Chapter 11 Maeve
MAEVE
After I make it back up to my room, everything in the office carefully placed back where it was, I don’t think I sleep at all.
How can I, after everything I’ve read? After seeing so many of Sean’s kills laid out in clinical detail, as if they weren’t people with families…
with wives, daughters, mothers, sons. I try to remind myself that they could have been bad people, that they might have done bad things.
That the man who came to the house today and threatened me, who wanted to hurt me, was a bad man.
Sean says he deserved what he got. Is that how I need to learn to think?
That there are people in this world who deserve to be hurt for what they do to others?
When dawn finally starts to break, light slowly spilling into my room, my body aches and my eyes burn from lack of sleep, but my mind is still racing.
Sean is a killer. I knew that, abstractly, from the moment Mrs. Brady told me who I was marrying. But knowing it and seeing the evidence—pages upon pages of death—are two very different things. Seeing him beat a man to within an inch of his life is different, too.
I sit up slowly, running my hands through my tangled hair. I don’t want to be the helpless girl everyone has to protect and manage and control. I have to survive this somehow, and I don’t want to do it with my eyes closed.
But having them opened is just as awful.
I have no idea what to do—how to survive this, to survive him. But somehow, I need to stop being so afraid, even if my world feels even more terrifying than it did two weeks ago.
A soft knock on my door makes me jump.
"Maeve?" Mrs. Brady's voice, gentle and concerned. "May I come in?"
I sit up a little further, feeling stiff and uncomfortable. "Yes."
She enters with a breakfast tray, but her eyes go straight to my face. Whatever she sees there makes her frown. "You didn't sleep."
"No."
“Dear—” She sets the tray down, studying me. “Be honest with me, Maeve. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," I lie. "Just... adjusting."
"Adjusting." She doesn't believe me. "Maeve, dear, I know this situation isn't what you would have chosen. But Mr. Flannery—"
“You said he was a killer,” I interrupt. "Did you know how… much? What he’s done?”
“I could suspect,” she says carefully, folding her hands in front of her as she looks at me in that motherly way of hers. “But it’s not something I dwell on, Maeve. The men in this world are bloody, every one of them. Measuring it brings nothing but grief.”
“He’s a murderer,” I insist, but Mrs. Brady's expression doesn't change.
"I know he's a dangerous man,” she says finally. “That was easy enough to see from the moment he walked through that door. But I also know he hasn't hurt you. And after what happened yesterday with that man who came demanding money—"
"He beat him half to death."
"He protected you." She moves closer, her voice firm. "That man threatened you, Maeve. In my book, he got what he deserved."
I stare at her. "You can't possibly think that violence was justified."
"I think this world doesn't play by the rules you are gentle enough to believe in.
Your father sheltered you from that reality, but it doesn't make it any less true.
" She sits down beside me, taking my hand.
"Mr. Flannery is a hard man. A violent man, yes.
But he's your husband now. And whether you believe it or not, he will keep you safe. "
I can’t find my words for a moment. This isn’t what I’d expected from her. "By killing anyone who threatens me?"
Mrs. Brady lets out a sigh. “Perhaps. If that’s what it takes. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, yes?” She pats my hand again, and I blink rapidly, trying to absorb what she’s saying. How she and Sean seem to be of a similar mind when it comes to this, at least.
"I need to get out of this house," I say abruptly. "I need to… I can't just sit here all day, thinking about—" I stop, taking a breath. "I’m going to go see Atlas."
My grandfather and father never built stables on our estate—neither of them cared much for horses—but I always wanted to learn to ride.
My father purchased a horse for me for my sixteenth birthday, a gorgeous retired racehorse called Atlas, and I’ve spent endless hours over the last two years riding and taking lessons.
I love being there; it’s the only place I ever feel fully free, fully myself.
And right now, I need to feel like myself again.
Mrs. Brady hesitates. "I'm not sure Mr. Flannery would approve, after what happened yesterday—"
"I don't care what he approves." The words come out harsher than I intend. "I'm going to the stable. If he has a problem with that, he can tell me himself."
She studies me for a long moment, then nods slowly. “Eat your breakfast, dear,” she says finally, standing and nudging the tray in my direction. “You need to keep your strength up.”
I nod, reaching for a piece of toast to assuage her worries. She gives me a smile and walks out a moment later, leaving me alone with my thoughts once again.
—
Two hours later, after showering and changing into appropriate clothes, I’m headed to the stables with three members of the security team with me.
I’ve never known any of the security very well, but I’m fairly sure I don’t recognize these men, which makes me wonder if they were hired by Sean or the Council.
The latter unsettles me; it makes me feel as if we’re being spied on.
I try not to think about it, trying to focus instead on the trees blurring past the window, the promise of open air, and Atlas's warm breath against my palm.
Patrick glances at me in the rearview mirror. "Mrs. Flannery? Mr. Flannery wanted me to remind you to stay close to your security detail. Not to—"
"When did he tell you that?" I snap, sharper than I usually speak, my blood feeling cold suddenly. I didn’t tell Sean I was leaving. A rebellion on my part, certainly—I would always have told my father or Desmond if I were going out. But I didn’t want to see Sean.
Not after yesterday—not after what I found last night.
"This morning, ma'am. About an hour ago."
So Sean knew I was leaving. Maybe Mrs. Brady told him, but more than likely, he was informed when I asked for security. It’s unsurprising, and probably for the best, but it still gives me a crawling feeling down my back.
We pull up to the stable—a sprawling facility on the outskirts of the city, all pristine white fences and rolling green paddocks.
My continuously paid lesson package here, Atlas, and his boarding fees were one of my father’s rare concessions to my desire for something that was mine, and a more extravagant gift than he was usually inclined to give—at least to me.
Siobhan received jewelry for every birthday, sometimes new, other times from what my mother left behind or family heirlooms passed down.
Those heirlooms are mine now. I haven’t looked at them, haven’t gone through the jewelry or anything else left from Siobhan. Another thing I need to face, for another day.
But for right now, I can feel my spirits lifting as we approach the stables.
From the first day I came here, I loved it immediately: the smell of hay and horses, the steady rhythm of hoofbeats, the feeling of power and freedom when I was in the saddle.
It's one of the few places I've ever felt like I could breathe.
The barn manager, Susan, greets me with a warm smile when I get out, ignoring my security, as she always does.
They’ll sweep the trail before I go out or keep a watch on the perimeter if I choose to stay on the property.
It’s a long-standing protocol, and if she thinks anything of it, she’s never let on.
"Maeve! It's been too long. We were starting to worry. "
"I'm sorry. Things have been..." I trail off, not sure how to explain. "Complicated." I bite my lip. “Is Atlas all right?”
She nods. “He’s doing just fine, although I’m sure he misses you.
I heard about the… losses in your family.
I'm so sorry." She bites her lip as if she wants to say more—probably about the fact that three members of my family have passed away so close to one another—but she doesn’t. I’m glad for that.
"Thank you." I force a smile. "I’d like to go out on the trail, if that’s all right.”
“The weather is perfect for it, if a little chilly.” The smile returns to Susan’s face. “Do you want to get Atlas ready yourself, or have me get someone to brush and tack him up for you?”
“I’ll do it,” I say quickly. “I’d like to have some time with him. And I’m in no rush.”
One of the men steps forward, almost before I’ve finished speaking.
He's tall, built like a fighter, with cold gray eyes that remind me uncomfortably of Sean.
"I'm Eddie. I'll be accompanying Mrs. Flannery on the trail.
My partners will remain here." He glances over at one of the men behind him.
“Davis, take Cole and go sweep the trail.”
Susan blinks. "You ride?"
"I know how."
She looks like she wants to argue, but something in Eddie's expression stops her. "Right. I'll get another horse ready."
I open my mouth to actually argue, but Eddie turns those cold eyes on me, and I feel the words die on my tongue.
“If you want to ride out, I’m riding along with you,” he says flatly, and I feel something in my stomach swoop downward.
I’d been looking forward to time alone, time to get my thoughts in order and have a little peace, but it’s clear that things are going to change in more ways than one with Sean as my husband now.
I have no doubt that Eddie didn’t come up with this idea himself.
I console myself that I at least have the time spent getting Atlas ready. He’s in cross-ties when I walk into the barn, scraping the floor with one hoof. I swear he perks up when he sees me.