by Henry, Jane
“Let me go,” I say, suddenly angry. “I don’t want to—” but he silences me when his mouth slams down on mine. It’s the first time he’s kissed me in days, and I’m instantly swooning. I hate that I am. I try to fight against it, to tell myself not to let him sway me, but when I feel the soft, insistent, brutal clash of his lips on mine, my body revolts against my mind and begins the slow surrender.
Tears of anger and hurt blur my vision. I try to push him away, try to resist the enigmatic pull of his body to mine, but it’s impossible. He’s got an impenetrable grip on me I can’t break, and no matter how hard I push against him, it’s no use.
“Mmmph,” I say, trying to pull away, but he only holds me tighter and backpedals until my legs hit the bed and we fall in a heap. Holding himself on one arm, he braces himself above me with the other, effectively caging me in. He pulls his mouth off mine long enough to glare at me, his face all lines and angles, the brutally, savagely beautiful face of a fallen angel.
I know he could rape me. He could force himself on me or break my bones with one casual swipe of his massive hand. It’d be laughably easy for him to overpower me, with those muscles and strength and the biological advantage of being a man. But that doesn’t mean I have to cave to him, give into his every whim like I’m some spineless woman. I’ve submitted to him. I’ve trusted him. Against all logic and reason, I’ve even fallen for him. But marriage? He won’t get that so easily from me.
He holds my jaw in his huge hand, as if to keep my gaze from straying. Well, that’s simple enough. I close my eyes.
“Caitlin,” he warns. I turn my head to the side.
“Open those eyes and look at me, or I’ll take you straight across my knee.” He would, too, and I know it. I flush at the thought of being spanked in this room, likely overheard by any others nearby. With a reluctant sigh, I open my eyes, but I glare right back at him.
“Listen to me,” he says. “It isn’t just for fun or show. But we—”
A knock sounds at the door. “Always fucking interrupted.” He curses angrily, pushing himself off me but pointing a finger in my direction as if to remind me, we aren’t finished yet. I sit up with as much dignity as I can muster and try to smooth my skirt, when he opens the door.
“Malachy,” Keenan growls with a sigh.
A large, tall man with short, iron-gray hair and matching steely gray eyes enters the room. Unlike most of the men Keenan spends time with, this one’s clean shaven and a bit older. Keenan shows him respect like he does his dad, inclining his head to welcome him, though his jaw tightens. He sighs and gestures toward me. “Meet Caitlin.”
The man enters the room, his gray eyes twinkling, and bows his head toward me. His eyes quickly take in my tousled hair and rumpled dress, but he only says, “Pleased to meet you, Miss Caitlin.” I have the distinct impression this man’s not often gentle or quiet, and this is a stretch for him.
“Caitlin, meet Malachy,” Keenan says tightly. We were interrupted and he’s none too pleased about it.
“Was I interrupting something?” Malachy asks, and the amused twitch of his lips makes me think for a moment he either knows he did or wishes he had. He’s like an overgrown, stern leprechaun, full of mischief and mayhem.
“You did,” Keenan says, his gaze swinging back toward me. “But we’ll resume our discussion later.”
“Will we, then,” I say quietly, meeting his gaze with conviction. I’ve gone along with more than I should have, and this time, I’m not acquiescing as easily. I don’t know what I expected but being married to a man like him wasn’t it.
Malachy’s gaze swings from Keenan to me, then back again, and he gives a quick nod before turning back to Keenan. “We’ve cleared a meeting space in the main community room to bring you all up to date,” he says, and the jovial look he had in his eyes just moments ago vanishes. He looks suddenly older, when he brings his hand to his nose and pinches the bridge as if to ward off a headache.
“Aye,” Keenan says. He turns to me and crooks a finger, snapping out an order. “Caitlin, come here.”
I know I’m already pushing him with my reluctant obedience, that the promise of punishment hovers. I further know that disobeying him in front of Malachy would be a serious infraction. Still, I’m angry with him. So I push myself off the bed and stomp over to him, letting my steps slap on the hardwood floor. To my shock, he takes me by the arm, swings me out in front of him, and cracks his hand hard against my backside. My cheeks flame, and I gasp, turning away so I don’t have to look at the other man.
“Keenan,” I say in a mortified whisper.
“Drop the attitude, lass,” he says sternly. “I’ll have none of it. We’re to meet with my men, and after, the boys under my charge. You can check the surly attitude at the door and show obedience, if you know what’s good for you.”
“Is that a threat?” I ask, still angry with him.
Pulling close enough to gather my hair in his fist, he tugs my ear to his mouth, his voice low and seductive but laden with steel. “It’s an oath, sweet girl. A pledge. It would make my day to have an excuse to punish you in front of my brothers.”
I. Am. Mortified.
Malachy walks ahead of us to open the door, and my God, the corners of his mouth twitch, but he’s noted every detail, I’ve no doubt. I will never be able to look the man in the eye again. I open my mouth to speak, but my tongue is tied, and I don’t know what I would say anyway.
Keenan tugs. A reminder. A promise.
“Yes, sir,” I manage to whisper. The jerk.
At that, he softens, the tightness at his mouth slackens, and he kisses my temple. “Good girl,” he approves, and even though I’m angry, even though I’m embarrassed, even though I still want to smack his beautiful face, my chest warms with the praise.
This place is nothing like the opulent rooms at his home. Though impeccably clean and well built, it’s simpler. Instead of uniformed servants ready to do what he says, there are students mulling about, and women who look like they could be teachers or administrators talking to the students and giving instructions. I catch the eye of one, a younger woman with wide blue eyes and a freckled nose, glasses perched on the very end. She sees Keenan and grows still, her eyes growing as large as dinner plates as her eyes go from me to him.
“Mr. McCarthy,” she greets in a soft, high-pitched voice. “Welcome.”
Keenan looks surprised to see her there, as if he’s never noticed her before. “Thank you,” he says, but he doesn’t know her name. It’s funny what women notice. He has not a clue who she is, yet it’s clear to me she’s smitten with him. She clutches papers to her chest, watching him walk by, and something in her deflates when her eyes drop to his hand holding mine.
“Caira,” Malachy says. She looks flustered and blushes pink when Malachy greets her. “We’re having a meeting in the main hall, and I’ll speak to the staff this evening. Please send out an email to alert everyone, will you?”
“Certainly, sir.” Her eyes go once more to Keenan, who still looks oblivious that she’s watching him.
Do they all admire him, this powerful leader of The Clan? And somehow, watching the men and women and children who clearly revere him, I can’t help but look at him with new eyes. Tall and muscled, his dark brown hair cut short and swept to the side, those vivid eyes of his the only angelic part of him. He’s the epitome of power, handsome enough to be a prince from a far-off land. But if he’s earned the respect of others around him, there’s more than stunning good looks about him.
The teenaged boys that mull about know him, too. Several nod in greeting, and a few have the nerve to speak to him, the older ones. “Lachlan,” Keenan calls across the corridor, when the boy we saw on arrival walks by. “I want a word this evening. Seven o’clock.”
The boy maintains eye contact, an act of bravery, no doubt. “Yes, sir.”
I think of what Keenan asked me earlier.
Would I marry him if the safety of others and my own depended
on it?
Would that boy’s safety be at risk as well?
Maybe I shouldn’t be so stubborn. Maybe I should hear him out.
What choice do I have?
Chapter Seventeen
Keenan
I hate that so much is out of my control. I know I have to marry Caitlin, and I know I’m not giving her a choice, but damn if I don’t want the girl not to fight me so.
I’ve taken the lives of men who threatened to undermine The Clan without regret, without remorse even. Why does it seem so difficult to force the woman’s hand in marriage? I’m preoccupied when we go to our meeting, Caitlin’s hand in mine. I’m dimly aware of those hovering about us, noticing our presence. It’s not unusual for any of us to come here at the weekend, but it is for us to come in such large numbers.
I’m a million miles away, when I realize Malachy’s ushering us into the large meeting room. There’s an electric kettle and paper cups in one corner of the room, a small table set up with scones and biscuits, and folding chairs. Nolan and Boner were sent here before us, fulfilling the orders I gave last week. They sit beside each other, stonily angry. The assault came while they were here, and I’ve no doubt they feel the weight of that. Tully sits beside them.
Malachy stands before the group. All of us know him, as every one of us was trained by him. He greets everyone cordially. I pull out a chair for Caitlin and point for her to sit beside me. She’s the only woman present, and isn’t part of The Clan, but I won’t allow her to be anywhere but right here. Some of my men look at her curiously, but no one questions.
“Fill us in, brother,” I tell Malachy.
The room grows silent.
“Thursday evening, one of our teachers, Caira’s sister Monica, went out on what was supposed to be a date,” Malachy says. “At least that’s what Caira tells us now. She didn’t come home that night, and the next morning, Caira found her beaten and raped, and left by the entrance to the school.”
The men around me curse, and Cormac’s on his feet, pacing, his fists clenched. There’s nothing that brings out his most vicious side than a woman in distress.
I feel my body tighten with Caitlin’s as she sits up straighter, her eyes wide and scared.
“She can’t speak, can’t tell us what happened, but has managed to write a few things out. It seems she met a man at the pub last weekend who asked her out. No idea who he was or what his plan was, but that’s the story thus far.”
“Go on,” I tell him. “There’s more.”
He recounts half a dozen transgressions against the teachers on staff since then. Tires slashed. Another assault. Threats, and a theft. My men simmer with anger as the news is relayed. These women are our sisters, cousins, and friends.
“Cowards,” Cormac says, his dark eyes glowering. “Fucking cowards.”
“And why? Do we have any word about who or why?”
Malachy turns to me. “I’ve my suspicions, but we have no proof yet. Have you angered anyone?”
I look to Caitlin. Have the Martins already gotten word that she’s been taken by us? Has anyone seen her, and deciphered where she came from?
I shrug. “I anger lots of people, Malachy. You know this.”
He nods. “I do. But these acts aren’t accidental.”
“The information you found,” Caitlin says, her eyes on the room around her. Her clear, musical voice immediately captures everyone’s attention. “The details you thought I stole from you. Were they due to anyone? Do the men who were waiting on them know you’ve retained them?”
It’s unheard of for a woman to speak at a meeting, but she makes a fair point, so I allow it.
“They must,” Cormac says. “’Tis no secret we went to the lighthouse, and if anyone was waiting on the information, they were sorely disappointed.”
“Exactly,” Caitlin says. “Could it be they believe you stole something that belongs to them?”
“Likely,” I say. “And if they see you, their suspicions will be confirmed.”
It has to have been the Martins. Has to.
“So we set them up,” Nolan says. “Make it look like we’ve gone back. A few of us remain and wait to ambush. When they strike again, we attack. Interrogate. Get answers.”
“Has anyone questioned Monica about identities?” I ask Malachy.
“Aye. Naturally. But the name and details she gave us were shite. The man lied to her.”
Not a surprise.
I dislike sending my men home. There’s power in numbers. But Nolan has a fair point. If we’re to draw them out, we need to make them feel confident enough to do it.
I give out my orders, retaining Nolan, Cormac, and Tully on the premises, and Carson and the rest are instructed to keep me informed when they arrive back home. I give strict orders to Malachy that the staff is not to leave without a guard on them. We disperse, my men leaving, and Caitlin sits primly, waiting for me to finish. In silence, I take her hand and we go to the dining hall, where we eat our meal served by the staff on campus.
I signal for Lachlan to join us. I have to give the boy credit. He’s unabashed by being beckoned by me, and though there’s a faint flush to his cheeks, he comes bravely.
“Sit, lad,” I instruct. I have a chance to observe both Caitlin and Lachlan. I make a bold declaration. “Meet my betrothed.”
She doesn’t even flinch but stretches her hand out to him to shake it. “Pleased to meet you, Lachlan.”
“And you, miss,” he says, pulling out a chair and sitting down. He’s a large, strapping boy, orphaned at infancy but related to The Clan by blood, his father my cousin. He’s got a shock of brown hair and bright hazel eyes, a burly lad who’ll serve us well.
I ask him about his studies, and after he’s filled me in, I ask him some more pressing questions.
“You were written up many times for your temper early in the term, Lachlan,” I admonish. The boy appropriately hangs his head but nods. Caitlin watches both of us carefully. “A man does well to rein in his temper. I’ve heard you’ve improved, but not enough.”
“Aye, sir. I’m sorry, sir,” Lachlan says, his hands flat on his knees while he accepts his chastisement.
“Any man can rail in anger or fury,” I continue. “It takes a much stronger man to know how or when to act. Do you understand me?”
He looks up at me and nods. “Aye, sir.”
“Good,” I tell him. “You continue your studies and I want a full report at the end of the month on your studies and behavior. You have the strength of character and integrity to make a fine leader in our Clan. Understood?”
His eyes are bright with hope as he nods eagerly. “Aye. Yes, sir.”
My tone sharpens. “But if I don’t get a good report, if I hear of even one instance of you losing your temper again, you’ll answer directly to me.” He blanches, but to his credit swallows hard and doesn’t break eye contact. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Good lad,” I excuse him. “Go with your mates and remember, Lachlan. You are the only one who has the power to control yourself. That power is not in Malachy’s hands, nor mine, nor anyone else’s.”
I dismiss him, and don’t realize Caitlin’s listened to every word until she takes my hand in hers.
“You’ll make a good father someday, Keenan McCarthy.”
I look at her in astonishment, surprised at the warmth in her tone.
“Will I?” I can’t think of having children, not now. The sudden image of a babe in Caitlin’s arms, tucked to her breast and swaddled in blankets, takes me by surprise. “What makes you say such a thing?”
She shrugs. “Well, you can be stern and unyielding, but there’s benefit to that. Children need discipline and structure. But you have a gentle, nurturing side to you as well.”
I scoff. “Me? Nurturing? Bollox.”
“It’s true, Keenan,” she insists, her pretty eyes wide and earnest. “A good father both structures and nurtures, and I’ve seen you do both. With your men. With the boys here.
”
I smile at her.
“Do you want children, lass?”
Her pretty face illuminates with the radiance of her grin. “Of course,” she says. “Loads.”
I choke on the tea I’m sipping. “Loads?”
“Well,” she says, thoughtfully tapping her lip. “At least three or four.”
Three or four. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
“Well that ain’t loads,” I say, as if to justify it, and for some reason that tickles her. Her pretty, musical laugh rings out in the small room, capturing the attention of several of my men. My heart stirs, and I want to secret her away, just the two of us. I want to kiss her until her breast heaves with want, then make slow, heated, sweet love to her until she moans in pleasure. I want to put my babies inside her and raise them with her. I know now why arranged marriage and the like can work. Why the men of The Clan—my very own parents, even—have made it work, because I’m as confident in my ability to care for her as I am of anything.
I reach for her hand. “I want you alone tonight.”
“You’ve a job to do,” she reminds me quietly.
“Don’t I know it,” I say on a groan. “And do it I will, but when I return…”
She takes my larger hand in both of hers and squeezes, leaning closer to me. “I’ll be there.”
Does she think differently of what we’ve discussed, then? Does she realize that she has to marry me, that it’s the only way to hold the Martin clan at bay? The only way to solidify me as Clan Chief? No. Of course she doesn’t. It’s my job to explain to her.
My men leave, except for the few I’ve instructed to remain. Caitlin goes off with Caira to one of the classrooms but stays within ear shot. She’s never seen the inside of a classroom and is adorably fascinated by everything about the school. Caira is fascinated by her.
Caitlin is nothing like the women we typically wed, and at the same time she’s everything I need. Intelligent and brave, honest and loyal. I realize then, this isn’t just convenience, it isn’t just what The Clan needs.