Chapter 3 #2
I watch her sleep, as I settle down onto the couch with a folded blanket and scratchy pillow.
I wanted to go back to the privacy of my place, but it didn't feel right leaving her here unattended. She hurt herself badly, bad enough that she barely remembered much of anything, and you can’t fuck around with head trauma.
But it isn't just that. I don't like the fact that my father doesn't want her here and, knowing what I do about him, I fear that he could do something to hurt her. Years ago, he put hands on Leith’s wife Cairstina, and I haven’t trusted him since.
So I keep my place beside her. Pull up my phone, and download a bloody e-reader app.
I'm not much of a reader, never have been. And the thought of reading a bloody romance… My brother is right though. Something’s amiss.
We've suspected for a very long time that the writer of these books knew more than what was good for her, and now she's crossed a line.
I pull up the first book and quickly download it.
It’s immediately engaging, more than I expected.
The story starts off right off the bat with a marine biologist who's in the wrong place at the wrong time.
As soon as I start reading the descriptions, it feels eerie.
It's as if someone's looking over our shoulders, as if the very walls have eyes and ears.
For starters, the description of the location.
It's in a remote part of Scotland, deep within the mountains.
Snowcapped mountain ranges all around, and no one knows how to get there except the Clan itself.
The marine biologist stumbles upon the Clan accidentally, thinking she's booked a holiday.
She hasn't, though. She ended up at a lodge deep in the mountains, just like this.
Odd.
They were expecting a woman sent to them by arranged marriage, also something that is not outside of the realm of possibility in our family. We haven't had an arranged marriage in quite some time, but it certainly could and has happened.
The woman in the book protests, and insists she isn't the one sent to be married, but the men don't believe her.
Supposedly the woman's been trying to get out of this arrangement, and the men are at once overbearing and fucking brutal.
My eyes grow heavy, just as the main character carries the woman off to a cave.
I slide my phone into my pocket and grab some sleep.
I wake the next day to the sound of rustling and look to find Fran shoving her blankets off. Jaysus, she’s such a fucking looker.
Full, pert tits covered by the tiniest white camisole, a flat belly I want to feel under the palms of my hands. A full arse begging to be worshipped and spanked, and legs for fucking days.
I try to quell the raging hard-on I get just from staring at her. Christ. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten laid, and this woman, scantily clad and dangerously dependent, is pinging all my fucking sensors.
“Sit down,” I grate out, my voice deep and raspy in the quiet of the room.
“Excuse me?” She looks at me as if I’ve sprung a second head.
"I said sit down. That medicine’s knocked you on your arse. I don't want you falling and hitting your head or something like that. All we need is more head trauma.”
“I think I’ve slept off the meds.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Her brow furrows, and she smiles at me. "Who says?"
"I do."
I like the way she challenges me. I like the way she pushes me. It's fucking annoying, but undeniably hot. I don't know why, maybe because the way that she pushes me away makes me want to haul her by the hair, drag her over my knee, and spank her until she cries.
I like a woman with a little backbone.
It looks as if she's about to sass me again. She's got quite a smart mouth on her. But instead, she gives me a smile. "Did you really sleep on that couch all night long? Why?"
I shrug. "Promised my sister I’d give you a hand. And you heard my father last night. The older he gets, the fewer scruples he has. Truth is, lassie, you aren't safe here."
Her eyes widen ever so slightly. I’ve spoken the truth, though.
“So this has nothing to do with you not trusting me?"
I swing my legs over the couch and lean over, resting my elbows on my knees. I hold her gaze for a moment.
"Should I not trust you? Do you have a reason for me not to trust you?"
She rolls her eyes. "Of course not."
But she's brushing me off. She’s hiding something. I’ll find out what.
“Good,” I say, pushing myself to my feet. Christ, but I’m tired, my whole body sore and fatigued from lack of sleep. “Would hate to have to punish you.”
Her mouth drops open. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?” she says, but before I can elaborate, and I really want to elaborate, there's a light knock at the door, and Islan comes into the room.
“Good morning,” she says brightly. For a fairly snarky lass, she’s usually chipper in the morning.
“Morning,” Fran says.
“Morning,” I mumble.
“Did you sleep alright?” she asks Fran, kicking the door shut behind her. Her arms are laden with folded clothing, and she's got little bottles of things that look like soap and various toiletries as well.
“Aye,” Fran says, but she yawns, belying what she says.
“You?” she asks me. I grunt in reply, not in the mood for chitchat. My mind’s still on the book I read the night before.
The author described every detail of this very room, from the crown molding to the fireplace.
She even knew about the little trapdoor near the wall where we used to hide biscuits and sweets when we were children.
Mum never allowed such things, but we’d sneak them in just the same. She was never the wiser.
It isn’t one of my sisters, is it?
I look at Islan with different eyes. It would explain how Aisla escaped, wouldn’t it?
“Breakfast’s in the kitchen,” Islan says brightly. “You hungry?”
Fran frowns and shrugs. “Don’t seem to have much of an appetite.”
“You’ll have to eat something,” I snap. I have no idea why she makes me so short-tempered. I’m usually a little more easygoing.
“Is that right?” she asks, rolling her eyes at me again. Jesus, the woman’s smart mouth will land her in trouble before she knows it.
“Aye,” I tell her. “You can't take those bloody pain meds on an empty stomach."
"Not a problem," she says. "I have no intention of taking any more of those stupid meds. They make me high, and I don't like being out of control like that."
For some reason she holds my eyes when she makes the statement. Something tells me that she absolutely likes being out of control, just maybe not that way.
Jesus, are these stupid books already getting in my head? Why would I even think such a thing?
"Now, Fran," my sister says. "I don't always agree with my brother’s bossy ways, but in this particular instance I think that he may have a point.
If you're going into town to see the doctor, you could undergo more testing, and you'll be a lot better off if you have a little food in your belly first.”
“I’ll try to eat something, then,” Fran says, frowning again.
Then she softens a bit. “I do thank you all for your hospitality.
Really, you've gone above and beyond the call of duty.
I'm not trying to be a difficult patient at all, I'm just trying to figure out how to get better quicker.
I don't like relying on medication if I can help it. "
"That particular one was obviously not a good fit for you," I tell her. "We can call the doctor and get something else. Easy enough."
She nods. "Okay. Let me get changed first, and then we can go to the kitchen to get a wee breakfast."
"Sounds good,” I tell her. “We have an hour before we have to leave."