Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
Leith
Snow falls heavily as I lift my ax and swing it, but I welcome the way the wet, icy flakes cool my body. Every stroke of the ax makes my muscles ache, and I’m damn near blinded by the snow, but I don’t bloody care.
This is where I find myself. Other men might lift weights and run on a treadmill that goes nowhere, but I’d rather work in the great outdoors on a day like today to keep myself in peak physical shape.
The Captain of the Clan is meant to garner respect, and enforce the laws of our men when necessary.
So, I train. I run the mountainous terrain, chop wood on our vast, wooded property, and spend as much time outdoors working the land as I can.
It’s quiet in the woods, the snow insulating us against both cold and noise. I swing the ax again, my anger at the meeting we had this morning forcing my ax with greater gusto than before.
Imagining that somehow I can exorcise my demons with my aching muscles and the cut of the blade. It doesn’t work, though. It never does. Still, I try.
My final blow splits the log in two, the blade sinking into the stump with an air of finality. I’m heaving with the effort, panting and sweating as I take a moment to admire the clean, fresh cut of the ax, the smell of the freshly cut pine, before I resume my work.
“Leith!” Paisley’s high voice is quickly drowned out by the wind, but I heard her clear enough.
I turn, still panting, to see her standing in the doorway to the back entrance of our lodge.
My youngest sister’s just turned seventeen, on the cusp of womanhood, the roundness of youth fading with every day that passes.
Soon, she’ll be wanting to leave our reclusive home in the mountains.
I sigh. I haven’t been out here long enough, haven’t even touched the anger that boils within me, the fury that lies in wait like a prowling mountain lion. I can feel it fueling me even now. “Aye?”
She rolls her eyes. “Really, Leith. It’s fucking snowing out and you’re bare-chested like you’re ready to sunbathe on the beach?”
I lean on my ax and give her a withering look. “It’s hot swinging that ax, and you’d better watch that smart mouth of yours before Dad hears you swearing. I’d better not hear it again myself.”
She opens her mouth to protest, then thinks better of it. “I don’t understand why you boys swear like damn convicts, but God help the Cowen woman who curses,” she mutters.
I don’t bother explaining the double standard, or how it swings both ways.
The girls may not be able to curse like we do, but on the flip side, they haven’t been held to the brutal standards of our upbringing either.
If I rolled my eyes at my father like she does, I’d get the back of his hand across my mouth, even at the age of thirty.
Even as the highest-ranking member of the Cowen Clan.
I’m technically even above him in rank, but once a Captain always a Captain.
“Did you come out here to tell me how to dress, or tell me something of actual importance?” I start to turn away from her to grab my ax again, tired of her nonsense already.
“Dad wants you, and he said be quick about it.”
I bury my ax in the earth, snag my shirt from a nearby low-hanging branch, and head back inside.
Bram Cowen may have retired and appointed me Clan Captain, but he’s still my father.
I kick snow off my boots as I enter the house, and Paisley frowns.
“Don’t really understand why you chop the wood, Leith. We’ve staff to do chores like that, and you know it. Why do you bother?”
“For the same reason Mum cooks dinner once a week, even though she doesn’t need to either.”
Paisley still frowns but doesn’t reply. If she doesn’t understand the correlation, she has more growing up to do than I thought.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Cowen,” Mary says, stirring a large pot of soup on the stove. “Are you wanting dinner, sir?”
I shake my head. “No, thank you, Mary. I’ll eat later.”
She nods. “Yes, sir.”
She’s one of several staff that runs both the mountain lodge where my parents reside and our Clan meets, as well as the chalets that decorate the outskirts of our home.
Last year, my family ventured all the way south to pay the Irish a visit, to save Mary from a heap of trouble.
They’re our allies, one of the few Clans who’ve got our backs.
She’s been even more loyal and dedicated to us ever since.
It’s warm in here and smells strongly of Scotch broth and freshly-baked bread, but I’m not hungry. My mind is too occupied with what we discussed this morning, and moreover what my father’s called me in for.
I walk through the kitchen, nodding to a few of my men who sit at the heavy farm table in the corner of the room with pints of ale and hearty sandwiches. They stand out of respect when I pass, but I wave at them to give them leave to relax.
Paisley, tall and willowy like Mum, keeps up with my long strides. She’s chattering on and on about a trip she’s taking to the island, but I only half hear her until she says she’s leaving at the weekend.
“What do you mean, at the weekend?” I ask her sternly. Why has no one said a thing about this before now?
She gives me a haughty look. “Not sure how else to say it. As in Saturday and Sunday. Perhaps that makes more sense to you then?”
God, my father spoiled the lass and let her get a smart mouth, and she’s usually the more timid of my two sisters. Honestly, I won’t put up with it myself.
I pause before I enter my father’s study, plant my hands on my hips, and give her a cutting look. “Need I remind you, Paisley, that though Dad’s the patriarch of our Clan, as Clan Captain I can override where you go and when?”
She blinks and stares, soft blonde hair falling in those wide blue eyes she inherited from my mother. She shoves it behind her ears angrily. “What?”
“Aye. I’ve been appointed Clan Captain as of January first, which you’re well aware of, aren’t you?”
Before then, I was Clan Chief, second in command. Now as Captain, I rule all members of the Cowen Clan.
She opens her mouth, then closes it like a fish out of water. “Aye, of course I bloody well know it, but I—”
“Language.”
She starts, as if I struck her, then pales. She looks at me pleadingly, and her eyes brim with tears. “Leith.”
“Mmm?”
“Why would you do such a thing?”
“Because a woman of your stature and rank ought to know how to conduct herself better. I’ll consider allowing you to travel, but only with a firm guard in place.”
I remember what it was like being her age, but back then things weren’t the way they are now.
She opens her mouth to speak, then shuts it. “Fine, then.”
Paisley bows her head and nods, then quietly walks away, her arms folded across her chest. I sigh before I open the door to my father’s study.
I remember the days when the two of us were peers. I remember teaching her how to swim in the lake nearby. I can still see the pride on her face the first day she managed to keep herself afloat when she finally learned it herself.
I can still feel her crying on my shoulder the day she was ridiculed at school, when her first boyfriend ever told lies about what she’d done with him and how he got in her knickers.
I can still feel his blood on my knuckles and the bruises on my hand when I gave him a proper beating, then promised far more if he ever did such a thing again. She didn’t know about that.
I remember Christmas mornings, all of us in our pajamas, just children without a care in the world. All six of us—when there were still six of us—laughing and joking, tearing the pretty paper with glee while we opened our gifts between sipping from large, steaming mugs of cocoa.
That was in the before times. Before Paisley became aware of the weight of the power she held as a daughter of the Clan. Before my mother wore a perpetual crease across her brow. Before I assumed any of the responsibility of Clan Captain. When Tavish was still with us.
I knock on the door.
“Leith?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come in, son.”
I push open the door. The room is dark, the shades partly drawn. My father’s new medication makes him sensitive to light, so he typically keeps his study dark.
“Paisley came to fetch me, sir.”
“She’s a good girl.” His voice is gentler than usual. I shut the door behind me. “Don’t be too hard on her, Leith. The Cowen women have heavy responsibility.”
My conscience pricks me. Perhaps I was a bit too harsh just now.
My eyes quickly adjust to the dim light. My father smiles at me from beneath thick, stern brows. Even age hasn’t diminished his size or stature, his large shoulders casting shadows on the wall behind him, his large hands gently resting on his desk.
I remember when I was a child, those huge hands of his intimidated the hell out of me.
All he needed to do was rest one hand on one of our shoulders, and he had our full attention.
One swing of his ax split a log in two, and as a child I sometimes wondered if he even needed the ax.
There was a time when Bram Cowen was a force to be reckoned with, and I wouldn’t come to blows with him even now that he’s sixty years old and the signs of age and illness plague him.
Recently, though, he resigned his position as Clan Captain, and passed the proverbial baton to me. He said it was time, that he’d put in his dues. I think it had more to do with his failing health than anything.
My younger brother Tate took over as Chief, and Mac became Warlord, the head of the enforcers, though rank is only known among the Clan. We men of the north take our anonymity seriously. No one but our own, as well as other Clans, know who we are or what we do, and we aim to keep it that way.
“A drink, son?” I shake my head. I never drink this early in the day. What is it that’s on his mind?
I do take a seat, though. “No, thanks, Dad. Everything alright?’
He sobers, leaning on his elbows, and puts his fingers together. “Got a call just now from McCarthy Clan Chief Keenan McCarthy.”