by Henry, Jane
Her tight, virgin cunt still tight around my cock, I kiss her in thanksgiving. I make a vow to never forget this, how she trusted me, how she granted me this gift.
My heart is in you.
I’m not a sentimental bloke, but I suppose Caitlin brings it out in me.
She’s nearly asleep, still joined together, and I don’t wish to hurt her anymore. I brush damp tendrils of hair from her forehead and kiss her gently.
“Let’s get you ready for bed,” I tell her. But before I take myself out, before I move away, she’s wrapping her arms around my neck and squeezing.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you? For what, lass?”
“For taking your time and making it memorable. Though I don’t have much experience with these things, I suspect that isn’t always the case.”
Not always the case indeed. My first time was in the back of this very building, with a girl whose name I don’t even remember.
“You deserve nothing less, lass,” I say simply, and I mean it.
I gently draw myself out, noting there’s little blood from her first time. Good. I don’t want to frighten her, though I have to admit she’s handled everything so far with such bravery. We clean up, dress, and both fall into bed exhausted after all that’s happened. Before I sleep, I send a text to Malachy, with strict orders to have no one wake us in the morning. He’ll see to it I’m obeyed.
I roll her over beside me, her thick, fragrant hair enveloping my senses. “You’re like a black-haired version of Rapunzel,” I say with a smile, my eyes too heavy to keep open.
“And you’re the prince come to rescue me?”
Hardly. I chuckle just the same. “Naturally.”
“The lighthouse would’ve been—” she yawns widely— “a suitable tower.” She sighs, tucking her body closer to mine. “I’m glad you rescued me.”
Our breath becomes slower, her body melded to mine, and I wrap my arms around her. I haven’t held a woman like this ever, but Christ if I can tear myself away. She’s permeating every inch of me, and I’m loathe to be separated. Somehow, miraculously, the horrors we’ve endured tonight fade into distant memory, as I fade off to sleep.
I wake the next day more rested than I remember being in a great long while, and she’s already awake beside me. Her hair’s wrapped all up in the sheets and my arms, and we silently laugh as we disentangle ourselves.
“Maybe I should get a haircut,” she mutters.
“Don’t you dare do such a thing.”
She raises her brows. “Oh? Is that an order?”
“You cut this gorgeous hair of yours, and I’ll take you straight across my knee.” The way she laughs, she thinks I’m joking.
“Well, then. I’ll have to remember that.”
“And I’ll have to show you the fun we can have with that hair.”
She flushes a pretty shade of pink. I love when I can make her do that.
But duty calls. I get out of bed and tuck the blanket back around her. Answer my texts and phone calls, issue orders for us to ensure the safety of the women at St. Albert’s when we return home, and answer my mother’s questions about the wedding.
I take Caitlin’s hand and lead her to the shower. She doesn’t ask questions, while I mull over what we do next. We get ready for the day and dress, and I’m eager to get back home.
“Keenan?” she asks, drawing a hairbrush through her thick hair.
“Mm?”
“Will you let me come back here sometime? I like the women here. And the boys.”
“Yes,” I tell her. “But likely not for a while. I’m confident after last night we won’t see any more attacks, but I don’t want to test that theory. And we’ve much to do to prepare for the wedding.”
She nods, turning away from me as she places the brush back in her bag. “Thank you,” she says. “I suppose there’s no rush.”
I smile. “No.”
“One more question, please.”
I nod, fastening the buckle of my belt.
“Do you think you got me pregnant last night?”
It’s not what I expected her to ask. I discarded the notion of protection, for she was a virgin and to be my wife. We welcome children quickly within Clan unions, to solidify our bond and The Clan itself.
“Don’t know,” I tell her, wanting to kick myself. “I should’ve discussed it with you ahead of time.”
“Discussed what?”
“Birth control. Babies. Pregnancy.”
“I’m assuming the Clan Chief is expected to procreate,” she says meditatively, and I can’t help but laugh out loud.
“What did I say?” she asks, smiling along with me.
“Procreate,” I repeat. “Yes, lass, prepare to procreate as often as humanly possible.” I take a step toward her, cup the back of her head, and draw her fiercely to me for a kiss. “And you did say you wanted loads of babies.”
“Well. Maybe not today,” she says, and I laugh out loud again.
“Fortunately, that’s not the way it usually works.”
My phone rings, and I’ve exhausted my luxury of silencing it, so I take the call. We make arrangements, head down to get some breakfast. It isn’t lost on me how tightly she hugs Caira. I’ll have to be sure that she does indeed get a chance to visit her again.
I beckon Lachlan to me. I need a final word before I leave. He looks tired, but a little older this morning, as if the events of the evening before matured him a little. I suppose they did.
“You were brave last night, son,” I tell him. “I’m proud of you.”
His chest expands, and he lifts his head up high. “Thank you, sir. I’m honored you had me.”
I nod. “I was a lad of your age when I began the initiation. I’ll be checking with Malachy to ensure you’ve kept yourself out of trouble. Do you understand me?”
He nods, slightly abashed. “Yes, sir. I will, sir.”
“Good. And before I leave, I’m giving instructions to Malachy that you’re to come to my wedding. It’s my wish that you join The Clan in witnessing our vows. Aye?”
His eyes widen as large as saucers. “Yessir,” he breathes. “Thank you, sir.”
“Go on, now. Back to your breakfast and studies. Remember my instructions to you. Brave men keep their tempers in check. You’ve done it before, and you shall again.”
“Yes, sir.”
Caitlin squeezes my hand when I dismiss him. “You’re like a mentor to him. Like an older brother.”
I shrug. “It’s how we do things with The Clan. We’d be weakened without the strength of the brotherhood.”
“Yes,” she says. “I can see that. I’m very eager to have your brothers witness our vows.”
I kiss the top of her hand as Cormac comes to our table.
“Where’s Nolan?” I ask, looking around the room.
He doesn’t meet my eyes and mutters when he responds. “He’s… a bit under the weather.”
“How so?” I snap. I’ll have the boy’s head. Fucking Nolan.
“Hit the pubs last night after you left, and he—”
“Fucking hell,” I mutter. “That’s it. I’ve had it.” I’ve contained my anger too long, withheld repercussions longer than I should have. If he were anyone else, he’d have suffered my wrath long before now. I point a finger at Cormac. “You tell him if he isn’t present at the meeting at home this afternoon, I will personally hunt him down and kick his arse from here to the armory. Understood?”
Cormac nods. He knows I mean it, and hell, I do.
“Aye, Keenan. Take it easy on him, though, he—”
“No.” I say angrily. “Relay the message.”
There will be no more “taking it easy” on him.
Cormac nods and leaves. Nolan and I will have words before the day’s out. Caitlin watches in silence.
“He drinks pretty hard, doesn’t he?”
“Too hard. Irish men can drink any others under the table, but he takes it to another level altogethe
r.”
“He could hurt himself.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I mutter. “Happy to do the job myself.” Though I’m angry, I’m concerned above all. This has gone on long enough. No more.
Soon, we’re heading back home.
I don’t waste any time when we return. I call a meeting of The Clan and bring Caitlin with me. It’s time that we told my men what we’re planning. My father and mother are on board, but I want everyone to know.
“Keenan,” my mother greets us just as we enter the meeting. Her eyes are bright, and she looks as excited as a schoolgirl. I kiss her cheek. She kisses me back, then holds my arm to get my attention.
“Yes?”
“I can begin the preparations, then?”
“Please do,” I tell her. “We’ve no time to waste.” Though the Martin men last night did not return home—and they never will—one of them recognized her. It’s only a matter of time that Martin finds out who I’ve got here, and the sooner I stake my claim the better.
“Oh, I’m so pleased,” my mother says, stifling a little squeal. She lets me go, reaches for Caitlin, and gives her a fierce embrace. “You’re to be my daughter, sweet Cait.” She kisses first one cheek, then the next, and the two chat excitedly for a brief moment before I pull her away.
“We’ve got to discuss this with the others,” I tell her. “But please, expedite as much as you can, and spare no expense. Notify Father, and be sure we’re ready within two days’ time, aye?”
“Aye,” she agrees, and with another squeal, she leaves.
“She’s so happy.” Caitlin looks at me with wide, curious eyes. “Does she… is it possible… does she really care so much about me?”
“Dear girl,” I tell her, amusement laden in my tone. “Do you have any idea how much they love you?”
“Love me?” she says. “How? They hardly know me.”
But they will. And simple, innocent women like her don’t change their colors. She’s already won the hearts of those she touches. She’ll make an excellent woman of The Clan.
I shake my head and usher her into the room. “Just trust me, lass. They’ll love you more deeply as they get to know you, but you’ve planted the seeds of devotion already.”
She doesn’t believe me, but perhaps someday she will.
I’m not prepared for her gasp when we enter the room, and how she draws closer to me, burying her head on my arm.
“Keenan,” she whispers. “My God, there are so many. I had no idea.”
I forget she isn’t used to crowds of people like this. I hold her hand, but I won’t coddle her. “Be brave, Caitlin,” I tell her. “Face them. They are to be your people, too.”
She closes her eyes briefly, before opening them, inhaling, and facing my men. I try to see what she sees, a sea of large, muscled, men of The Clan, their bodies marked with the ink of our people, symbolic Celtic knots and rings that identify us as men of the McCarthy line. They watch her with curiosity and respect.
“Hello,” she finally says, her cheeks flushing as if she wonders if she spoke the right words.
A loud welcome greets her, and she falters a little. “Oh, my.”
“Sit, lass.” I point to a chair beside me.
I face my men and tell them everything. How we found her. What we found. How she’s related to the Martins, and why it’s essential we wed.
“Was she indeed responsible for spying?” Boner asks. He wants it clarified before all. I look to Caitlin before I answer, conscious of the fact that I haven’t exonerated her.
I clear my throat. “No. We know it wasn’t her, but the man who called himself her father. Jack Anderson.”
Caitlin pales but doesn’t speak. I watch her lips thin in a line that spells trouble.
I tell them of the wedding, where and when it will be, and after we’ve set up surveillance and everything we need, I dismiss them. She sits, her hands in her lap, and doesn’t look at me.
“Come, Caitlin,” I order, but she doesn’t move.
“Caitlin,” I warn, not liking that I have to tell her a second time. “You did well, lass. Now come.”
Still, she doesn’t move.
I step toward her and take her hand, giving her a sharp tug. “You know better than that, lass. When I give you an instruction, you—”
“You didn’t tell me.”
Gone is my quiet lass, her eyes alight with fire. She’s waited until I dismissed my men to have words, and I give her that much credit. But she’s furious with me. Her little hands are clenched in fists, and faint splotches of pink paint her cheeks.
She glares at me. “You’ve never told me I’m not your prisoner. You told me I had no choice but to marry you.”
“Watch that smart mouth,” I snap. “I’ll not tolerate a wife who raises her voice to me. You know what I expect, Caitlin, and I won’t warn you again.”
But I don’t think she’s heard a word I’ve said. “All this time,” she says, wagging her finger at me. “When did you know I wasn’t a spy? I was there when you found out who my father was. I knew that much. But you haven’t told me. How long have you known, Keenan? Hmm?”
“’Tis of no consequence,” I say, shaking my head at her. “I kept you here for your own good, and I—”
“For my own good!” She throws my words back at me.
“That’s twice now you’ve interrupted me. Do not interrupt me again.” The girl’s going the right way for a good spanking. “Even if you have a point, even if you’ve a right to be upset, you may not interrupt me or speak rudely.”
I can tell she’s warring within herself, her eyes still dancing with fury, when she gets to her feet and tries to stomp off. I reach for her arm to stop her. I won’t allow this. We’ll talk this through, but when I take hold of her arm, she spins around, rears back, and slaps me across the cheek.
“Don’t. Touch. Me.”
Oh, hell no. As she spins to turn around to get away from me, I reach for her again, this time to take hold of her arm and yank her to me. She squeals and fights me, but I’ll have none of it. In one swift motion, I swing her up and over my shoulder, and when she kicks her feet in protest and pounds my back, I lace my arms around her scissoring legs and smack my palm against her arse. Hard.
“Let me go!” she fumes. “Let me go!”
I’ll let her go, after I’ve taken the fight right out of her with a sound spanking. I don’t bother taking her out of the room, but hook a chair with my foot, drag it over, and sit heavily. She squeals when she’s sprawled over my knee, fighting as hard as she can, but I won’t allow it. The girl’s got a good, hard spanking coming whether I have to hold her down every step of the way or not.
And fight me she does. She’s smacking at my legs, clearly overpowered but not willing to give in. I hold her in an iron-like grip, one arm anchored around her upper body, while with my other hand, I lift her skirts and yank down her knickers.
“Don’t you ever raise a hand to me.” I slam my palm on her arse, and the breath whooshes straight out of her. She gasps for breath, squealing and howling like I’ve just branded her. “You will not storm away from me. You will not defy me.” I spank her thoroughly, slamming my palm down again and again, when I feel a sharp pain in my leg.
The lass bit me. With a growl, I tip her up just long enough to unclasp my belt. I don’t let her get away, holding her with one hand while I yank my belt from the loops with my other. I form a loop, hold her down, and whip her with the folded leather. It has the desired effect. Within three sound smacks of my belt, she screams in protest.
“Okay, okay!” she says, and I can tell by the sound of her voice she’s crying. “Let me go, you beast!”
But I’m not done. I won’t let her go until I’ve administered a proper belting she’ll feel well into tomorrow. She’ll learn her place and calling me a beast certainly isn’t helping her arse. Still, she’s a little one, and I have to exercise caution, so I keep my head about me while I punish her. I could easily
hurt her, and I don’t wish to do that. I wish to punish her, and there’s a difference.
I wait between strokes of my belt, letting my words sink in. “I’ll not have a wife that talks back to me. I’ll have obedience from you.” I pause, before I lift my belt again. “I’ll listen to you. I’ll admit when I’m wrong. Any good leader learns meekness and patience, and I won’t fail you in that. But it’s too dangerous for you to defy me, young lady. You’re safer under my protection, and the sooner you learn that the better.”
I spank her until she finally slumps over my lap, swiping at her eyes and sniffling, and her voice has softened. “I’m sorry.”
I drop my belt and lift her into my arms, cradling her. Though a part of me loves administering pain, and a part of me longs to wield my power, I have to admit I dislike proper punishment.
“So you want a meek wife, then, do you?” she asks, and I don’t miss the note of petulance in her voice. She’s feeling sorry for herself. I need to make this right again. Now that I’ve disciplined, it’s time to bring her back, to be sure her heart is in the right place. To be sure she isn’t walled up against me.
I take her chin between my fingers and lift her eyes to mine, but she looks away, her eyes shining with unshed tears. I won’t lie, it tears my heart in two. I don’t like seeing my brave, sweet lass crying. I pull her chin to bring her eyes back to mine.
“Caitlin,” I say, trying to gentle my voice but failing. Her name is harsh on my lips, and she flinches. I’ll need practice learning to deal with the likes of her. I draw in a deep breath, then let it out again. I try once more. “Caitlin, look at me.”
She finally does, and the betrayal in her eyes slays me. “You could have told me,” she whispers. “I’ve given you so much…” her voice cracks. “So much. The least you could give me is truth.”
Christ, but she’s right. She’s fucking right. I wrap my fingers around the back of her neck and knead the tension away, dropping my forehead to hers.
“You’re right, sweetheart. And for that, I’m sorry.”