“Jaysus, Leith,” Clyde, our head enforcer mutters in his thick northern brogue. He’s a massive, burly lad of twenty-two, still wet behind the ears with a scant beard, but he and Mac are a veritable force to be reckoned with. “You act as if the two people who’ve come’ll fuckin’ threaten us.”
“Alright, enough,” I mutter. I don’t care if these men are my brothers, my father never allowed backtalk and I won’t either. “I want a fucking guard dog, and we’ll have one by this time next week.”
They’re all quiet for a minute. I’m new to the role of Clan Captain, and they’re new to the expectations of obedience and deference. Though I was second in command until recently, the Captain commands far more than the Chief does, and they know within Clan law they have no choice but to do what they’re told.
“Alright, then,” Clyde says. “A dog it is. You know I’ve no real objection. I fucking love a good dog.”
“Aye, same,” Tate mutters. “Now can you tell us, Cap’n, why we’re heading to the Cathedral?”
“Aye.” I draw in a breath, mentally preparing for what lies ahead. “Keenan McCarthy contacted Dad today.”
“Why Dad? Doesn’t he know you’re Captain now?”
“Likely not.”
“I’ll be sure he does,” Tate says firmly from the back. He’s the most loyal of our group, and I feel a surge of gratefulness. “He ought not be going straight to Dad anymore, but you.”
“’Twill take a wee bit of time before the Clans recognize new leadership. But just the same, I’d appreciate that, Tate.”
“Aye,” he mutters, then everyone goes quiet, waiting for me to fill them in.
“McCarthy’s hacker discovered that fucking Aitkens was responsible for fuckin’ up our deal in Inverness last month.”
The men mutter curses and grunts. Doesn’t matter which Aitkens it was. They’re all our sworn enemies. Though our Clan is reclusive and quiet, preferring anonymity, we conduct a good deal of business from Inverness to Edinburgh, between townsfolk, politicians, and our Clan allies. Occasionally we even work an arms trade with the McCarthys in Ireland.
“But worse, they’re responsible for the vandalism in the Cathedral and the attack on Father MacGowen. Planning a second attacktonight.”
“No fucking way,” Mac says, shaking his head. Every fucking Clan from here to the coast knows the Cathedral is sacred ground, but the Aitkens especially are aware that MacGowen isourClan chaplain.
“Why?”
I shake my head. “Who knows, but not only is it a power move, I suspect foul play as well. You know some of the chalices and the like are worth a good sum.”
“Right.”
Even though I’m in the driver’s seat, I can feel the men behind me sitting up straighter. Mac cracks his knuckles, Tate’s muttering to himself, and Clyde’s large bulk is taut like a bowstring.
“We’ll fuck ‘em up good,” Clyde mutters.
“Aye, we will. But we’ll do so anonymously.”
“What?” Mac says, outraged. “Are you fuckingkiddingme?”
“I amnot.” They fall into silence, some of them silently fuming.
Tate speaks up quietly. “Not showing our faces is a sign of weakness, Leith.”
I shake my head. “They deserve to be punished for what they did, but I want them guessing who it is. I want them looking over their shoulders when they go to bed at night. I want them afraid for their women and children. I want them questioning every fucking dirty move they make.”
We drive into the city in silence. Darkness has settled with the finality of evening, only moonlight illuminating the road before us.
“I’ll not back down or show cowardice, you know that,” I tell my men. “But sometimes stealth is the better choice.”
CHAPTER TWO
Cairstina
I stareout my window at the moonlit sky, and for a brief moment, imagine myself sitting atop the large, glowing orb. I’d dangle my feet, reaching for the stars with one hand while anchoring myself with the other. Once I got a handful of stars, I’d swing right back up to the moon, nestling the stars in my lap and looking at each one in wonder. They’re all unique, you see, just like people, no two stars alike.
