“And what exactly are we going to do with the information once we have it?
“After you read them… I want you to start investigating. Hell, start while you’re reading. You know I’ve got Mac and Clyde as full-time liaisons for Paris. All our business here in Scotland’s under tight wraps for now.” Cairstina yawns, and Leith looks from her to me, as if just realizing it’s the middle of the night. “We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.”
“Aye.”
“Night,” he says, taking Cairstina’s hand and leading her to the door. They don’t live here anymore. None of us do. Most of us live in private chalets that rim the outside of the main home, but we’re in the main lodge so often, it’s almost as if we live here.
Why’d I appoint myself Fran’s bloody keeper? I suppose it's a pretty easy answer because the thought of anyone else being this close to her and taking care of her makes me angry. I'm the one that saw her injured. I'm the one that will see this through.
Plus, everyone else here has a job to do. Our men have various tasks about the place, and my sisters have school and work. I have a job to do, too, but right now my biggest job is finding the writer who’s penning the Clan Chronicles. It's a mystery I'm bent on solving.
As I watch Fran sleep, I marvel at her beauty. She's such a bonnie lass. I've been attracted to her for as long as I can remember, though I've never allowed myself to act on it.
I’m like a brother to her, I know it.
A fucking brother.
I watch her sleep, as I settle down onto the couch with a folded blanket and scratchy pillow. I wanted to go back to the privacy of my place, but it didn't feel right leaving her here unattended. She hurt herself badly, bad enough that she barely remembered much of anything, and you can’t fuck around with head trauma. But it isn't just that. I don't like the fact that my father doesn't want her here and, knowing what I do about him, I fear that he could do something to hurt her. Years ago, he put hands on Leith’s wife Cairstina, and I haven’t trusted him since.
So I keep my place beside her. Pull up my phone, and download a bloody e-reader app. I'm not much of a reader, never havebeen. And the thought of reading a bloody romance… My brother is right though. Something’s amiss. We've suspected for a very long time that the writer of these books knew more than what was good for her, and now she's crossed a line.
I pull up the first book and quickly download it. It’s immediately engaging, more than I expected. The story starts off right off the bat with a marine biologist who's in the wrong place at the wrong time. As soon as I start reading the descriptions, it feels eerie. It's as if someone's looking over our shoulders, as if the very walls have eyes and ears.
For starters, the description of the location. It's in a remote part of Scotland, deep within the mountains. Snowcapped mountain ranges all around, and no one knows how to get there except the Clan itself. The marine biologist stumbles upon the Clan accidentally, thinking she's booked a holiday. She hasn't, though. She ended up at a lodge deep in the mountains, just like this.
Odd.
They were expecting a woman sent to them by arranged marriage, also something that is not outside of the realm of possibility in our family. We haven't had an arranged marriage in quite some time, but it certainly could and has happened.
The woman in the book protests, and insists she isn't the one sent to be married, but the men don't believe her. Supposedly the woman's been trying to get out of this arrangement, and the men are at once overbearing and fucking brutal. My eyes grow heavy, just as the main character carries the woman off to a cave.
I slide my phone into my pocket and grab some sleep.
I wake the next day to the sound of rustling and look to find Fran shoving her blankets off. Jaysus, she’s such a fucking looker.
Full, pert tits covered by the tiniest white camisole, a flat belly I want to feel under the palms of my hands. A full arse begging to be worshipped and spanked, and legs for fucking days.
I try to quell the raging hard-on I get just from staring at her. Christ. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten laid, and this woman, scantily clad and dangerously dependent, is pinging all my fucking sensors.
“Sit down,” I grate out, my voice deep and raspy in the quiet of the room.
“Excuse me?” She looks at me as if I’ve sprung a second head.
"I said sit down. That medicine’s knocked you on your arse. I don't want you falling and hitting your head or something like that. All we need is more head trauma.”
“I think I’ve slept off the meds.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Her brow furrows, and she smiles at me. "Who says?"
"I do."
I like the way she challenges me. I like the way she pushes me. It's fucking annoying, but undeniably hot. I don't know why, maybe because the way that she pushes me away makes me want to haul her by the hair, drag her over my knee, and spank her until she cries.
I like a woman with a little backbone.
It looks as if she's about to sass me again. She's got quite a smart mouth on her. But instead, she gives me a smile. "Did you really sleep on that couch all night long? Why?"
