Chapter 11 #3
"Nope." I go to shut the door, but she shoves her foot in between the doorframe and door. Her eyes grow serious, and her voice gets stern. "She's my friend. Remember that."
“Oh, aye, I won’t forget.”
I gently but firmly put my hands on her shoulders and shove her the hell out.
I slam the door.
“So dramatic,” Fran says, but I can tell by the smile on her face that she’s pleased. Then the smile fades, and she grows more serious.
"I don't think she came here just to bring me the clothes."
"And what gives you that idea?" I try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice but fail miserably.
She doesn’t smile or look at me, but stares at her hands. Her voice is a whisper. “She’s afraid I’ll tell her secrets.”
Jesus. This is something to pay attention to.
“What secrets?”
I sit beside her on the couch, and she begins to wring her hands, an uncharacteristic move for her.
“Don’t ask me to tell you, please.”
“We’re not in a place where we can afford secrets right now. I’d be mistaken not to.”
“Tate, sometimes what’s sacred between sisters or friends has to stay sacred. God, I never should have said anything.”
“There were a lot of things you shouldn’t have done.”
She flinches. I go on.
“And we can keep what’s sacred, sacred. But I know things that involve Islan that you don’t, and suffice it to say, it’s in her best interest for me to know everything.”
She groans. “First, let’s finish what we were talking about.”
I think on it, then exhale. “Aye, but we’ll circle back to this.”
“Aisla keeps me informed about Wales, and everything your mum said was corroborated by her.”
I nod. “Go on.”
She leans back on the sofa, getting comfortable. Jesus, she looks lovely there, all snuggled up in the corner. This morning when we went up to the house, she hadn’t done her hair or makeup. Now, her hair is dried all wavy and cute, framing her face in a way that makes me want to kiss her.
She tucks her knees up to her chest. I’ve studied human behavior before, and body language. I have to do my job. And the way she’s sitting now tells me she’s unconsciously protecting herself. She’s scared of what I’ll do to her.
And while a part of me rejoices in that, and says yes, that’s exactly what I want, I want her to fear me… a part of me doesn’t.
I liked Fran vulnerable and trusting.
And I’ll do what it takes to bring her back.
So I push myself up from the chair and cross the room to her. I sit beside her. She shifts a little but continues to speak, and I don’t touch her quite yet.
“I’ve got a contact in the McCarthy Clan, too,” she says quietly. She twirls a piece of hair between her fingers and looks away, as if she knows she shouldn’t be telling me this.
I reach for her, my fingers gently rubbing the back of her neck. She moves a little closer to me.
“Who, Fran?”
I know all the McCarthys. They visit us from time to time, and we’re in regular contact.
“Well…” she begins. “You have kitchen help here, don’t you?”
“Mhm.”
“And Mary Brody’s one of them.”
“Aye.”
She blows out a breath. “Understand that none of them really knew what they were doing, Tate.” She winces when her eyes meet mine. “I lied through my teeth.”
I nod. “Tell me.”
“You should punish me again for this, you really—”
“Tell me.”
Her words fly out in a rush. “Mary’s got a sister named McKenna. I’ve been in touch with her, only she doesn’t really know it.”
“How can she not know it? How does that work?”
“She’s a teacher at the McCarthy finishing school.”
The McCarthy Clan has a school in Ireland where they send the youngest boys to train, to prepare them for Clan life. My father considered one of our own at one point but chose tutors instead because of our location and reclusiveness.
“And?”
She lets loose a torrent of words, filling me in, and I listen in silence.
She’s right. I should punish her for this.
She’s managed to contact McKenna and pretend she’s Mary. She’s asked her questions about the Clan, and then managed to trick Mary into revealing more information as well.
“I feel so awful,” she says. “I really do. I never should’ve done this. It wasn’t worth it. I’ve betrayed my closest friends…”
She covers her face with her hands, and the body language I’m reading now shows utter sincerity.
She is sorry, I believe that.
But sometimes sorry isn’t good enough.
“Come here,” I say, reaching for her. I tuck her against my shoulder and hold her to me. “You’re going to be forgiven for all of this.”
If she were a man, she wouldn’t have this tender side of me.
If my brothers accused me of going soft on her because she’s a woman, they’d be fucking right.
“Will I really?” she asks, looking up at me.
“You will, but you’ve got some work to do. And I think it’s time we put those super sleuth skills of yours to better use.”
She nods. “Aye, Tate. I promise. Whatever you need.”
My cock stirs, thinking of exactly what “whatever you need” could be.
I quickly get myself under control. We’re not done.
“What can I do?”
I cut straight to the chase.
“Tell me about Islan.”
She groans.
I tug a lock of her hair. “Tell me.”