door.
Lachlan’s leaning against the doorway to the great room, grinning insolently. “That cost ya’ big, didn’t it?”
“Shut the feck up,” I sigh, heading back into the room to see Isla slumped back on the couch. Even looking as rough as she does, the girl is beautiful, with her pretty, pale skin flushed pink. A brush might help, though. And some clean clothes.
As I’m about to suggest breakfast, her stomach growls loudly and she puts a hand over it.
“Seems like some food is a good first step, lass.”
She struggles to her feet, clearly exhausted. “I don’t want food. We’re married, you got what you wanted. But you will never touch me and even though you’re aMacTavish,”she spits the word as if it tasted bad in her mouth, “I don’t think you’re a rapist. And the minute I’m away from you, I’ll get an annulment.”
God-damn. What is it about her fierceness that makes me want to make her submit even more? And she will.
Stepping closer until she’s pinned between me and the arm of the couch, I look her over, slowly. Thoroughly. “If you won’t eat, I’ll take you up to your room.”
Earlier that night…
“This is bad.”
I’ve not seen Da this grim since Sorcha was kidnapped.
“How bad?” Cormac asked, always the attentive son.
We’re all gathered in Da’s study, the bewildered party guests being graciously escorted out and the grounds swept by security as we sit around the table, staring at the wooden case.
Da rubbed his face and downed the rest of his drink. “This is something known only by Blackwood and myself. At least, that was the vow we made. I thought surely this would be the one thing he would honor.”
As Da explained what was in the case and what it meant to both families, it felt more of an Arthurian legend and less like a youthful-caper-turned-disaster that it really was. But the man’s aged a decade in the space of this meeting and the significance hit me hard. This case could destroy everything we’ve worked for.
“We believed that each of us taking a half would keep this hidden forever,” he said heavily. “A mutually assured destruction pact, we called it.” Finishing his third drink, Da took a deep breath. “We canna let the girl go. Not with what she’s done, with what she knows. So we must kill her, or keep her. God help us either way.”
“I’ll keep her,” I said instantly.
What the fecking hell, you arsehole? Are ya’ mad?The logical part of my brain was angrily asking me what I was doing, but I remained calm, even as they all stared down the table at me.
“We don’t kill women,” I said flatly. “This could turn out to be a useful union, in the end. Regardless, the family’s interests must be protected.”
“Are you sure, son? It’s a lot to ask of you. Perhaps we can find another way to keep her under control,” Da said, bushy eyebrows furrowed with concern.
