Chapter 25
twenty-five
Honestly, there isn’t much in this world that surprises me any longer, and the sight of Marianne entering the dining room isn’t shocking in the least. I’ve known the manipulative snake has been involved in the conspiracy the entire time, but I hadn’t known why.
Or what she had to gain.
“Mother.” Marianne steps forward to embrace Sheila, a smile on her face.
Wait… What?
Flashes of the small box in the cell at the barn come back to me. A baby’s tooth, a lock of hair, a photo of a baby with a woman I hadn’t been able to identify.
All right, I can now say I am surprised.
This is something I hadn’t seen coming, but now that they are both standing before me, side by side, I can see it.
The same dirt-colored eyes and fair complexion.
The pair are alike in almost every way. From the color of their hair to the shape of their faces.
They even share the same slender nose and cut jaw.
How has no one seen those similarities before now?
When all this is over, I am going to get my eyes checked.
“Hello, dear.” Sheila smiles at Marianne before turning her attention to the man who accompanies her. I recognize him from the gala. “Kellan, welcome. Please, have a seat.” She motions to the empty place settings, one of which is next to mine, while the other has been placed beside Remus.
“Thank you for having me,” Kellan tells her graciously, his eyes roaming over my body as he takes his seat.
It isn’t a lecherous stare. That’s something I can handle.
No, this stare is calculated. I’d seen Elias and Christian make a similar expression dozens of times throughout my childhood when examining the women in the stables.
He is appraising me like livestock. “I can see it was certainly worth the drive.”
Whoever this man is, he is Irish. His voice is thick and broguish compared to my father’s, which barely exists beyond the few typical Irish slangs he never rid himself of.
“We are so fortunate you could come down on such short notice.” Sheila waits for her guests to be seated before taking her own. “Please,” she motions to the trays of food set out, “help yourself.”
This is all very Norman Rockwell.
The table descends into silence as Marianne and her guest load up their plates and dig in. I just stare, however, not reaching to touch my food again. My mind shifts into overdrive as it tries to push the pieces of the puzzle together.
Who is Marianne’s father?
Remus? Or someone else Sheila sought company with?
And how did no one notice how similar the pair look when standing next to one another?
“Did you know, Ava,” Sheila’s voice breaks through my reverie. She has cleared her plate and has another glass of her expensive merlot poured for her as she gazes at me, “that twins run in the McDonough family?”
That explains Seamus and Kiernan.
She waves her hand dismissively before answering her own question. “Of course not,” she chuckles mirthlessly. “Your mother never told you anything about your family. Did she?”
“I’m starting to see why,” I mutter.
“Your grandfather…” She pauses for a moment, her eyes flitting up to the ceilings as she rethinks what she is about to say.
“The man you believe to be your grandfather, Seamus, was a twin as well. In fact, you were the first child born to the McDonough clan in over a hundred years who isn’t a twin. ”
My eyes dart up to Remus.
I don’t miss the truth bomb Sheila has dropped. It is nuclear. Seamus McDonough wasn’t my grandfather. He wasn’t my mother’s father.
Not her biological one, at least.
One thing doesn’t fit, however.
“There was no record of Seamus McDonough ever having a twin,” I remind them.
No hospital records. No pictures. Nothing.
It isn’t that I doubt the sincerity of Sheila’s words.
It is clear as day that the man who sits before me is Seamus’s twin.
A doppelg?nger, even the best one, wouldn’t have been able to fool my father.
Plus, doppelg?ngers are similar, but rarely, if ever, exact carbon copies.
Remus sneers at my words and pushes his unfinished plate away. “Of course not.” He wipes his mouth with the linen napkin. “They fixed everything so we didn’t exist. If we did, it meant a power struggle between two heirs, and they couldn’t have that. Not again.”
Huh?
The confusion must show on my face.
“The McDonoughs have a dark, dirty secret,” Sheila sneers. “For a little over a hundred years, they’ve killed the second-born twin of every McDonough leader.”
Even Oppenheimer couldn’t have constructed a bigger bomb than the one Sheila just unleashes on me.
“As time grew, however, they realized that those forgotten twins could be utilized in different manners. Just like my poor Marianne.” Sympathy plays gracefully across Sheila’s face.
It is fake, though. The words don’t match the expression appropriately.
It doesn’t reflect in her eyes or in her posture.
Unfortunately, Marianne is eating it up like a starving child.
“My mother wasn’t a twin.”
Someone would have known this fact. Someone would have told me if my mother had a twin running around in the world.
“Not in the traditional sense, no,” Sheila explains. “Marianne and your mother were fraternal twins. Up until they were born, there had only ever been identical twins born.”
“If they weren’t identical,” I ask, “why give Marianne up? Just because she was second-born?”
This family is growing more messed up by the second.
“I never gave my child away!” Sheila screams, her face contorting in anger, hand clenched tightly around her wineglass.
Remus leans in and pats her on her arm, calming her with a few whispered words.
Once she is settled, she continues. “Your great-grandmother came to me that day with Seamus and took her from my arms. I begged. Pleaded. But they said it had to be this way. That twins, identical or not, would never be allowed to grow together. They. Stole. Her. From. Me.”
“You see, the McDonoughs have a rule about succession,” Remus interjects, allowing Sheila to pull herself back together. “There can’t be any contestation for the throne.”
“That makes no sense.” I shake my head. “One twin would always be older, even if only by a few minutes. That makes them the firstborn and secure in their right to inherit.”
Remus smiles sadly, and for a moment, he is almost human to me. His green eyes are burdened with sorrow and rejection. I can only imagine how it must feel to be the forgotten brother. The unloved brother. The brother who is cast out and tossed aside.
“I can see you haven’t done much research into your heritage.
” He shakes his head in disappointment. “The McDonough roots can be traced back as far as the fifth century. They were one of the most powerful clans in Ireland and shaped a lot of how the country developed over time. The first set of twins to be recorded was in 1458, and for a hundred years, there never appeared to be a problem.”
“Until you look beneath the surface,” Marianne spits bitterly from her seat.
“Yes.” Remus nods in agreement. “Viability of both fetuses back then was slim. Usually only one survived childbirth. In the rare cases when both twins survived, there never seemed to be any issues in succession of clan power, until you discover that at least one twin died under mysterious circumstances ninety percent of the time.”
“Most circumstances appeared to be accidental,” Marianne chimes in. “Other times, they were murdered by a rival clan or in a dark alley somewhere.”
“Always the second-born?” I am curious and unable to stop myself from wanting to learn more.
Remus smirks. “No one can be sure,” he admits. “There was never a set pattern. Sometimes it was the firstborn. Other times it was the second. But who’s to say the second-born didn’t become the first?”
How very Man in the Iron Mask.
“That’s not uncommon in history,” I point out. “Brothers killed brothers for power all the time. History is littered with power struggles among siblings. That is nothing new.”
“No, it isn’t,” Remus agrees. “But in 1569, two brothers waged the bloodiest war against one another, splitting the clan straight down the middle. And later, the country.”
“It nearly cost the McDonough clan everything,” Sheila murmurs. “More than half the clan was killed in the brothers’ feud, and the aftermath nearly ended the clan altogether.”
“Who won the war?”
“Both brothers declared a cease-fire,” Kellan, who has been silently listening up to this point, speaks up. “When they realized how much the war was costing them and how the destruction of their clan was imminent, they agreed to terms brought to the table.”
“Terms about killing babies.” Yeah, that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
Remus nods grimly. “That was part of it, yes,” he confirms. “No second-born would be allowed to live past their birth.”
“And the other terms?”
“One brother would get the north, and another would claim the south,” Kellan states. “They split the country down the middle.”
“I thought that had to do with the partition of Ireland in the early nineteen hundreds.”
“The partition was its own event.” Kellan leans back in his chair and takes a sip of wine. His green eyes bore into me, assessing me. “But it did solidify a few things.”
“When did it change?” My gaze shifts away from the haunting green stare of the man next to me and back to Remus. “When did the second-born babies stop being murdered?”
“We believe it was sometime in the early eighteen hundreds.” Remus’s fingers tap the table. “But no one can be sure.”
“Why? What changed?”
“People were dying.” My eyes shift back to Kellan. “Politics and religion were heating up the country. Who better to train and send into battle than those who were never wanted?”
“They were used as cannon fodder,” I sneer.
“Yes.” Kellan smirks. “Sacrifices for the greater good.”
“Don’t sound so happy about it,” I bite at him. “It’s disgusting.”
“But a necessity.”
I turn to Sheila. “Is that what you think? Is that why you’ve done all this? Because I think you want it all to end.” I shift in my seat to face Marianne. “You certainly didn’t follow McDonough procedure, did you? Both Seamus and Kiernan are alive and well.”
Marianne snarls. “Leave my sons out of this.”
“Like you left my mother out of it?” I hiss. “Like you, she was innocent.”
“No firstborn is innocent in this.” She scoffs.
“Why?” I question her. “Because she got everything you never did? How was that her fault?”
Crickets.
“It wasn’t,” I argue further. “What are you trying to do? Seamus is dead. The woman who took you is dead. There is no one left to uphold those sick, twisted rules. You got what you wanted.”
“But there is always more to claim.” Sheila smiles behind her glass of wine. “Always more to be had that was never given to us.”
And there it is.
The real reason behind what they are doing.
This isn’t about righting the wrongs against them or getting justice.
No. This is about power and money. Their collective pasts just give them a reason to justify it all. The people they hurt. The blood on their hands. None of that matters to them.
“You really had me feeling just a twinge of sympathy for you.” I bark a laugh and let out a long, languid sigh. “Jesus. You are all pieces of shit.”
“Watch your tone, young lady,” Remus growls. “Show some respect.”
Another laugh. “For you?” I scoff and shake my head.
“You know, the funny thing about history is it always forgets to mention the catalyst behind each takeover. Each decision. The one who whispers in the ear of the monarchy. The snake in the tree tempting Eve. Anne Boleyn. Cleopatra. Helen of Troy. Jezebel. The list goes on and on.”
I turn to Sheila. “So which one are you?” My gaze shifts to Marianne. “If you believe for one second that she did any of this for you—then you are a fool. Sheila doesn’t care about you. She is using you as a tool to do her bidding.”
Sheila remains calm in her seat. The Botox is really doing something for her.
Marianne is redder than a ripe tomato. Her grip on the fork in her hand is tight.
Enough that I can see her knuckles whiten as her anger takes over.
I have a feeling I am confirming something she has already been struggling with.
She doesn’t like my confirmation.
“Maybe now’s a good time to teach that lesson, Kellan.” Sheila’s eyes turn to the man beside me.
Kellan’s lips turn up in a feral smile.
“I couldn’t agree more.”