After breakfast, he takes my hand and leads me to the library, where I have three half-finished books stacked up.
“Are you reading all three of those at once?” he asks.
“Aye,” I say, happily opening my Jane Austen paperback, which I’d found tucked in the corner of one of the shelves, “I always say my sorrys to the other books, though. I feel like I’m cheatin’ on them.”
He chuckles, a sound that’s becoming more frequent these days and it never fails to fill me with satisfaction. Opening his laptop, my husband sits next to me on the huge couch, his long legs stretched out comfortably.
With a little, perplexed smile, I begin the next chapter.
It’s cool and quiet in the library, and an hour drifts by as we read together. So, when the first shout registers, I yelp and drop my book.
“Where the feck is our sister! I will gut you like a trout if you don’t bring her out herenow!”
“That’s Cormac!” I whisper, not sure at all why I am whispering. “How did they-” A rush of booted feet cuts me off as all four of my brothers storm into the room, holding assault rifles.
“Sorcha!” Cormac gasps, “Oh, lass I’m so-” He sees Alastair lounging indolently next to me and lifts his rifle. “You fecking bastard. Piece of shite! Tell me why I shouldn’t blow your feckin’ head off right now.”
With an elegant sigh, Alastair rises from his seat, keeping a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Because, MacTavish, I am your new brother-in-law. Now put down those rifles, especially you-” He nods at Lachlan, who does look like he’s ready to shoot him. “We’ll talk. Who would like a drink?”
Chapter Thirty-One
In which we meet the family.
Alastair…
Cormac ignores me and races to Sorcha, who is already on her feet and running to him. I ignore the painful twinge in my chest as she rushes past me without a glance.
“Are ya’ all right, lass? Did he hurt you?” Cormac says hoarsely.
“No, Alastair didn’t hurt me,” she says, the response muffled as he holds her to his chest.
Cameron is next crushing her to his chest, the fucking prick, and then Dougal wraps his arms around her. “You scared us, Scorch,” he whispers. “Thank god you’re okay. You’re safe now, aye? We’ve got you.”
No, you do not have her, you bloody fool,I think, holding on to my temper.
Lachlan still has his rifle up, not quite pointing it at me, though it would take less than a second to shoot me. He’s staring at me with eyes that promise retribution.
“Lach, please put that rifle down and come hug me, aye?” Sorcha calls, ending - or at least delaying - my imminent death.
They cluster around her, a solid wall of Scottish arseholes thinking they can block me from my wife.
“If you’ve all had a tender moment with my bride,” I say dryly, “do be seated. There’s much to discuss.”
Cormac turns and I see the fury the human traffickers must have witnessed just before he killed over twenty of them to get to her. Pulling out his Desert Eagle, he points it at me. “Why are you holding my sister? This marriage nonsense is shite, we’ll have it annulled.”
“That won’t be possible,” I say patiently, leaning against my desk, “this union was consummated.”
This seems to enrage Cormac further, and he strides over putting the barrel of the gun against my forehead. “Then we’ll make her a widow.”
“Stop!” Sorcha stands, walking over to me. “I know you’re raged, brothers, but it’s the truth. Alastair and I are married.”
“Did he buy you at an auction?” Cormac’s trigger finger twitches, just slightly.
“Aye, but he was not one of those bastards who took me from home. I don’t know who did it.”
She looks up at me and I smile, taking a chance that her brothers won’t fill me full of bullet holes and wrap my arm around her waist, squeezing her gently.
“It was the Dimitrijevic Brothers,” I say.
