“Kane? No, lassie. Kane’s primary obligation was his job and saving his arse. You’re the one that brought this all together in the end.”
I let him hold me, my head tucked up against his chest. I breathe in the clean scent of fresh linen and the mild musk that’s all him. I close my eyes. God, but it feels good to be held after all this.
“I’ve come to a decision,” I tell him.
“Aye?”
I nod. “Aye. You know the Clan Chronicles have all been pulled from publication.”
He’s quiet, before he nods. “About that?—”
I shake my head. “Nope. They will not be republished. No way José.”
He smiles. “Go on.”
“So what I’ve decided is this.” I look him straight in the eyes. “It’s time I wrote Russian mafia romance.”
He blinks. “Bratva?”
“Bratva.”
He’s laughing as he flips me over, my belly across his knees as he gives my arse a good, hard slap. He punctuates each syllable with a solid wallop.
“In. Corr. I. Gi. Ble.”
The rushedvows we took under duress are soon but a distant memory. We return to Scotland, but this time, we’re triumphant. Tavish is with us, and it amazes me how easily they all pick up again, almost right where they left off.
Tavish, like his brothers, is witty but stern, protective but fierce. He’s aged, but he’s still clearly the eldest.
Tate fills him in while we fly back, telling him everything that’s happened in his absence.
“Bloody hell,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Last I remember, the girls were in primary school and Mac was just learning the ropes. Now they’re all grown up and he’s bloody married.”
Tate snorts. “And Dad was Clan Captain.”
Tavish sobers. “Aye.”
There’s a haunted look in his eyes as we return home. I’ve studied Clan hierarchy enough to know Leith is only first in command because his dad’s health made him defer his authority, and because Tavish, the rightful head, was gone.
What happens now? Will the entire hierarchical structure crumble?
No one talks about it, but I know it’s at the forefront of everyone’s mind.
Tate holds my hand as they talk, and it does my heart good to hear them. They rehash so many memories, both good and bad. Though Tavish isn’t my brother, I’m thrilled to have him back as well. I knew him when I was a child.
“And you two,” Tavish says, when we’re only minutes away from landing. “Tell me how this came about, eh? Fran, last I remember of you, you were a knock-kneed little lassie with a penchant for mischief.”
Tate tweaks my nose, the wanker.
“Some things never change,” he says.
We fill him in, telling him the most important bits. Tate leaves out everything about the novels, but he needs to know.
So I tell him. Everything. “They’re pulled from publication now,” I say, but I know that doesn’t make any of this right anymore.
Tavish strokes his stubbled chin thoughtfully, his eyes haunted.
“I know about the Clan Chronicles.”
