I can’t help but smile to myself as I sit at the large kitchen table and open to the part where I left off.
“It’s just… well, it’s disconcerting, isn’t it?”
Islan nods. “I know exactly what you mean. It’s like you can’t help but wonder how the writer knows so many things about…” her voice trails off, and she bites her lip as she chooses her words. “Like, what it’s really like, you know?”
“Aye,” her mum says, wiping down the counter and loading the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. “Do you know who she is?”
“That’s the thing, Mum,” Islan says, her eyes widening as if she’s got a brilliant secret to tell her mom. "No one knows who she is. She's completely anonymous. Not a picture online, not a single identifying characteristic but a pen name. I suppose romance writers use pen names so they can have some privacy. I mean you probably don't want someone reading about your orgy in the middle of a vineyard, and then talking to you about it when you're in the schoolyard picking up your kids from school.”
I feel my cheeks heat. Did she really just say orgy in front of her mother?
But her mum just laughs. “Aye, I know, lass. Been reading these things since you were a wee bairn, and it’s always been the way of anonymity. I can relate, since you know the Clan has always sought to be anonymous as well.”
Islan nods. “But it’s so… similar. I mean, they live in a mountain lodge, just like this one. They live north of a big city in Scotland, and the men have identifying tattoos. They're friends with the Irish, and the Irish are called the…McConnells? I mean… our friends are the Irish in Ballyhock, and they’re theMcCarthys.” She shakes her head. “The choreography is very similar as well. The location, our distance from the island, how far we are from the city. The men chop wood for bloody sport like our blokes. There are two sisters, a father and a mother, only…” her voice trails off and she speaks in a faraway voice, is if she just realized something. "There are four brothers."
“Right,” Flora says, worrying her lip. “It’s a bit troubling, isn’t it?”
Islan sighs. “Aye.”
Flora snorts sarcastically. “If Paisley hadn’t gotten rubbish grades in school, I’d have thought she was spending every last minute writing these things all those hours she’s alone in her room.”
Islan rolls her eyes. “Paisley’s many things, but I’ve written enough of her school papers I can assure you, she is not a writer.”
Flora laughs. “Don’t I know it.”
We spend the afternoon easily together. We bake homemade shortbread, and Flora says the recipe is famous all throughout Scotland. “The McCarthy matriarch, my friend Maeve, adores our shortbread,” she says with a note of pride in her voice. "I send her a tin every month or so, and she says she shares it with her grandkids.”
“Oh, Mum, forgot to tell you, Fiona and Lachlan want to pay us a visit sometime. Would that be alright, you think? Keenan McCarthy’s appointed Lachlan as the liaison between Clans, hasn’t he?”
“Aye, lass,” Flora says. She opens the oven and draws out a large baking pan of golden shortbread. My mouth waters, eager for a taste of the mildly sweet, rich concoction. Islan snatches a piece straight off the pan, and Flora smacks her hand.
“You’ll burn yer fingers off!”
“Worth it,” Islan says, giving me a wink just as Leith walks into the room.
“Thought I smelled shortbread,” he says. Flora smiles and shakes her head as the two of them scoff biscuits.
“Well, then, don’t be a selfish lad, now, and give your girl some as well. Might as well prove yourself useful, Leith, and put the kettle on, hmm?” Her eyes grow a bit worried. “How’s Paisley?”
“Doing well.” We talk easily and eat our treats, and he stays with us in the kitchen until the roast is done. He takes the book from my hand, and gives me a wry smile. “Is it any good?"
I nod eagerly and snatch it back. He gives me a stern look. “Give it here.”
I point to my chest. This is mine, not his.
“It isn’t yours, Leith, I gave it to Cairstina.”
He frowns at me, reminding me of his expectations and though he has a teasing side, his stern side’s the most dominant.
“Stay out of this, Islan.”
Islan sticks her tongue out at the back of his head but he catches her with a turn of his head.
“Saw that,” he mutters. “Watch it.” He beckons for me to hand him the book, then lowers his voice. “Did you already forget what happens to you when you don’t do as you’re told?”
Bailey growls. I give him an approving pat.
Oh, I remember alright. Heat flares in my belly and my chest at the memory.
