“Stop yelling,” Remy said automatically as he dried Eamon’s hands and swiveled around, setting him on his chair. Turning to Galen, he growled, “C’mon, you, too. And put your sword next to Eamon’s.”
“Dang it. Why do I have to?” Galen pouted, slapping his sword down on the counter. “What if someone attacks me when I’m eating?”
“No one’s going to attack you,” Remy said, helping Galen up on the stool so he could reach the water.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. Now go sit down.” Once Remy made sure Galen had obeyed him, he turned back to the three bowls of oatmeal, sticking his pinky in each of them to check the temperature. Finding them cool enough, he poured maple syrup and cream in them before setting bowls in front of Eamon and Galen—and then placed Rune’s on his high chair table.
Sitting down next to his youngest brother, Remy couldn’t help but notice what a beautiful child he was. Even though Rune was all-boy, he had an angelic air about him that reminded Remy of cherubs painted on the ceilings of French cathedrals. His big, deep blue eyes pierced Remy’s soul while his beautiful white, curly blond hair was so fine, a person had to be really up close to see it. Dipping a spoon into the oatmeal, Remy brought it up to Rune’s mouth, slipping it in when his brother smiled.
Suddenly, the kitchen door swung open as Mrs. Beasley swooped in. “Oh, my goodness,” she exclaimed, “youarerunning late this morning.”
Glancing over at her, Remy grinned. “And how is that different from any other morning?”
“Ahh, true,” agreed Mrs. Beasley, removing her jacket and setting it down next to her big bag she’d dropped on the rocking chair next to the stone fireplace. Hustling over, she took the spoon from Remy’s hand. “Shoo, go get ready. I can finish feeding our Rune.”
Rising quickly, Remy gave Mrs. Beasley a quick kiss on her plump cheek. “Thanks, Mrs. B. The new owner is arriving today and I promised to pick him up at the airport.” Glancing once more at Galen and Eamon, satisfied they were behaving, he rushed upstairs to shower and dress. Checking the time on the grandfather clock as he hustled past it, he muttered under his breath. “Sacré bleu!” He’d be cutting it close.
~/~/~/~/~
Showering in record time, Remy dried himself and checked his scruff and mustache in the mirror. Peeking down at the time on his phone, Remy decided it would have to do. Rushing into the bedroom, he threw the phone onto his rumpled bed before heading to the wardrobe.Rejecting his normal work attire—jeans and a chambray buttoned-down shirt—he chose a pair of black dress pants and a white shirt before heading over to the dresser.
Sliding out a drawer, he snorted at the mess. One of his brothers—Eamon, he’d bet—had used his underwear to hide his plastic dinosaurs. Digging around, he finally located the briefs he wanted, promising himself he’d straighten things up that night. Once dressed, he slipped on his black shoes and grabbed his phone, but before he made it to the door, it began to ring.
“Fuck!” Remy muttered. “Why today? Of all days.” That ringtone only meant one thing. Answering the call, he growled, “Pierre, what’s up?”
“It happened again, Remy.”
“Shit, how many this time?”
“So far, three. But I just started.”
Slamming his fist against the doorframe, Remy exclaimed, “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck! How the hell did they get in? Have you checked the security cameras?”
“Not yet, I thought I’d wait for you.”
“No, go ahead. Is Henri around?” asked Remy.
“I haven’t seen him this morning,” replied Pierre, “but then, I came in through the main office.”
“I’ll call him,” Remy said, adding, “Don’t touch anything else. I’ll be there shortly.” Ending the call, he searched for Henri’s number, then dialed it. Heading down the stairs, he listened to the ringing, hoping Henri wasn’t under a truck fixing something or other. “C’mon, Henri, pick up!” Someone had it out for him—it was the only explanation he could come up with. He made a mental note to check on who’d left recently—or had been fired.
“Bonjour, Mr. Marchant.”
“Oh, thank the gods!” Remy exclaimed. It seemed luck had not deserted him. “Henri, Fionn MacDùghlas is arriving today and I need you to pick him up at the airport. He’s coming in on a private jet.”
“Oui, Mr. Marchant. When will he be arriving?” asked Henri.
“In less than two hours. Can you do it?”
“Oui, it’ll be tight but I will make it.”
“Good…oh, and you better take the SUV. I’m not sure exactly how many will be with him but I know there’ll be at least one other.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll call when I have picked them up.”
“Thanks, Henri. Drive safe.”
