Chapter Fifteen
In which Luna’s experience in Europe is nothing like the coffee table books.
Luna…
When I was six, Mom let me pick out a big book full of colorful pictures at the thrift shop for a dollar. “It’s called a coffee table book,” she’d said.
I never fully understood what that meant since no one ever put their coffee cup on it, but we’d curl up on our lumpy sofa most nights, and she’d turn the pages with me. We’d trace the pictures of the vineyards in Tuscany with our fingertips or the Eiffel Tower in Paris.
I remember the chapter devoted to Scotland - images of extremely hairy, fluffy cows, which always made us laugh - and pictures of the tall, Gothic-style buildings in Edinburgh. My favorite ones were of the mountains, so unimaginably green. I looked through a dictionary until I found the name of the greenest green color, which is emerald.
Kai’s eyes are emerald, and they’re looking at me with something that resembles compassion as I hug his toilet like it’s a long-lost sweetheart returning home from the war.
“I just wanted to go to Europe,” I wheeze. “That’s all. An adventure that I could remember when I’m fifty and working some shitty job. That once in my life, I experienced something magical.” Dry heaving only because there’s nothing left to exit my body, I cover my mouth. “This was not in my coffee table book.”
His dark brows draw together in confusion as he wipes my face again like I’m a toddler, but he humors me. “That’s understandable, little fox. Ya dinna often find events like this on the standard tourist itinerary, aye?”
Bracing myself on the sink, I stand up. “I only understood about maybe half of what those words meant in there. Especially your Uncle Lachlan. Is it possible that Richard Armstrong could really… He was talking about nerve gas, right? Like the military uses in a war?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that, but aye,” he says gravely. “But we will never let him get that far. We shut it down on the island, and we’ll do it again.”
“You don’t know where he is, though.” I rinse my mouth out half a dozen times until he produces a toothbrush and toothpaste from somewhere, and I gratefully brush my teeth.
“We’ll find him, it’s not for you to worry.” He’s leaning against the sink, studying me.
“It is for me to worry,” I say sharply. “Your family is in danger, and he’s lumping me in with you, too. I can- I can go home. No one’s going to chase me to Iowa.”
Kai shakes his head. “They will come after ya, lass. They’ll chase ya down like hounds chase a fox, and they will tear ya to pieces.”
“If that’s meant to be a cautionary tale,” I say shakily, “I just want you to know it’s not helping.”
“I canna give you false comfort right now.” His hands come down on either side of me, pinning me against the marble countertop. “It’s bad. It will get worse but we will stop him and the rest of those greedy blue bloods.” He leans so close that I can see myself reflected in his eyes.
I look horrified.
“Until that happens, you are my responsibility.”
Frowning, I shake my head. “No. This isn’t like the ancient myth that if you save a life, you are responsible for them for the rest of yours. You did save me, and thank you. But that’s it. I’ll find my own way out of this.”
“Little fox…” he looks at me with something like pity. “You are mine to care for, mine to protect. And I will do exactly that.”
After an infuriatingly implacable Kai ignores my arguments about my freedom. I storm up to the guest bedroom. I can’t go back in the study and look at those enormous MacTavish men discussing the End of the World As We Know It if Richard Armstrong, that insane son of a bitch, can manufacture this gas.
Pacing in front of the windows, I ponder my options. I could just run away. There’s a fire escape on the building next to his, and I could probably make the leap.
And then do what?
Grabbing a pillow from the multitude on the bed, I scream “FUUUUUCK!” into it.
“Hello, Luna Jones. I’m Kenna MacTavish, Kai’s sister. Can I come in?”
She patiently knocks on the door until I finally give up and open it. Kenna is beautiful and tall, like everyone else in their family, with hair as dark as Kai’s, though her eyes are a warm brown.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here last night to greet ya.” She holds out a pink pastry box, and I immediately open the door wider. “While I know Sloan introduced ya to Turkish food, ya will never have truly lived until ya try the Dundee cake and Scottish macaroons from McCormick’s Sweet’s. Oh, and the Ecclefechan tarts.”
Opening the lid with a flourish, she grins at my rapt expression.
“You had me at macaroons,” I sigh.
Putting the box on a little table by the bank of windows, she drags over two chairs and produces some napkins. “Tuck in,” she says before taking an enormous bite of one of the tarts.
It’s possible that Kenna is my soul mate since she has even less interest in conversation than I do while there are desserts to be had. It’s only after the box is nothing but cake wrappers and crumbs that she sits back with a blissful sigh.
“Best thing you’ll ever put in your mouth, aye?”
Looking at the last bite of my macaroon, I ask, “What’s in this? It’s more solid than the ones I’ve had before.”
Kenna licks her fingers. “Potatoes. They take mashed potatoes, mix them with icing sugar to form a circle, and then dip them in chocolate and coconut flakes.”
“Well, I happen to like potatoes, too, so this might be the only thing I eat for the rest of…” My enthusiasm melts as I realize she has seduced me with soft words and even softer sweets.
She smiles like she knows exactly what I’m thinking. “There ya were, minding your own business on holiday, and now it’s all gone sideways and ya dinna know what the hell is going on, aye?”
“Did your brother send you up here to keep me from freaking out?”
“To be honest, I would think ya were a nutter if ya weren’t freaking out,” she says, sweeping the crumbs off the table and throwing the box away.
“Nutter. Is that an official psychological diagnosis?”
“Of course,” she says placidly.
“Speaking of freaking out, why aren’t you?” I ask. “These monsters are threatening to kill your entire family.”
“To be honest, this is not the worst threat the MacTavish Clan has faced,” she says. “We crushed the bastards then, and we’ll crush them now.”
There’s the savage MacTavish streak, I think.
“But in the meantime, what to do with you?” Kenna smiles, though there’s a bit of steel in there, too. “I can almost see you with one foot out the door, aye?”
Involuntarily, my eyes dart to the windows.
“Or, out the windows like a bird flying free,” she laughs before sobering quickly. “I know you’re new to this life, but when my brother tells ya there’s no other way, there is no other way. I know we’re on short acquaintance here, but I like ya. And I dinna want to imagine what will happen if ya try to go out on your own.”
“I’ve taken care of myself since my parents died when I was twelve,” I say sharply. “I’m not helpless. The concept of a man casually telling me that I have no choice but to,” I make air quotes with two fingers, “be under his care is…” I search for the right words. “It’s everything I’m not.”
“One of the hardest things to accept in this clan is the utter overprotectiveness of the men,” Kenna says. “Unfortunately, enough terrible things have happened to the people we love that the endless hovering isn’t going away any time soon. I have a bodyguard who is the approximate size and shape of a wooly mammoth and he sits in my waiting room all day. My patients are terrified of him.
“Kai is one of the more reserved of us. He does more watching than jumping in. He takes his responsibilities very seriously and sometimes, that makes him rigid and a wee bit of an arsehole to deal with. The most infuriating thing is when he is right and we must admit it.”
Kenna pats my arm and stretches, groaning. “I have to get back to the hospital for my rotation,” she says. “And fight off wantin’ a nap because those Ecclefechan tarts are making me want to curl up on that bed right there.”
“Isn’t that bed amazing?” I agree. “Like sleeping in the sweet embrace of something magical, like a unicorn or a narwhal.”
“What’s with you and the pointy magical creatures?” Kenna says with a wink.
“A narwhal is real,” I point out.
“True. If Freud were here, misogynist that he was, I’m sure he’d interpret your focus on creatures with long, thick body parts as a subconscious wish for-”
“Oh, stop it right there!” I yelp. “Stop before this warm feeling I have for you brought on by the pastries is gone.”
“After six years at University, I can tell ya that the field of psychology is comprised of about 97% sex and 3% daddy issues,” she laughs. “Though that might just be in the mafia, I’m not sure. I’ll leave ya to explore the place. Kai’s gone off to meet with the others, and ya have guards at each entrance.”
Following her down the stairs, I see what she means. A guy who looks like he pulls tractors across fields for fun is stationed at the front door.
“Can I hug ya?” Kenna opens her arms. “I’m one of those.”
“Oh, all right,” I say ungraciously, though to be honest, a hug is really, really nice right now.
“I know ya wanna give the guards a hard time,” she whispers as she squeezes me, “but please remember, they’re not here to keep ya in. They’re here to keep the evil ones out.”
With that chilling statement, Kenna cheerfully waves goodbye and sails down the front stairs.