Uncail nods and waves a hand. “Of course. Thank you, Connor.”
Connor bows again and strides back toward the kitchen.
Almost immediately, three house staffers, wearing crisp uniforms and holding a plate in each hand, enter the dining room. They place Uncail's food in front of him first before serving the rest of us. There are steaming bowls of lamb stew, heaping plates of colcannon, and loaves of soda bread. My mouth waters immediately. I’d worked up quite an appetite again, and I’d missed this traditional Irish fare.
Orin walks in just after the servers leave, apologizing to Uncle for his tardiness and taking his seat. He doesn’t make eye contact with any of us.
Shit.
He starts eating his food in silence, and the rest of the table is quiet for a few minutes as we all dig in.
“So, Maeve,” Uncail starts, pulling her attention to the head of the table. “Have you ever been to an opera before?”
She clears her throat. “No, sir. Well, not as an adult. I went to one once a long time ago with my parents, so I don’t remember much of it,” she tells him, moving food around on her plate listlessly. I feel a pang of concern. It isn’t like her to be so disinterested in a meal, especially one like this.
“Well, we must go tomorrow night then. You will love it,” he suggests, but we all know attendance is required.
“Sounds wonderful,” she replies with a soft smile. She looks to where Orin is still sitting, his head down, staring at his plate.
The rest of the dinner proceeds without incident, and we all clear our plates hastily. Well, everyone except Maeve. The staff returns with dessert, taking away our dinner plates and replacing them before wandering back to the kitchen. Orin’s gaze keeps flitting to the kitchen door.
“I hope you like apple cake, Maeve,” Uncail says with a light tone. “The apples were grown here on the estate.”
“It smells wonderful,” she says sweetly, taking a bite. A satisfied moan escapes her. “And it tastes as good as it smells!”
I smile, feeling relieved. At least she’s eating dessert.
Uncail chuckles deeply before taking a bite of his own. Ronan and Saoirse are sitting across from each other, and Ronan keeps wiggling his eyebrows at her suggestively. She just stabs at her cake violently while staring him down.
We finish our dessert and pour one final drink to carry with us to the meeting house. Maeve’s glass is a little fuller than expected, and I can’t help but feel responsible for it as I watch her take two large gulps from it, grimacing at the burn. I kept something from her. Again. I should have listened to my mother and trusted Maeve to be able to handle the truth. I just hope the damage isn’t too great. I’ve only had her back for a few days. I can’t lose her again.
“Let us go outside, aye?” Uncail says, standing from the table, and we all follow suit. I place a hand on the small of Maeve’s back. She seems nervous, holding her glass with two hands and glancing around the room cagily.
“You okay?” I whisper.
“I’m worried about Orin. I haven’t seen him like that in a long time,” she says, each word quieter than the last. I rub her back, hoping to soothe her nerves if only a little.
“We’ll talk to him tonight before bed, okay?”
She nods, not looking me in the eye. We exit the house and walk to the building about a hundred yards out, passing at least three armed men on the way. Approaching the stone building, I take in the vines growing along the side. The stones are old and dark, worn. I notice Maeve taking in the garden we walk through, even if it is poorly lit.
The men standing at the entrance open the door for Uncail, and we file in behind him. There is a large round table in the middle of the room and maps of various locations tacked to the walls.
“Please, sit,” Uncail motions for us to join him at the table. Maeve takes a deep breath as she sits in the chair I have pulled out for her. I sit beside her, leaning back in my seat, interlacing my fingers, and propping my elbows on the dark wooden arms of the chair.
“So, tell me why the buffoon is here with you all,” Uncail asks, and I start to speak, but he holds up a hand, stopping me. “I want to hear it from her,” he says, gesturing toward Maeve, who sits up straighter.
“How far back do you want me to go?” Her voice is steady, sure. The nerves aren’t present anymore, like she has slipped into a different, professional persona.
“I’d like to know all of the things this man has done to any of you,” Uncail says, rubbing his chin. “I need to know, so I can make sure he pays properly for each one.”
Maeve clears her throat and sits back in her seat, relaxing slightly. She takes a large sip from her glass, draining it, then sets it down in front of her.
“Well,” she pauses briefly, looking at everyone sitting at the table. “Let’s start with the fact that he tried to rape me when I was hardly thirteen.”
I look toward Uncail, whose face twists with outrage. Orin and Ronan lurch forward, no doubt shocked. They look at me, and I toss back the remainder of my whisky. I fucking hate that I only found this out recently.
“Gobshite,” Uncail grits out, fists clenched, jaw tightly set.
