“A’course I did,” I say irritably. “I put a tracker/recording app on her phone the first night we met at the club.”
“Ya’ might need to go back with them to Nova Scotia, brother,” Cormac warns. “Just to stabilize the organization.”
“Aria will radge, she made it clear we were not to be involved in her family’s business, but a bit of support from an allied clan is different,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Though I am surprised you’re trustin’ me with it.”
“She’s your wife,” he says heartlessly, “an’ while youarean agent of chaos, you’ve been soundin’ like an actual adult these last days. It’s unsettling.”
“Thank ya’ for your faith in me, ya’ arse.”
“Aye, nae borra,you’re welcome. See ya’ tomorrow at wedding number two. It’s a MacTavish family tradition at this point.” Cormac ends the call.
Sliding into bed behind my bride, my arm goes over her hips, pulling her back, resting her luscious arse against my hips, which makes me instantly sprout astonner.With a low groan, I tighten my grip and close my eyes, hoping I can sleep with a cock like granite.
Radge - Scottish slang for fucking furious
Chapter Fifteen
In which we meet the in-laws and unwelcome wedding guests.
Aria…
“Yeah, it’s called the MacTavish Dowager House, we all got sequestered here before our weddings.” Mala is married to Cormac, the eldest brother and Chieftain of the clan.
“I’m already married,” I grumble softly. “Lachlan sprung this on me when I was half-asleep last night.”
“That sounds about right,” nods Isla. She’s Dougal’s wife and even I’ve heard about her legendary escapades as a jewel thief - I mean, jewelrybrokerfor the Blackwood Clan.
The other two women joining me in a magnificent, slightly smaller version of the MacTavish mansion are Morana, a Russian Bratva princess who married Cameron, and the brothers’ little sister, Sorcha. She’s a smart-ass and hilarious, flipping her flaming red hair and imitating all her brothers to an uncanny degree.
“When are your brother and sister arriving?” Morana asks. She’s holding her son on her lap, a titan of a toddler who is just now exhausted from tearing around the room and willing to let her cuddle him.
Checking my phone, I nod, “Any time now.”
“Are you three close?” Isla asks.
“Very.” I try to sit still in front of the glorious antique dressing table as a very nice woman named Doris puts my hair into somecomplicated updo that involves lots of hairpins and defying the laws of gravity. “We all were. That’s why losing our parents was so hard. They’re both strong people though. I’m proud of them.”
“It must be hard, being the oldest and feeling responsible for everything,” Morana says sympathetically.
Sorcha gives an inelegant snort. “Unlike Lachlan, who’s the youngest brother and lives his life as if responsibility is only a concept.”
I wait for the other sisters to dispute that, but they all look away, Isla carefully examining her manicure and Morana bouncing her son.
“Well,” Mala is trying to be the diplomatic one. “Lachlan is also very good at following up on problems. If it doesn’t get fixed the first time, he makes sure it happens when he handles it.”
Sorcha howls, rolling around on the bed. “Like the time he blew up three warehouses at the River Clyde dockyard?”
My uneasy gaze turns to Doris, should she be hearing this? She continues brushing bronzer onto my cheekbones, humming softly.
“Doris is a MacTavish,” Mala says, having correctly interpreted my look. “Here, let me help you into this dress. I’m guessing the Lady Elspeth selected it for you?”
I met the MacTavish matriarch when she swept into the elaborate lady’s bedroom suite we’re currently occupying with a rack of four dresses and a terrified-looking seamstress. She’s tiny and elegant, with blonde hair and jade eyes. I’m not sure how she carried these monstrously huge men in that little body, but sheownsthem. Lachlan tried to follow her into the bridal suite and she went up on tiptoe to slap him on the back of the head.
“Leave now Lachlan, or I will pull your ear loose from your head!”
He had left.
Then, anyway.
