He isn’t mine.
Flora rolls out pie crust, while minced lamb, spices, and onion sizzle in a frying pan. My mouth waters. She tells me about how he was as a child, a veritable force to be reckoned with, sounds like.
“And we tried to train that boy to watch his temper, but it’s who he is. His father was hard on him, so hard, trying to get him to master himself. You know. You can train a child only so far, as their personality is deeply embedded in them.”
I think on this as I help her spoon the cooked meat into the pastry dough. She shows me how to fold the edges and pinch them together. I don’t like thinking of his father being “hard on him.” I like the rest of the family, but I am not a fan of Bram Cowen.
She looks at me quietly for a moment, not speaking. “I can tell that something’s on your mind,” she says. “Can you share it with me?’
I take a piece of paper and jot it down.
It’s just that sometimes it’s personality—nature, as it were—and sometimes it’s nurture, not nature. My brother was kind when he was little. He learned hatred and bullying from my father.
She smiles sadly. “Isn’t that the truth?” She stirs the large pot of tatties on the stove. “Can you fetch me the salt, love?” she asks, gesturing to a shaker to my right. I hand it to her, as a door clangs and a booming voice yells to us.
“Flora! Where the hell are you?”
It’s Leith’s dad, and he’s in a right state.
Her body jolts, and she drops the pepper grinder with a clang on the counter. She looks around the kitchen and points to the pantry.
“Go in there,” she says. “He won’t hurt you, but if he’s in a mood, it’d be best if you’re out of sight.” Heavy footsteps come toward us. “Go.”
I’m startled by her reaction. I don’t like Leith’s father, but I didn’t suspect he was the type one would have to hide from. I crouch in the pantry, and shut the door just as he enters the kitchen.
“You feeling better, then, Bram.” I imagine Flora continues peeling vegetables as he comes in.
“Aye,” he says. “Bit better.”
“Why are you so riled up?”
“Because I just found out that Leith didn’t have the fucking bollox to do what he should have.” Something crashes to the floor, and I’m grateful I can’t scream, because I know I’d give myself away. I cringe. What will he do if he finds me here? And why’s he so angry at Leith?
“Now, Bram,” Flora says calmly. “You appointed him Captain. It isn’t healthy for you to question why or how Leith does anything, and you know it.”
Something else slams to the ground. “Don’t give me that, woman. As Clan Captain, I’ll always do what’s right, as I’malways a Clan Captain. You know appointing Leith wasn’t my choice.”
It wasn’t? Then why did he do it?
Flora doesn’t respond at first. I imagine she’s steadily preparing the meal and avoiding his wrath. I definitely can relate tothat.
“Where’s the mute?”
I cringe. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, but I haven’t heard it since I came to this house.
“Not sure what you mean,” Flora says coolly. “Surely we don’t refer to handicapped people by their handicaps, Bram? Is this the Middle Ages?”
Good for her.
She isn’t afraid of him, then. She’s afraid of him for me.
He grumbles. “Where’s the imposter girl? Is that better?”
Oh, God. No. No, it isn’t much better.
“Oh, not sure,” Flora says. “Spoke with her a little while ago. Did you hear back from Mac yet? Any word on the Aitkens?”
“Fucking Aitkens,” he mutters. “Aye. They’ve been caught carjacking along the road to Inverness, suspect they’re trying to find someone out, but they’ve not been back to the church. I know the boys went into town on a lead but they haven’t filled me in on that either.”
