by Henry, Jane
“After I shower, you’re to shower as well. I have an errand to run, and I don’t want to leave you alone today.”
I nod, but don’t respond. He showers quickly, and a few moments later, returns to the room. “Off with you, now.”
I do what he says, but it takes me a minute to figure out the elaborate shower in here. It’s nothing at all like the one at home. I finally push a lever, and steaming hot water fills the tub. I gasp in surprise, stumble forward, and bash my head against the tile.
I’m such a klutz. I’m rubbing my head when I hear him behind me.
“You alright?” he asks. I nod, closing my eyes. I swallow hard so I don’t cry.
“Konked yer head, then?” he says. Sometimes his accent thickens. I’m not sure why, but it does now.
I nod. Leaning down, he rubs his thumb over my sore forehead and gently kisses the tender spot. Before I can recover, he stands and reaches for the shower, framing my body in front of his as he instructs me. “Like this, lass.” He turns the lever, and steaming hot liquid fills the shower.
“Be quick, now,” he says.
He leaves the room. My heart smacks against my rib cage, my pulse racing at having been so near to him, so close. I shiver. He seems stoic and detached, save for the few moments he’s lost absolute control.
And a little part of me… the cheeky little part, he’s called it… wants to see him lose some of that control. I wonder if I can affect him. So instead of dressing back in my pajamas, I leave the bathroom just in my towel.
I walk in the room nervously, not sure how he’ll react, but look away as if looking for clothing. He turns to see me walk in.
“Christ,” he mutters. “Jesus Christ.”
I lower my eyes, not sure what I’m supposed to do now. This is about as brave as I get.
“Come here,” he whispers, his voice choked and rugged. “Now.”
I walk to him tentatively, though I’m eager to see what he’ll do to me. There’s a tenderness hidden deep within his stern exterior I want to unearth.
When I reach him, he touches the edge of my towel and tugs. I don’t stop it as the damp fabric falls to the floor, and I stand in front of him naked. I’m shaking, unsure of what to expect, unsure what he’ll do.
And I don’t care.
I want him to touch me again.
I spent my life hidden behind the walls of what could’ve been a prison. I never saw the loveliness of the garden or bright sunshine. I never spoke with another person or walked the cobbled streets of our village. And I most certainly have never, ever been touched by a man.
I’ve experienced so little, I’m starving for human affection.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he grates against my ear, his lips grazing my lobe and sending a delicious shiver down my spine. “Gorgeous.”
I swallow hard. “It pleases me that I please you.”
“Caitlin,” he groans. “You shouldn’t have said that.”
“Said what?” I ask. “I only speak the truth.”
“God, woman, don’t I know it?” he whispers. When he pulls me to him, I feel his hardness between us, and I take an involuntary step back.
“Don’t be frightened, lass,” he whispers. “I’ll not hurt you.”
“That’s a lie,” I whisper back. “You’re so capable of hurting me it frightens me.”
“Does it?” he asks, and there’s something like hunger in his eyes. The warm vibration of his voice tickles my ears, his whiskers grazing my skin. “A little fear can heighten an experience, though, as can a little pain.”
My heart hammers, as he runs his hand up and down my back. How can a chaste touch like this ignite me? How does the threat of fear make me eager to hear more?
Weaving his fingers through my soaked hair, he massages my scalp. My head falls back and I sigh, it feels that good. “More,” I whisper. “Mmm, I like that.”
“Say please,” he commands.
“Please, sir.”
“The two magic words,” he chuckles. “Not sure how much I could deny if those words are uttered in that pretty voice of yours.”
He continues to massage my scalp, his mouth hovering over mine. I lean toward him and he pulls back, one corner of his lips quirking up. He’s teasing me. He knows I want this, that I’m eager to feel what it’s like to be kissed. And yet… what will I do when he grants me that wish?
His lips brush against my cheekbone, then lower to my jawline. My head still pulled back by his firm grip in my hair, he kisses everywhere but my lips. Both sides of my jaw. My nose. Each eyelid, one by one, then back to my neck, until I’m dying to feel his lips on mine.
His mouth comes back to my ear. “Do you want me to kiss you, pretty girl?”
I nod.
“Then say those magic words.”
I’ve never touched liquor in my life, but I imagine this is what it feels like, as if I could float away, as if words escape me now and all I can do is feel.
“I… I…” I can’t remember.
He pinches my naked backside, and I squeal, coming up on my toes. But he was right. A little pain can heighten things. As heat rushes to where he pinched, my body heats in turn. I shiver deliciously when he rubs his rough palm over the place he hurt.
I have one moment of clarity, and breathe out in a rush of words, “Please, sir.”
“That’s it, pretty lass. Just like that.” He smells of woodsmoke and whiskey, so masculine my toes curl. Framing my face in his hands, he makes me feel as if nothing matters beyond this moment, this perfect moment in time before he kisses me. I close my eyes the second before his lips touch mine and sigh into him.
It’s a gentle kiss, chaste and sweet, yet I’m so eager to feel this, an electric vibe snakes through me. I want more. So much more.
But too soon, he pulls away, tugs my head toward him, and tucks me against his chest.
“We’ve an errand, lass,” he whispers. “There’s so much more I wish to do to you. But if I start now, there won’t be any turning back.”
I nod, dazzled and bewildered by the too-short kiss. My mouth is dry, but there’s a humming need he’s stirred deep in my belly.
“Caitlin,” he says, his voice choked, as if it pains him to say it. “Get dressed.”
He turns away as if to give me privacy, but perhaps he means to collect himself. I walk on trembling legs to the dresser and tug a drawer open. I take out the first pair of panties and bra I see, when he grates out in a hoarse whisper, “No knickers.”
I look at him curiously. “Say that again?”
“No. Knickers.”
I stare at him.
“If you cover that arse of yours with knickers, I’ll spank you before we go.”
I drop the silky pair back in the drawer and bite my lip.
“Good girl.”
I like how that makes me feel, all warm and soft and pleased.
He quickly tugs on clothes as I slide into another dress. “There’s only dresses in these drawers,” I say to him. “Am I to have no modern clothing like your mam?”
“Not on my watch,” he says. “I like you dressed like that.”
I smile. Well, then. That pleases me very much.
“May I ask what errand we’re to run?” I ask.
“You’ll see in a moment.”
The air is thick with something, though I don’t know how to describe it. I’m eager to come back here with him, though. Eager to be alone with him again. It’s safe to say I affect him, and Lord knows he affects me, too.
“We’ll get breakfast on the way back,” he says.
“I’m still your prisoner?”
He doesn’t reply at first, but after long minutes, he nods.
“You are.”
Why did he hesitate?
I suppose I have to wait until he finds me innocent, then.
“Where will we get breakfast?” I ask him. “And how does one even ‘get breakfast?’ What does that mean?”
“Jesus,” he mutters. “I
forget how innocent and inexperienced y’are. We’ll stop at the bakery, lass. I’ll order for you, and we’ll have a bite. It’s time we see, anyway,” he mutters, but he doesn’t explain what he means.
He takes my hand and tugs me along with him. “Now, no more questions.” But he doesn’t have to tell me twice. I have enough to think about, I’m mulling it in my mind already.
His warm, strong hand feels surprisingly reassuring in mine, and the tingle I felt through my body returns. Is this what romance feels like? I wouldn’t know. And why would I want anything romantic with a man like Keenan?
I’m lost in my thoughts while he leads me down the long hallway to the staircase. This place is so much larger than ours that it surprises me a little. How can people live in a place so vast?
“Don’t you… well do you ever have a hard time finding someone you’re looking for?” I ask him. “I mean, it’s practically an entire village right here in this house, and you—ohhh. Oh, Keenan.”
I pause, bringing my free hand to my mouth. At the very top of the stairs, I get a view for the very first time of the large, plate glass windows that line the entryway to the house. Their house—or mansion—is situated atop the cliffs that overlook the ocean. And from where I’m standing, I can see miles and miles of endless blue, white-caps, and waves.
He pauses with me, the two of us side by side looking out into the ocean.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he says softly. “One of my favorite views in all the world. And to answer your question, no. I don’t worry about finding anyone. When I want them, I snap my fingers and they come running or deal with the consequences.”
I frown and look at him sharply, when I see his eyes are twinkling.
“You’re teasing me, aren’t you?” I say. “You are!”
He doesn’t answer, but leads me down the large, carpeted stairway to where several men wait in the lobby.
I don’t like this, being thrust into situations with so many others. Last night at dinner, my only consolation was that Keenan’s mother was there, and I like her. I hated being near his father, and there were several others there as well. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see the jovial blond man in the group of severe-looking men below. But he doesn’t look so jovial right now. They look serious, and stern, like modern-day soldiers prepared to go to war.
“What’s the story, Keenan?” A tall guy with a shaved head asks, but his eyes are on me.
Keenan holds me closer.
“Off to the church,” he says. “Need answers. And after, I’m taking Cait to get a bite to eat.”
The men give him a curious look, but no one questions him.
Cait. It’s the first time anyone’s called me that. Why do I feel as if I’m not really his prisoner? Why do I feel I’m something… more?
The tall man’s eyes widen. “Are ya, then?”
“She’s never been,” Keenan says. “But I want her kept safe, so she stays with me.”
A big, burly man that looks quite a bit older than the rest guffaws. “As if she’s safe with you?”
“Shut it, Tully,” Keenan says severely. They’re… teasing him about me. I don’t really know why, or how that impacts things. I want to go back up to the room and hide away from all their prying eyes.
The burly, gruff man sobers. “Aye, boss.”
“Spoke with Bradley this morning,” Keenan says to a man with wire-rimmed glasses. “Clears the prints. But Finn has answers.”
Nolan, the blond younger brother, snorts. “Course he does. And hell yeah, let’s get some breakfast.”
“Watch, Boner. You’ve got the eye.” Keenan says to the man with the shaved head. “See if anyone notices when we come into the shop, yeah?”
I don’t know what they’re talking about, but the man he calls Boner nods his head. “Aye, boss.”
He opens the door and the men file out ahead of us, beside us, and behind us. I feel as if I’m walking into battle, these soldiers, whoever they are, are ready to protect and defend.
They tease each other and make crude jokes as we walk along the stone pathway away from the ocean and into the village.
“Keenan, you missed yer brother last night,” the burly man he called Tully says. “Right good thing Cormac took ‘em in hand, or we might’ve had to bail ‘em.”
“Oh go on with ya now,” Nolan says, and though he’s laughing, his gaze comes quickly to Keenan. “Shut it, Tully.”
“That right?” Keenan asks. I feel bad for the younger cheerful brother. Seems his older brother keeps a close eye on him. “Care to tell me what happened?”
We walk past a small patch of thorny bushes, and on instinct, he pulls me a little closer so they don’t catch in my skirt.
“Not really,” Nolan says, and the other men all laugh.
“Nolan,” Keenan warns.
“Nolan got free with the drink is all,” another says. I recognize him as the man that accompanied Keenan to the lighthouse.
“Got free with it?” Keenan asks.
“Y’all are a bunch of lazy louts,” Nolan mutters. “I’m a grown man now. Not holdin’ onto me mam’s apron strings anymore.”
“Grown man who’s got the weight of responsibility on him,” Keenan says.
Tully guffaws. “Nolan? Weight of responsibility? You mean the weight of a pretty lass straddling him, aye?”
The men laugh out loud, and my cheeks flush when I’m assaulted by a sudden vision of a naked woman atop Nolan. I look away.
But it made Keenan smile, anyway, and for the first time I notice he’s got a dimple in his left cheek. He gives my hand a little squeeze.
“Now, lads, we’re in the presence of a lady,” Keenan says. I pull a little closer to him. I’m a lady, then.
We turn the corner around the garden. Behind the house lies a church, its steeple reaching heavenward, surrounded by a quaint garden of tombstones. The church graveyard. I want to go there. I want to explore every inch of it. I feel as if I’ve stepped into one of my novels, back to a simpler time, when I look upon the church and graveyard. A fog hangs heavy and thick in the air, preventing me from seeing further.
“What’s past the church?” I ask Keenan.
“Cold Stone Castle and the Armory,” Keenan says. “But after we’ve visited the church, I’ll take you into town.”
He’s said as much, but it makes me nervous.
“Do we have to?”
“Yeah, we do,” he says, but he doesn’t tell me why.
Keenan and I lead the group of men to the steps that lead to a little house attached to the church.
“What’s this?” I ask him.
“Rectory,” he says, but that still doesn’t mean anything to me.
“Does someone live there?” I ask.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
I shrug. “Know what?”
“Who anyone else is,” he says. “At all.”
I swallow hard. “Guess not.”
I haven’t a clue what he’s talking about. Should I?
“So you’ve never seen Father Finn?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. As I’ve told you, the only person I’ve ever spoken to was my father.”
“Right,” he says, looking ahead, as if he doesn’t want to make eye contact with me.
My heart’s still hammering in my chest when we reach the doorway of the rectory, and Keenan knocks. After a moment, the door opens, and an older man with graying hair answers.
“Keenan,” he says. “How are you, son?”
“Doing well, Father. Need to ask you a few questions.”
The older man scowls at the small crowd of men. “You needed reinforcements to talk to your uncle, did you?”
But before Keenan responds, the man’s gaze swings to me, and he gives a little start. “My God,” he whispers, bringing his hand to his mouth.
“Dead ringer for her mother, is she, Father?” Keenan says.
My mother?
Chapter Eleven
&nbs
p; Keenan
I didn’t think we’d have to use our harsher methods on the Father. Though he’s many flaws, dishonesty isn’t one of them. I wanted to see what he’d do when he looked at Caitlin. If she’s the spitting image of her mother like mam says, he won’t be able to hide his shock.
“Come in, boys,” Finn says, opening the door wide. “Dorothy’s just pulled out some scones. Help yourself.”
The men pile into the door and assemble in the Father’s living room. They eat the scones on little glass plates, all on their best behavior. Father Finn looks older every time I see him, the worry lines around his brows deeper. He sighs, taking a seat beside me in a large, overstuffed chair.
“What do you need to know, Keenan?”
“Who her mother was,” I tell him. “And what her story was.”
Finn closes his eyes briefly, and in that moment, I see panic written in Caitlin’s features.
“Me?” she whispers. “Are you asking for me?”
I nod.
“Her mother was Caitlin Martin,” Father says. “I counseled her twenty-one years ago, when she came to me.”
“Because she was pregnant,” I say.
“Yes.”
“Who was the father?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve no idea, Keenan. She wouldn’t tell. She took it to the grave. But she told me, and I believed her, that if anyone heard of the babe’s existence, it would mean war between the Clans.”
“Jack Anderson was not her father, then,” I say. I know this, but I want his confirmation.
Father sighs. “Jack Anderson never even knew her mother. Her mother died in childbirth, and back then the child would’ve gone to an orphanage. I didn’t think her safe there.” His eyes swing to Caitlin’s, and he pats her hand gently, the worry lines around his eyes deepening.
Caitlin’s eyes go to me, and I watch as her gaze clouds. It’s the first she’s heard that the man who called himself her father wasn’t. Her eyes meet mine, and I give her hand a little squeeze. I hate that she has to find out this way, that the one truth in her life, her only constant, will be taken away from her like this.
“Why Anderson? Why’d you interfere?”
He looks back to me. “Because it wasn’t safe if anyone knew she was alive, Keenan. Think on this, son. And Anderson owed me a favor.”