Chapter 16
Bayne
A week goes by since I chased her down on those hills of mine.
And not one of those days went by that my cock didn’t throb every time she walked by me, so comfortable in my house.
I’m going mad.
After that day on the hill, when she told me she was a virgin, I haven’t touched her. It wouldn’t be right. What if she wants to get married one day? She’s not mine to spoil, is she? After having a taste of her pussy, I don’t trust myself to stop if I were to lay hands on her, not until I’d stolen her innocence.
My house has never been cleaner. My belly never fuller. My cock never in more agony.
Unable to watch her bend over to put something in the oven without burying myself inside her, I pull a box of rice down from the cupboard. “You’ve been doing all the cooking. Let me make you dinner for a change.”
“I haven’t minded,” she says, sinking down onto her favorite barstool. She dries her freshly washed hair with a towel, the clean scent of her shampoo reaching me. “You have the most amazing kitchen here.”
She’s filled her days with cooking, cleaning, reading. She’s asked me to bring her a computer from the Chronicle and with Fiona’s help to sneak it out, I did. She works on it during the day, no access to the internet but old files and research she’s been going through. She doesn’t offer information on her work, and I don’t ask, trying to keep the delicate peace between us.
At night, I take her for long walks along the hills or down the shore so she can collect her shiny rocks she’s lined her dresser with. She gets fresh air, exercise, and never, ever is out of my sight. So far, no one has spotted her here other than the sheep.
I’ve been staying at work as much as possible, not only to keep the scent off of her but to keep her scent away from me.
Eamon’s homesick and has been threatening to visit. He swears if I don’t bring him home soon, the guys will get suspicious. We haven’t heard anything more from Collins other than his casual visits to gather the statements of all the Baynes and Burneses.
Obviously, we were all drinking together at Crank’s dad’s leather and wood pub, The Hobgoblin, the night of the fire. He’s never renovated since the place was built, or ever bothered to add CCTV cameras so there’s no footage of the evening, and with over twenty fellas holding the same alibi, surely the detective’s attention will move on.
I make her dinner. Nothing fancy, just a stir-fry with rice. She seems to enjoy it, complimenting me every other bite.
Conversation flows easily between us at dinner—as it always seems to do. Tonight, I’m telling her about the Burnes boy who’s just got engaged, proposing to his girl while riding through the sky in a hot air balloon, a story I thought she’d enjoy, and she does.
“Oh, that’s so romantic! Was she surprised?”
I move the rice around on my plate with my fork tines. “I didn’t think to ask.”
She peppers me with questions. “Well, did you get any other details? What did the ring look like? When are they getting married?”
In my sexual frustration, I make a tiny mountain of rice, one grain at a time. “I don’t know. I’m not a woman. I didn’t ask those kinds of questions.”
“Look.” She sets her fork down on her plate with a sigh. “If you’re not going to let me meet these people in person, you’re going to have to do better about getting details to share.”
I cut my gaze up to meet hers. “I have heard some gossip about your girl Carol Ann.”
“What have you heard?” She leans forward, her eyes popping wide. “Tell me everything! I miss those girls so much.”
“Her brother”—my distant cousin—“said she’s gotten into college in Glasgow, but her parents won’t let her go.”
“Aww. Poor Carol Ann. Fiona’s always said Carol Ann’s wanted to get off the island as soon as she’s able to. She’s an adult. Shouldn’t she get to choose?”
“Not in her family. Her father is the head of the family, and he wouldn’t feel safe, his only girl in a dangerous city like Glasgow, none of her brothers around to protect her.”
She narrows her gaze at me, picking her fork back up. “And what do you think about it? Should she go?”
“Not my daughter.” I shrug. “Not my place to decide.”
“Tell me what you really think about women’s rights? Here on the island things seem to be a bit—” She tips her chin up prettily as she searches for the words she wants. “Old-fashioned?”
“I think the woman should have all the power in the world to live her life the way she sees fit,” I say. I take a sip of the iced tea she made earlier. I thought the idea was strange, but I find the lightly sweetened brew delightful.
“Exactly,” she says, looking at me with surprise. “Thank you!”
“Except if she’s my woman,” I tease. “Then she’s going to be standing in my kitchen, a baby on her hip and one in her belly.”
“Really?” she asks with an exasperated look.
“Nah. She can do as she likes as long as she’s never with anyone I don’t approve of and never out of my sight.” I take another sip of the delicious tea. “And if God should will it that I have a daughter—” I take a deep breath, imagining the responsibility of not only protecting a wife but also of raising a little girl in this world. “I’d have to say, I’d be all about her getting an education, but the idea of her in a city?” A shudder tears through me. “Can’t imagine it.”
“That’s fair. I’d worry too.” Her soft words surprise me, an LA girl like herself.
I ask, “Don’t you love your Hollywood life?”
“Not at all.” She shakes her head. “I loved the little town in Pennsylvania I was raised in. Never would have moved if it were up to me. Everyone knew one another, helped each other out. My grandparents were right down the road. I left the small-town life, but it never really left me.”
“The places we live, we grow, they shape us to be who we are. That never leaves you.” I look away. “For better, or for worse.”
She thinks about what I said, a pensive bite to her lower lip. “I agree.”
“How’d you end up in California?”
“My mom hated her hometown; she always wanted a bigger life. After my grandparents passed, she picked up her life and moved to LA. I was eighteen and stayed in our old house, in limbo, not wanting to leave my friends, too scared to move to California. But my grandparents had saved their whole life for me to go to college. And I missed my mom. And she wanted to sell the house.”
Her story shares traces of my own, a parent there but just out of reach. I ask her, “Would you do that? Leave your daughter halfway across the world and follow your dreams?”
A film of sadness covers her face. She shakes her head. “Absolutely not. I’d never put myself before my child.”
“Neither would I,” I say. “Family is everything to me.”
“I loved my grandparents so much. I’d help take care of them while my mom worked. My gran’s vision was bad. I read to her till my throat went hoarse. And my Pops. He was so funny. He would always take his dentures out and let them flop around while he made jokes. He said he loved the sound of my laugh. I only went to college so I wouldn’t let them down. It was so important to them.”
“I’m sorry you lost them. I know a bit how you feel. I’m more Eamon’s dad than his brother. I’ve raised him on my own full-time since he was eight.”
“That’s commendable. He’s lucky to have you. And this gorgeous house.” She glances out the large window hung over the dining room table, offering a view of the sunset when it’s not summertime. “Such a pretty place to live.”
A peaceful smile covers her face, and I can see how much better she must fit in here than she does in busy LA.
I say, “Eamon was on my mind when I built this place. A young boy needs space to breathe.”
“I’d love to have children one day,” she says shyly.
“Would you be married?”
“Of course I would!” She looks at me like I’ve grown another head. “I’d have to be married before I had kids.”
I know I shouldn’t ask the next question, but the curiosity has been killing me. “And your virginity. Are you saving that for your husband?”
A lovely flush rises in her cheeks. She shakes her head. “No. Not exactly. He wouldn’t have to be my husband, necessarily, but I’m not just going to give it away. He’d have to mean something to me, and I haven’t met anyone like that.”
“Makes sense,” I say. “And these potential kids of yours. Would you want to stay home with them?”
“Oh! Gosh yes. I hate how women argue with one another over working or staying home. I think a mom can be a great mom either way if she loves her kids and tries her best.” Her eyes rise to meet mine. “But same as you, I’d have a hard time letting them out of my sight. I’d want to spend every minute with them.”
“I’d want the same for my kids. Mom at home. Dad engaged, protective, providing.”
“Wow!” A sunny smile breaks out over her face.
“What?” I tip my glass, finishing my tea. She lifts the pitcher, filling it back up without me even asking.
She sets the pitcher back down. “We finally agreed on something! We have more in common that I thought.”
“And how much did you think we had in common?”
“Absolutely nothing. Though I am starting to understand your ways a bit better. I’d do whatever it took to protect my family as well.” She stares down at her empty plate. “I’ve done as much for friends. I can make the black-and-white lines of law turn gray when I need to.”
A dark cloud comes over her.
I want to ask what she means, what’s happened in her past that put that frown on her pretty face. I can sense she doesn’t want me to press. Sure enough, I’m right and she’s up and clearing the dishes before I can ask.
She won’t let me help, telling me, “You cooked, I’ll clean up. Besides, the glasses have spots when you do them. You have to polish them to dry them.”
I leave her, not to get out of the work, but to give her some space. I sense she needs a little after the memories we dredged up in our dinner conversation.
I go for a shower, scrubbing my scalp, thinking of how different this girl is than I first thought. I guess I judged her, before I got to know her, as just a know-it-all outsider from Orange County USA, here to change our ways that are rooted in history.
We should be able to fish our waters, raise our children, and settle our debts our own ways. We Baynes have been living on these lands since the arrival of our Viking ancestors in the ninth century and we’re not planning on going anywhere. And our puffins are doing just fine, thank ye very much.
The Baynes worked the land and owned horses. The Burneses fished the seas. We were the farmers, they were the fishermen. Things were peaceful between the clans.
North Sea cod stocks were once plentiful but plummeted, leading to a near collapse in 2006.
A “cod recovery plan” sought to restore stocks to sustainable levels by limiting fishing days, decommissioning boats, banning catches in nursery areas. The Burneses were happy to do their part, putting larger holes in nets to allow young cod to escape.
From there, things got out of hand. More outsiders became interested in our island, telling us the best way to manage it. Other regulations came into place, more protected areas, and limits on other high-yielding types of fish tightened.
The Burneses had no choice but to find other avenues of income.
Our families were once at odds, an old grievance over the ownership of a fertile slice of farmland, but ten years ago, after my father died, both sets of men rallied around me with their support. I used the money I inherited from my father’s life insurance to buy the Gothic cathedral, a place we could come together to establish our power on the island. Got a grant to renovate it. I was eighteen. Eamon was ten. Every man on the island helped me keep an eye on that boy.
My father’s death brought us together, united in our cause.
Eamon’s my blood brother, but the rest of the Kings I call my brothers as well. We’re all united in our love for the island, willing to do anything to take it back. And we don’t need any research analysts around.
After one blowup that led to Kitt trying to give me a lecture on saving an island she’s been on for less than a handful of weeks and me storming out for our evening walk solo, we’ve managed to keep the cod out of our conversations for the past week, both of us trying to keep some semblance of peace between us.
I was surprised by how much we have in common when it comes to family though. I could picture her with child, a beautiful smile on her face, a hand on her growing belly.
My baby.
“What the hell are you doing, Bayne?” I scrub my skin raw, furious at my ridiculous thoughts and the fact that I’m now talking to myself out loud, picking up her habits. Next thing you know I’ll be reading books and baking damn cookies.
There’s no longer a question of what to do with her; she must leave this house.
I either have to come clean with the boys…
Or do something I really cannae imagine doing.