Chapter 10 #2
They begin a right ruckus of an argument, but I quietly eat my dinner in silence, not a text or bit of eye contact with the lot of them.
Frankly, I understand her desire to travel and go out with friends, but I also understand why Leith doesn’t want her to go so far away from home.
I saw what those men did to Father MacGowen, and I know they won’t stop at anything to exact revenge if they know it’s the Cowen family responsible for the death of their friend.
Dinner is so delicious I hardly even hear the argument that ensues, I’m so intent on the buttery rolls and savory roast, flavored with roasted garlic and onions, so delicious it fairly melts in my mouth.
I’m taking a second helping of roasted carrots when Paisley pushes away from the table in a torrent of tears and fairly runs from the room.
“For the love of God,” Tate says to Leith. “You don’t have to be so strict, Leith. You’re worse than Dad was.” Their father grumbles at this.
“But I fucking do,” Leith says, glaring at him.
“Why?” Mac says, frowning. “She’s not a bloody prisoner.”
Leith glares, clearly outnumbered. “Need I remind a single bloody person at this table what happened to Tavish?”
His mother gets up from the table and rushes out after Paisley. Islan shakes her head, stands, and hands me the paperback book. “Here, love,” she says. “Could keep you entertained when my fuckin’ crabbit of a brother isn’t.”
She stalks off before he can respond. I look down in surprise at the book, and blink at the cover.
Wow, that guy on the cover is hot, all sweat-slicked muscles and strength.
I look from the book to Leith and back again, before I quickly hide it on my lap.
I don’t want him to get all weird about it, and I really would like to have a look at it.
“Sometimes, you have to make hard decisions,” their dad says. “I know it isn’t easy, son, but it’s part of your responsibility.”
Leith shakes his head. “Don’t I know it, Dad.”
They talk about a few more things I can’t quite follow, and Mac chuckles heartily at a joke Tate makes. Without the other women in here, it’s a more rowdy meal, but they get along well. Shortly after the women leave, the staff brings in a tray of dessert.
“Trifle, ma’am?” one asks me, holding a tray of glasses piled high with chocolate and whipped cream. My mouth waters.
I wish I could tell him how delicious everything is. Instead, I thank him with a nod and take a little glass dish, grateful for a chance to eat while the men discuss everything.
I pay attention when they talk about my brother and their plans to scout him out. “I’ll join you of an evening and we’ll pay him a visit,” Leith says.
“What’s your purpose, son?” his dad asks.
Leith scowls. “It’s personal.”
I look at him curiously, my spoonful of trifle halfway to my mouth. Why is he interested in my brother?
We leave a little while later, and when Leith stands up from the table, he takes my hand.
“Thanks for dinner,” he says. “I’m taking her home, and I’ll see you in the morning. Mac, how have your dealings with the Irish gone?”
“Smashing,” he says with a grin, and his voice shifts. He sounds like an American gangster with his accent. “Cormac McCarthy met me at the border this morning, made me a deal I couldn’t refuse.”
“Good men, the McCarthys,” Leith says, when one of the house help comes into the dining room.
“Very best there is, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so myself.”
Leith nods at Mary. “Don’t mind at all, Mary. I know they were good to you when you visited. Anything changed in Ballyhock? Have you spoken to your sister?”
“Aye, sir, I have, and not much has changed except she’s expecting another child.”
Tate grins. “Those McCarthys will be taking over all of the fucking east coast if they keep it up.”
They chatter a bit longer until I yawn, and Leith takes me by the hand. “Let’s get you home,” he says, a note of warmth in his voice.
I’m curious why he calls it home to me. It’s his home, I know, but I’m only a visitor.
I nod and follow him, as his mum comes down the stairs. She looks as if she’s been crying, her cheeks a little bit flushed and her eyes red-rimmed. I want to hug her.
“Y’alright, Mum?”
“Aye,” she says, forcing a smile. “Had a wee bit of a chat with Paisley. I said it before and I’ll say it again, Leith, you must stop being so hard on her.”
Leith blows out a breath. “It just isn’t safe for her to travel like that, Mum. I don’t mean to be too hard.”
Her voice wobbles when she speaks. “Did you have to bring up Tavish?”
What happened to his brother? I want to know.
His eyes gentle, but his voice is firm. “Yes, I did. I know we don’t want to talk about it, but it’s no safer for her now than it was then.”
She sighs. “I know you’re right, I just worry.”
“I know,” he says, reaching for her hand and giving her a little squeeze. “Tell you what, I’ll talk to her in the morning and see if we can’t come up with a bit of a compromise, alright?”
My heart warms. Maybe he isn’t the arsehole some of them think he is.
Hell, I know he isn’t. I wonder, am I the only one who can see this tender side of him? Do the others know that his fierceness comes from the need to protect?
His mum nods. “Fair. And you take care of this girl.” She points to me and smiles, then her voice grows a little wistful. “Something tells me she’s special.”
I bow my head bashfully. I’ve never wanted to talk with other people more in my life than I do with this family.
“Och, aye,” he says, looking at me with a mixture of curiosity and wonder. “She is.”
I look away from them, unable to process how to respond to their kindness. Why would people as fierce as them be kind to a girl like me?
“How’s Nan?”
“Ah, the usual,” he says. “Feisty as hell and needs another caretaker. I sacked the one Tavish hired.”
They talk briefly, then he takes my hand and leads me to the exit.
“As soon as we’re eighteen, we skive off,” he says, “eager to have a place of our own, though we eat every fucking meal with the family.” He shakes his head. “My family likes to stay close together. I like the privacy, though.” He frowns, as the door shuts behind us and a biting wind picks up.
I nod. I don’t blame him at all.
He smiles wryly to himself, and my heart does all sorts of funny somersaults in my chest. I love it when he smiles.
I’m dying of curiosity to see his home. I wonder if seeing where he lives will give me some insight into who he is and how he ticks.
“I’ve had the staff bring your things,” he says. “They should all be there by now.”
I nod, wishing I could tell him thank you.
He holds me tightly as we walk down the icy hill toward a brightly lit chalet so wild and rugged it looks as if it’s grown straight out of the pines that surround it.
It’s built like the lodge, out of solid logs.
Warm yellow light falls to the ground from the windows, and though I can’t see many details in the dark, it looks cozy and inviting.
There’s a massive black truck parked out front. His?
He holds my hand and talks as we head to his house. “I don’t like making the girls angry,” he says wistfully. “My father could allow them to go as they please, but he knows he won’t always be here, and it’s up to the Clan Captain to make sure everyone’s safe.”
I nod. It makes sense to me.
“One day I’ll tell you about Tavish and what happened to him,” he says. “It was an accident, of course, but one we could’ve prevented. And this family’s never fully recovered from his loss. The death of the eldest brother is a decided blow.”
Oh, wow. So Tavish was not only a brother, but he was also the oldest brother. Makes sense, then, that Leith isn’t the rightful Captain of the mafia. Is that why he’s so touchy and temperamental? Does he feel he has big shoes to fill?
We reach his home, and he opens the door with a series of buttons and keys. He swings the door open, and gestures for me to go in, like he’s being all gentlemanly.
Not on your life. It’s terrifyingly dark in there, and all I need is a spider coming to attack me. I shake my head, and he gives me a curious look. I make a wiggly motion with my fingers.
He tips his head to the side. “You’re afraid of spiders?”
Among other things. I nod. I most certainly am.
“Yeah, I get it, but there shouldn’t be any. It’s impeccably clean in there.” Still, he seems amused.
I look about me, realizing for the first time we’re standing on a snow-laden porch. Wow.
Even beneath the moonlight, I can tell this is something special. It overlooks the mountains, like his home does, and a part of me wants to sit here and look at those mountains illuminated by the rising sun.
“C’mon,” he says, taking me by the hand. “Come in.”
He pushes the door open, flicks a light switch, and leads me in. I stare in amazement, and I swear my jaw unhinges. It’s gorgeous, like I’ve walked right into a magazine that advertises a mountain lodge escape.
Though he flicked the switch for overhead lighting, the recessed lighting hidden deep in the ceiling casts a warm glow on the surroundings. The entire home is built from logs, it looks like.
Dark wood lines the interior, the exposed beams aged wood of some kind.
Oak? Antique accents are scattered throughout the room—sturdy, dark brown leather furniture, a large couch by the fireplace with white and tan-colored throw cushions, a tufted ottoman in front of a large armchair, and a roughly-hewn, wooden coffee table.
Books lay strewn about in neat piles, on a little table with a lamp on it, on the coffee table, and stacked on bookshelves as far as I can see.
I didn’t peg him as a reader. I almost shake my head at myself. I’d think a man like him would be more guilty of stereotyping, yet here I am doing that exact same thing.
It’s charming and rustic, while somehow being both comfortable and luxurious. If I lived in a place like this, I’d never want to leave.