Chapter Thirteen
Sophie…
“Relax.”
Michael doesn’t look up from the text he’s reading, but his hand rests lightly on mine before pulling away again. Even though his touch is brief, the heat of his palm spreads over my chilled skin.
It reminds me of the only other time he’d touched me, that brief press of his lips on my cheek when Father Hamilton pronounced us husband and wife.
Even as terrified and angry as I’d been, I remember the feel of it, his careful strength as he held my arm to keep me from scuttling away from him like a deranged crab.
Kyle, Michael’s new driver, and Ian sit in front. They exchange a low comment every now and then. The rest of the trip is spent in uncomfortable silence. If I had my phone, I could check my texts and emails, but Michael hasn’t given it back to me and I’m still working up my courage to ask for it.
The greeting at the gate is different this time, no checking the back of the car or running a mirror underneath. I don’t know if that means the immediate emergency is over, or if Michael is above such things as security protocol.
“Greetings, Mr. MacTavish.”
Ugh.
Fortunately, I don’t say that out loud. The guard at the gate is Gary, the creep who shoved us when Michael told him to take us to the Chieftain’s office. Gary’s faded blue eyes glance at me for a moment before returning to Michael.
“Everything’s been clear, sir,” he says, apparently trying to dazzle Michael with his keen security instincts.
“Thank ye,” Michael doesn’t look up from his phone, just nodding to Kyle to go through the open gate. Gary’s gaze darts back to me for a minute as his tongue slips out to run across his lower lip.
Really? Maybe it was unconscious and he was nervous, trying to redeem himself to Michael. I glance back at him as the gate closes, and he’s still staring. I don’t know him very well, he’s a new hire.
My heart starts pounding as the SUV stops and Michael looks over as my hand grips the door handle. “As my wife,” he says mildly. “Ye will wait until I, or one of your guards, opens the door. There may be a threat assessment to conduct before taking ye from the security of the car.”
Is this what Maisie has to do? All the other MacTavish women? The realization feels heavy. And though I suspect Michael is thinking it, if not saying it, the guards don’t trust me. Maybe that changes how they handle the threat assessment if I'm considered the threat.
Realizing that he’s waiting for me to respond, I nod rapidly. “Of course. Sure.” Once my husband (captor? guard?) gets out and moves around the Maserati, he gently pushes Ian away from trying to open my door, doing it himself.
Taking the huge container of cookies I’ve brought with me, Michael heads around the back of the mansion.
“I’ll take ye back to see your mother,” he says, leaning closer to speak softly. “It’s likely that my sister will come bursting out of the shrubbery before we get there. Ye should brace yourself.”
My lips twitch slightly. The image is so vivid and unmistakably Maisie.
That’s the last smile I wear as we make the Walk of Shame back to my mother’s cottage.
There are always people swarming the MacTavish estate; guards, various cousins, gardeners and household help.
It feels like every one of them pauses slightly to look at us, then quickly away, like that night when they tore through our cottage. Like I’m unworthy of even a glance.
This time, instead of shame, I feel… okay, I’m pissed off. What happened was horrible. I don’t know how we can redeem the loss of Riley, or the damage to the MacTavish reputation, but what I do know is that my mother acted to protect me. She’s not a monster.
They deal with real monsters all the time. They should know the difference.
Michael glances down at me, brow raised.
I’m walking faster, hands clenched and mouth tight.
When two guards in the corner of the arbor put their heads together, whispering, he snaps, “Dinnae ye arseholes have work to do? On with it!” They scatter like squirrels who just spotted an eagle and it’s extremely gratifying.
Pausing outside the cottage’s cheerful red door, he hands me the box of cookies. “I’ll be in the office with my father for a couple of hours. Ian will be here if ye need anything.”
Ian’s standing behind us in his standard dark suit, carefully expressionless.
“No offense to Ian but could he wait outside?” I blurt out. I still remember the shame of being forced to have that emotional conversation with Mom as he stood and listened to us, like a prison guard.
“Of course,” Michael says.
“Thank you,” I give him the first real smile I’ve had since this nightmare started.
Just as Michael had predicted, the front door to the cottage whips open and Maisie comes blazing through, eyes wide and angrier than I’ve ever seen her.
Her gaze turns to me and for a moment, I’m frozen.
Is she furious because she thinks I sold out her family?
I cringe back, feeling horrible and ashamed.
She gives a muffled sob and flings her arms around me.
“I dinnae know until today,” she gasps, hugging me tight enough that my ribs creak ominously, crushing the cookie box between us. “Those eejits! Whatever happened, I know your mum had a good reason for it. I know she loves our family.”
My arm goes around her shaking shoulders, my forehead presses against hers. “Thank you,” I manage to gasp. “Thank you for believing in us.”
We stand there, swaying, crying together until Maisie lifts her head.
“Michael!” she shouts, making my eardrum bulge ominously.
“Ye arrogant, heartless git! Scaring my best friend into marrying ye and-” Her gaze falls to my left hand and she holds it up accusingly.
“What the hell is this shite? Ye just shoved your signet ring on her finger? All the cousins managed to scrape up a decent ring in the same amount of time ye had! This is embarrassing! And ye dinnae even make it right in the last seventy-two hours?”
“To be fair,” Michael says, “there have been more pressing matters.”
I’d forgotten how terrifying Maisie can be when she’s enraged at her brothers. And since the one she’s currently ripping apart is the man who can’t stand me, it’s deeply satisfying to watch.
“Maisie,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.
“If you’d screamed at me like this in front of my men, I’d have ye stuffed in the boot of your car by now.
As it is, you’ve used up all my brotherly goodwill.
You’re welcome to stay and talk with Sophie, but the screaming ends now. Are we clear, lass?”
Her eyes are lighter than Michael’s, and they spark like a firecracker when she’s enraged. Taking a deep breath, she says, “Fine.” She smiles malevolently. “If I find out that you’ve mistreated my Sophie, there’s no familial power on earth that’ll keep ye safe from me.”
Michael’s gaze turns to me. “I’ll have ye brought to the house in an hour or two.”
I hurry through the front door, hearing the crisp sound of his dress shoes walking back down the path. "Mom?"
“In here!" she calls from the kitchen. “I must warn you that Maisie-”
“Too late,” Maisie laughs, linking her arm with mine. “I already tackled Sophie on your front step, Miss Martha.”
Mom rises from her seat at the big farm table, there’s three steaming mugs of tea waiting for us.
I lunge for her, hugging her tightly. The relief of being here in this familiar space with the two people I love the most nearly sends me into another sobbing spiral, but Mom needs me to comfort her this time, not the other way around.
Examining her closely, I can see that the dark shadows have receded from under her eyes a bit. The kitchen is clean and sunny and smells good, like warm bread, the reassuring scent of my childhood.
"How are you?" I whisper, keeping my arms wrapped around her a little too long.
"I'm fine," she says gently, kissing my cheek and settling me in a chair as she puts a mug of tea in front of me, pulling out a plate to put the cookies on. "Maisie was just telling me about your disastrous blind date the other day."
They both chuckle and then it awkwardly fades as we recall that I jumped straight from said disastrous blind date to being married to the future head of the MacTavish clan.
"Aye," Maisie muses. "There’s a rapid chain of events that none of us saw coming. Though…” she leans over, looking at Mom, “ye know this lass has been pining after Michael forever.”
“That doesn't seem like a conversation we should be having right now," I interrupt, my hands wrapped around my mug of tea.
"Oh, this is the best time," Mom says gently, squeezing my arm. "Because I suspect your feelings might be returned.
“Michael may think that he married you out of compassion,” Maisie adds. “Being the big, noble almost Chieftain that he is, but let's be honest, aye? If it were anyone else but ye two, they’d be working for one of our allies up in Siberia or down in South America right now."
Both Mom and I flinch at that. “He said that night that he was going to separate us," I admit.
"That arsehole!” Maisie snaps. "I dinnae believe it for a second. You know perfectly well that he was trying to scare ye into marrying him quickly. Do ye think my parents would've agreed to this if they really believed that ye and Miss Martha here were truly traitors to the clan?"
"Well, I was," Mom says sadly, looking down at the table.
"Ye did it to save your daughter," Maisie says firmly.
Mom excuses herself to go to the bathroom, and Maisie leans closer. “I dinnae want to ask your mum about the details, she looks exhausted. I know my Da’s losing his mind. And I know what happened with Miss Martha is serious. What I dinnae know are the specifics. Talk to me.”
So, I tell her. About the shock of discovering my past, how that murderous prick threatened Mom. How it turned out that she was a much more effective spy than she ever wanted to be.