Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Bryn
I look up across the room to find Mac, but he isn't there anymore. I look around me, trying to find him. I’m not sure why I need to see him right now, but I know in my heart that something isn't right.
I know my father is giving me no choice. I know that I'm going to have to do something drastic. But there has to be another way.
“Is this seat taken?”
I look up to see Mac with a drink in each hand, giving me that winsome look that makes me go all tingly. God, but he’s a charmer, that man. Sexy as fuck. His voice alone sends a shiver down my spine.
“So sorry,” I say. “But that’s my boyfriend’s seat.”
He leans down and slides a drink toward me. “Your boyfriend doesn’t need to know.”
I grin, loving the way my skin goes all heated with his breath at my ear. I give him a mock affronted look. “Are you trying to seduce me?”
“Is it working?”
I bite my lip and shove the chair back from the table and jerk my chin at him. “Go on, then. Have a seat.”
He sits next to me, then leans over, placing his finger under my chin. I’m dazzled with the intensity of his gaze, and I feel a bit trembly.
“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” he whispers. “Your boyfriend’s a lucky bloke.”
I smile bashfully.
I sip my drink, and he slides his hand over mine.
“Listen, Bryn,” he says in a low voice, no longer flirting but growing serious. “There’s something you need to know.”
“Oh?”
He nods. “I have to take an impromptu trip to Paris tonight. And you can’t come with me.”
My heart skips a beat, and I grip my chair for support.
It’s starting.
“Why Paris?” I ask, doing my level best to keep my voice calm.
He sighs and rubs a hand across his brow. “Fuckin’ deal I have to make. It wasn’t supposed to happen so quickly, but it can't be helped.”
This is what my father meant. He set this in motion. Mac has to go tonight, because of whatever bullshit my father did.
I wish I could tell him the truth. I wish I could tell him everything. But I’m afraid if I do, my father will do something terrible to his entire Clan.
So I do the only thing I can.
“When do you go?”
“Straight away.”
“Mac, please can’t I go? I promise I won’t get in your way. I hate being apart from you.”
He shakes his head. “No, lass, not this time. I’m sorry.”
How can I find a way to go with him?
We leave the wedding a little early. Islan and Paisley have strict orders to return home with their bodyguards. I feel a little bad for them. I know what it’s like to have a damn bodyguard watching every move you make.
“I’ve already got staff packing up for my trip.”
“Why can’t I go with you to Paris?”
“It isn’t safe.”
“Please?”
I feel like a child, but I can see he’s caving.
He sighs. “Let me think about it.”
My nerves are an absolute wreck. I feel so nervous, I don't even know what to do with myself. I've never done anything like this before, and it feels as if so much is on the line.
If I told Mac the truth, would he still care about me?
Could he forgive me?
Would he see everything I’ve done as betrayal? It is, though, it fucking is.
I never should’ve agreed to this. My heart aches to think of what happens next. My father’s tentacles are so deep, there’s no escape for either of us. He knows people fucking everywhere.
For one brief moment, I even contemplate running away with Mac. Telling him the truth, telling him the danger that we're in, and convincing him to hide with me and find another place where we can be.
But I know that that's foolish, and as soon as I think the thought, I banish it altogether. I can't talk him into doing that. He's dedicated to his family; his whole world is right here. I can’t take him away from everything that has meaning to him.
My phone buzzes, and I feel as if I’m going to be sick. With trembling fingers, I look at the message.
Dad: When you go to take your ride back, you’ll be handed a bag. Take the bag. Further instructions to follow.
I walk briskly beside Mac when someone calls his name. He looks over at a bloke standing to the side, just as a uniformed server walks past me. She smiles, and hands me a purse.
“You forgot your bag, miss.”
I take the bag she gives me with trembling hands, like it’s carrying a bomb. “Thank you.”
And that quickly, she’s gone.
I brought a small clutch here tonight, but this is a larger bag. It isn’t heavy at all, but I feel as if it’s made of lead. I tuck my clutch into the bag and swing the strap over my shoulder, and it hangs by my side.
It looks just like another bag I had before, so when Mac returns to me, he doesn’t even notice. I feel as if I’m carrying a ticking time bomb.
Everything feels surreal, as if it’s moving in slow motion.
“You don’t look well, lass. Are you feeling poorly?”
I am. I feel as if I’m going to be sick.
I nod, and swallow hard. “Aye,” I whisper, stifling a yawn. “Not feeling well at all. Maybe I need some rest.”
We climb into the car and he nods. “Why don’t you close your eyes for a bit?”
So I do, my mind spinning through the choices I have, trying to formulate a plan for how to escape. But I can't come up with anything, not yet.
I know we're being watched. And I know I have to talk him into taking me.
When we land in Paris, we’ll be watched there as well.
If I don't do what my father says, my life is over. I know this now. There is no hope to escape the Aitkens Clan. Maybe there never was.
My phone buzzes with a text, and I open my eyes. I shield the screen from Mac, but he isn’t even looking my way.
Dad: In your bag is a vial. It’s poisonous. You’ll have drinks with him, slip this in his drink. Send me a picture so I’ll know you’ve done what I told you.
I stare in shock and horror at the text. Is he joking? He can’t be. How can this possibly be what he wants me to do? How could I have been so stupid?
Mac’s distracted, so I quickly respond.
Bryn: You didn’t tell me I would kill him! You told me to seduce him. To trick him. You didn’t say kill!
Dad: Do you really think there’s any place for you in this Clan if you can’t follow the simplest of tasks? Perhaps you should be wed to another after all.
I shove my phone in the bag and see the little bottle inside.
Mac looks over at me. He frowns with concern and reaches his palm to touch my forehead. The gesture’s so tender, a lump rises in my throat.
“You do feel a wee bit clammy. Something you ate at the wedding?”
“Maybe.”
“Poor lass,” he says gently. “Why don’t you get some rest?”
“Alright, I’ll rest.” I yawn widely and think to myself it isn’t possible for me to actually sleep, not when I’ve got so much weighing on my mind and heart. It surprises me, then, when I wake a while later with Mac shaking my shoulder.
“We’re home.”
Why does that make me feel so sick to my stomach? Home.
“We’re home, darlin’,” he repeats softly, as if he doesn’t want to speak too loudly and rouse me from sleep. “I hated to wake you, you slept so soundly.”
I yawn and stretch. “I’m surprised I fell asleep. I thought I’d be too wired.”
“Wired? You’re knackered, love.”
He doesn’t know, of course. Maybe I fell asleep just for a chance to forget it all for a little while, to pretend I don’t have to make the hardest decision of my life.
What’s the brave choice here? What would someone who truly loves another do in this situation?
Telling him is a selfish choice. It puts the onus of decision on him, and I can’t do that. It would guarantee war with our clans, and could I ever forgive myself if one of his brothers—or, God forbid, Mac himself—was hurt because of me?
Though I long to tell him the truth, to beg him to run away with me, it’s the selfish choice. If he feels about me the way I do about him—and something tells me he does—I couldn’t live with the result.
Running is the cowardly choice.
If I leave him… and go home without fulfilling the obligation and promise I made to my father… I'll end up wed to my father’s friend’s son. My stomach flips.
My thoughts go to deeper, darker options, ones I don’t even like to entertain. It seems so hopeless, though.
“You still feeling poorly, darlin’?” Mac asks. Tears prick my eyes at the concern in his voice.
I nod dumbly, unable to trust myself to speak. If I do, I’m apt to cry.
“Aw, lassie,” he says, reaching to give me a hug. “C’mere.”
When he embraces me, I swallow hard so I don’t cry. His familiar scent, so strong, so masculine, makes me sigh. I hate what this has come to.
His bags are already packed, and the car waits to take him to the airport.
“Please take me,” I say, but I don’t push hard. I want to go with him, but if I do…
Mac’s eyes look stern, his jaw firm, and it makes me wonder if he suspects something.
“Are you okay?” I ask him. I long for the time we spent together that was carefree, when he looked at me with tenderness.
“Aye, lass,” he says, reaching for my hand and giving me a little squeeze. “Just a lot on my mind is all.”
He must think me ridiculously insecure, asking him all these questions.
I wish I could believe what he tells me.
“I’ve never been to Paris,” I say softly. “Please, Mac. Take me?”
“I wish it didn’t have to be so rushed,” he says with a sigh. “I’d take you to all the places you want to go. We’d do every touristy thing from the Louvre to the Eiffel Tower.”
“Do you speak French?” I ask.
“Oui, je le parle assez bien.”
“Okay, so that’s hot,” I say, before I can stop myself. “Like so hot.”
He chuckles. “Voulez-vous que je vous murmure des mots doux à l'oreille pendant que nous faisons l'amour?”
“What did you just say?” I whisper back. “What does that mean?”
“It means, ‘Would you like me to whisper sweet nothings in your ear while we make love?’”
“Oooh.” A little tingle goes through me, and I draw nearer. “I love that.”
“I’ll remember that,” he says, then he sighs heavily. He holds one of my hands in both of his, protectively.
He sighs. “I can’t take you, lassie. There could be enemies that we face.”
What he doesn’t know is that his enemy’s by his side.