Chapter 10 #2
Not sure how to respond, I shove my mobile in my pocket and think it over. I remember the way Mac gets all protective-angry when I mention my bodyguard, and I'm half tempted to tell him. But I'm not the type that runs to a man to help her, not when you've been raised with a family like I have.
So I don’t tell Mac. I don’t go running for help.
I'm just about to power my phone off when another text comes in.
Dad: Are you okay? Are you safe? What’s going on?
I stare at the phone, curious what prompted him to say this. Could my cold-hearted father actually be concerned about my welfare?
How odd. He’s never asked these questions before. He's never even showed that he cared, unless it had to do with something influencing my family. I'm not really quite sure how to take it.
I don’t trust him, not for a minute. Sigh. Maybe I do a little.
Another text comes in, then another, names flashing on my screen making me crazy.
I text my father. Everything is going to plan.
I text Michail.
Bryn: I’m fine, fuck off unless you want me to talk to my father.
But when I go to text Mac, I stare at the screen in horror.
No.
No.
Instead of texting my father, I’ve texted Mac.
I watch as the little dots next to his name appear, then stop. Oh, God. I just told him everything is going to plan. What is he going to think?
Before he can reply, I shoot him another text.
Bryn: Oh, hahaha! Autocorrect. Should say THE THINGS I’m going to plan…
I send him heart-eye emojis and hope for the best, cringing. A moment later another text comes in from Mac.
Mac: I’m the one that makes the plan, lassie.
Did I dodge a bullet? Or… no?
I bite my lip, but can’t quell the thumping of my heart, when I reply.
Bryn: Can’t wait to hear what you have in store next. Xxx
I stifle a groan, as I send my father another text. Everything’s going well, thanks. I’m fine. How’s Mum? Are we still in danger?
But I’m not fine. I’m in a precarious position, I know it.
What would the Cowan Clan do if they knew what my real purpose here was? And the better question is… what would Mac do? I hate the thought of him being upset with me.
I love the way his eyes dance at me, I love the way he smiles, I love when that wee dimple appears in his cheek. And I'm starting to really enjoy the way I feel when I’m with him.
No, it isn’t true.
I crave him. I feel alive when he touches me. I feel safe when he holds me.
I’m falling in love with the man I’m supposed to seduce and I don’t have a bloody clue what to do about it.
I go back out with the girls and resume where we left off.
I have lots of ideas about hairstyles, and have loads of fun showing them a variety.
We do a wee trial with makeup, and as we get all dolled up, Cairstina talks on and on about these romance books that I need to read, now that the boys aren’t all eavesdropping.
“And you have to understand, they’re not…” her voice trails off, and her cheeks flush with color.
“She means they’re not tame books,” Islan says with a laugh as she loops a bit of Paisley’s hair around a curling wand. “They’re really, really dirty. Like fuckin’ fire.”
“Ohhh,” I say with a sage nod. “Seems I need to get in on this action, eh?”
“Aye, girl, you really do,” Islan says. She lowers her voice. “The girls and I have our suspicions about who the real writer is.”
“Do you?” I ask. It sounds like a great mystery.
“Aye,” Islan whispers.
“Do you really think the writer knows you?”
Islan looks away and bites her lip. “It’s a distinct possibility, aye.”
Cairstina’s eyes go bright, and Paisley bites her lip. I’m intrigued.
“We’ve been doing a little digging around on social media,” Islan whispers.
“Why are we whispering?” I whisper.
She looks over her shoulder. “You have to understand.
The men in this house think that someone is spying on them and getting the ideas for these books by watching things here at the house.
And you're no stranger to what this life is like, right?” She sobers, the most serious I've seen her look yet.
“I don't need to tell you how they treat spies, do I?”
A vivid memory comes back to me. A man, tied up in a dark room, his screams echoing down a long hallway. Me, running to stop them, unable to find the source. Was it a dream or a real memory?
I swallow hard, my voice suddenly hoarse. “No. I know.” My father’s a brutal man, and I’ve seen the way my family deals with spies. I’ve seen it firsthand. My father tends to favor the barbaric “eye for an eye” philosophy, but he always takes things a step further.
If you steal from him, he cuts off your fingers.
Do it a second time, and you lose a hand.
Snitch on the family, he’ll have your tongue cut out.
See something you shouldn't, and you lose an eye. Though I’ve been kept ignorant of the actual workings of the Aitkens Clan, there’s no way to remain completely ignorant of his violent methods.
“I suppose if there were a spy spilling all on the pages of a romance novel, there’d be hell to pay, wouldn’t there?”
“Aye,” Cairstina says quietly. “There would be.”
“But we couldn’t betray someone who wrote such beautiful stories, could we, Bryn?” Islan asks. Does she know the person, then? Or think she does?
“Of course not.” I shake my head. “Never.”
“So we don’t exactly know who it is,” Islan continues. “But we know for certain that she lives in Inverness.”
I blink in surprise. “Honest to God?”
“Aye.”
“Wow. How do you know that?”
“First, the bookstore in Inverness centre is always the first to stock the books. Always. They don’t even arrive online until they’ve come here first. Our search online tells us that while everyone else is looking for the next copy, those that shop in town get the first.”
I nod. “Okay….”
“Second, there are things only a resident of Inverness would even know,” Islan says. “Like the way you get a bottle of Irn Bro on the house to cure a hangover, and how the only place to stay dry when it’s raining and you’re outside is under the trellis of trees by the train station.”
All my mates and I know this, aye.
She continues. “And then… well, there’s some of the lingo. Like instead of calling the little tea shop in town the shop we call it cuppa, but only the locals know that.” She giggles. “And the author knows exactly where by the Castle View you can find a private place to snog.”
I giggle at this particular wee tidbit. “Useful information, that,” I mutter, and they laugh right along with me.
“Okay, so it’s someone who lives nearby. That much we can agree on. But if this person really is spying on you, how would they get close enough to even know anything? How do you know it isn’t just straight fiction?”
Islan shakes her head. “Because there are too many details. Way too fuckin’ many. You’ll see, once you read them.”
“Even Leith’s read them,” Cairstina says. “And he doesn’t like it one bit. I’m afraid he’s even considered sussing out the writer, but I’ve done my best to dissuade him.” She frowns. “Hate the idea of a woman like us being punished or worse.”
Flora sighs. “I’ll be back, lassies.” She gives me a smile. “Nice to meet you, Bryn, and I hope to see you again.”
She takes her leave. I wonder if she’s caught somewhere in the middle with the opinions about the books.
Nan nods from where she sits. “Romance novels are the heart of a good, proper view on a woman’s sexuality,” she announces, earning guffaws and flushed cheeks from her granddaughters.
She ignores them. “And those boys have plenty of things to do without worrying about such trivial things. Now, then, lassie, go on and read them so we can gush about them, aye?”
She winks at me, and I laugh.
“Aye, I’m looking forward to it. For now, I have to go find Mac, though. There’s something I need to discuss with him.”
Namely, how I get back into town to get the dress so I can finish it. I also need to figure out what I’m going to do with my bodyguard.
I leave them and go to the main hallway, when I hear someone.
I find one of the staff dusting just outside of Islan’s room.
How odd. There doesn't seem to be any particular reason why she's here.
It looks clean out here, nothing but a few framed prints on the wall, and a couple of end tables.
When she sees me, she starts, and I watch as she puts a little notebook back in her pocket.
She casts a furtive glance my way, and I nod back.
Did she hear that conversation we were having in the other room? Does she know anything about these books the girls are speaking of?
“Hello, there,” I say to her, but she doesn’t turn to speak to me or even look my way. “Hello!”
She takes off at a run. Does she have something to do with the mystery that surrounds these books? I’ll mention it to Mac and see what he has to say about it. It's all a wee bit disconcerting.
As I walk down the hall to the stairwell, I hear Mac’s dad’s voice. I immediately freeze. Everybody else I've met has been welcoming and kind. He's the only one who knows me for who I am, the only one I need to completely avoid because if anyone will see through my scheme, he will.
I can’t go through with it, though, I can’t. I know this now. I can’t bring devastation to Mac, or even to his family.
I don’t know how I’ll get out of the ultimatum my father’s given to me, but I know I have to find a way.
There has to be a way.
I hear Bram Cowen’s voice rising and falling, and a softer, feminine voice trying to calm him. Flora?
I freeze. I don’t want to eavesdrop per se, but I also don’t want to miss an opportunity to hear something I need to. I listen, feeling so guilty I almost wish Mac will come and find me. That he’ll catch me red-handed. That he’ll punish me for what I’m planning to do.
Why do I sort of wish he would?
“She isn’t here casually, Flora,” he mutters, then his voice trails off into Gaelic. I can’t understand much of what he’s saying, but I do hear one phrase loud and clear.
Spiaire salach.
My blood runs cold, and I shiver.
Filthy spy.