by L. A. Fiore
“You hired someone to kill me?”
My father was on his feet. “You did what?”
Shaken but still on her mission, she actually had the nerve to laugh. “I should have hired your lover. He wouldn’t have fucked up.” She strolled to the door on unsteady legs. “I’m staying at the Inn since my home was taken from me. I’ll wait there for your call. Five million dollars and I’m out of your life....” She looked back at us and smirked, “Until I run out of money.”
We’d never be free of her. I thought of the life Brochan had lived, all the ugly, all the pain, but he didn’t have to live in the ugly anymore. He had nothing but beauty awaiting him. I loved him so much that I was ready to sacrifice my own happy ending so that he would have his, with our son. I understood now the beast he spoke of, the savage part of man that stripped all of it away—right and wrong, black and white—who fed on only vengeance and a twisted kind of justice. I followed her and reached for the gun Brochan insisted I carry. A calm settled over me as my own inner beast woke.
“Mother.”
She turned. Understanding came a second too late. I pulled the trigger. Her body jerked back before landing in a heap, blood coming from the single wound in the center of her forehead. Bile rushed up my throat, the hand holding the gun shook. Brochan grabbed the gun, but I just stared at her lifeless body as my own convulsed. Brochan held my hair as I twisted away and hurled.
Even fearing the repercussions of what I had done, I didn’t have remorse for doing it. “I killed her,” I whispered.
Brochan’s big body trembled. “I would have handled it.”
“We need to clean this up,” Fenella and Finnegan were already on the move.
“We’ve got to get rid of the body,” Fergus said.
“You’ve got to have someone?” My father demanded of Brochan.
“We have to call the cops,” I insisted.
“No!” Brochan roared.
I touched his cheek, love for him pushing out everything else. “I don’t want to start our lives together by covering this up, having Norah hanging over us even in death, pulling our family into it. I know you can make it all disappear, but it won’t disappear for me. I did it. I’m not sorry I did it, but I have to face the consequences.” And that broke me because we had come so close, but my mother had the last laugh. With one shot, the foundation we had been building on crumbled.
I waited in the library. Now that the adrenaline had faded, I was terrified. I didn’t want to go to jail but I couldn’t find it in me to be sorry I killed her. Better me than Brochan. I touched my belly, tears welled at the idea of losing time with them while I did twenty-five to life for murder. My only solace was Brochan would have our baby to love. He wouldn’t be alone. He wouldn’t be in the dark anymore. The first visitor arrived mere minutes after the shooting, but soon most of the town was in our great hall. There was a heaviness in the air, Norah’s body was right there for all to see. I didn’t understand why they were here until the police arrived.
I hadn’t yet met the local police; it was so surreal I almost felt like laughing. I had never even gotten a speeding ticket and now my first time breaking the law, I commit murder.
He was older, in his sixties. He took in Norah before he moved into the hall. “All right tell me what happened here?”
Brochan stepped forward, “I shot her.”
“No!”
I jumped to my feet but before I could say anything more Fergus shouted, “It was me, Seamus, I killed her.”
I looked back at Fergus then Blair called, “No, I shot her.”
Bridget was eating a grilled cheese, but declared with a full mouth, “I killed her.”
“No it was me,” Molly exclaimed.
Mrs. Wilson was sitting on the sofa. She looked terrified to be in the werewolf’s lair, but her voice was very clear when she said, “It was me. I killed her.”
Seamus stopped writing and looked around. “Did anyone else kill her?”
My father stepped forward, so did Fenella and Finnegan. I couldn’t believe what everyone was doing. I had always wanted a place to belong, but I never imagined this. It felt so incredibly good, bittersweet because I finally found it and now I was going to lose it.
I inhaled then confessed, “I killed her.”
“Yeah. And I bet Santa Claus took a shot too,” Seamus muttered.
“No, it really was me.”
“What was she doing here?” he asked.
“She was pissed Brianna left her estate to Lizzie,” Fergus said.
“Yeah, I heard her say she was going to get what was hers, one way or the other,” A woman I had never met chimed in.
“You remember poor Heather. Norah was the last person to see her. Suspicious how that poor darling died and how fast Norah left town,” Mrs. Wilson said. “Bad egg that one.”
It went on for an hour. Seamus threw up his hands and walked over to Brochan and me. “Let’s talk.”
We moved to the library. He stepped in, looked around before leveling sharp eyes on us.
“I don’t know what happened here, but here’s what I do know. Norah Calhoun was on my list for Heather Craig’s death. I was never able to prove it even though I know she was responsible. Brianna Calhoun was a sweetheart and from all that I’ve heard, you are the spitting image of her.” His eyes moved to Brochan. “I didn’t believe Fenella when she came to me. I didn’t believe your father could do the things they claimed. I was wrong and I’ve had to live every day since with the knowledge that I did nothing.” He offered his hand. “I’m sorry.”
Brochan took it.
Seamus touched his hat. “It’s a clear case of self defense as far as I’m concerned. We’ll get the body out of here as soon as possible.”
I swayed not believing what I was hearing; Brochan dragged me against him and held me close.
Seamus started from the library but stopped and looked back, his eyes moving to my belly before settling on Brochan. “I’m guessing you’re pursuing another line of work.”
He knew too?
“Aye.”
“See that you do.” Then he walked out.
Hours later, the police had left, the coroner had taken Norah’s body and Fergus and the rest of the town had gone home. The house was asleep, but I couldn’t sleep. Standing in our room, I looked outside unable to believe what had happened. I’d watched all of it like I was standing outside of myself. I had killed her. I was supposed to feel some measure of remorse for that, but I didn’t. How the town had rallied. I still didn’t quite believe it. How Seamus had given me a free pass I believed even less.
Brochan came up behind me, his arms going around my stomach. “Are you okay?”
I turned into him. “I’m still having trouble believing it all happened, oddly not killing her. That felt real and right, but how the town stood up…for me. I don’t understand.”
He pressed a kiss on my neck. “Because they know what she was and what you are. It might feel wrong that you killed her, but right and wrong isn’t that simple and the town is smart enough to know it.”
I had thought similarly in the moment. Lucky for me they did too. They had given me my life, my happy ending. They may not have come through for Brochan as a child, but they had certainly come through for us. I changed the subject because it was going to take time for the events of the night to sink in and settle.
“Did you know the part she played with your father?”
His body responded first with how tense it grew. “No.”
“There is no excuse for what your father did to you, but I understand why he went mad. Already worried about Abigail’s pregnancy and then blackmailed on top of it, constantly reminded of his weakness.”
Brochan brushed his thumb over my lips.
“Maybe we should request leniency for Tomas. He was a pawn too.”
“You are a better person than me,” he whispered.
“That’s not true.”
He sounded a little incredulous when he offered,
“I wonder if Brianna knew of the connection between Norah and Finlay.”
“You think it’s possible?”
“I can’t imagine she would have kept quiet about it, so if she did it wouldn’t have been until later, maybe even when she attempted reconciliation, but it’s an unbelievable coincidence that our parents had a shared history. That woman really was a witch.”
“A good one.”
“Aye, a good one.”
I rested my head on his shoulder. “It could be something else all together.” I looked up at him. “Maybe it was fate.”
Those beautiful eyes warmed. “Fate…that I can believe.”
Cait and I were in the white room. She and Ethan’s wedding was in the morning. They had moved into the cottage, but Cait didn’t want Ethan to see her until the ceremony. It had been a month since the Norah incident and though I had called Cait at the time, being here must have brought it all back for her.
“I can’t believe that bitch. I can’t believe she had the nerve to come here and blackmail you.”
I still felt no remorse. I had made peace with it. She couldn’t hurt me or mine anymore. I had told Brochan once sometimes it really should be an eye for an eye. After Norah, I appreciated better the truth of those words.
Cait reached for my hand. “Are you okay?”
“I am. I killed someone. Sometimes it sneaks up on me, but after everything she did, I’d do it again. She would have never stopped.”
“I agree. That must have been hard for Brochan watching you...”
“He wasn’t marking his soul for her. She was my monster to defeat, but let’s not talk about her. Your big day is tomorrow. You seem very calm.”
“After the last two months and all the work involved in selling our place, moving...the wedding is the icing on the cake, especially since you took care of most of it.”
“Fenella did most of it. She had so much fun planning. Wait until you see the fairy tale wedding she’s created.” Brochan wasn’t thrilled with all the nonsense, as he called it, but he was being a good sport about it.
“It’s good practice for yours,” Cait said, brushing her finger over my ring.
I didn’t need the big wedding, didn’t even really want one. A minister in the library sounded perfect. I just wanted Brochan.
I glanced at the clock. It was past two. “We need to get some sleep. Morning will be here before you know it.” We climbed into bed and shut off the lights. We lay in silence for a few seconds before Cait whispered, “Thank you for my fairy tale wedding.”
“You’re the godmother to my son, seems fitting you should have a fairy tale wedding.”
I knew her head turned to me even in the dark. Her voice broke. “I’d be honored.”
“Brochan is asking Ethan to be the godfather.”
“Oh Lizzie. Now I’m crying.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
“You’re right. I’m not.”
Silence again before I said, “I’m so happy you walked into that diner.”
She reached for my hand. “Me too.”
Brianna’s barn was lit with lights. Large arrangements of flowers flanked the front where the minister stood. White chairs were arranged in rows and divided by the aisle that was adorned with a white silk runner. Cait looked stunning in her gown as she stood up front with Ethan speaking their vows. My eyes were on Brochan, dressed in his kilt, his were on me. The minister announced husband and wife and after their first kiss, they walked hand in hand down the aisle. We’d all be heading to Brochan’s for the reception. He pulled me up against his side and pressed a kiss on my temple before we followed the bride and groom down the aisle. Brianna had said there was magic here and all someone had to do was look to see it. I pressed closer to Brochan. He was my magic and I definitely saw him.
EPILOGUE
LIZZIE
The yard was teaming with people as the Highland games got started. I walked to the nursery to find Brochan standing over Brice’s crib. He was wrapping his son in the McIntyre plaid. He knew I was there when he said, “I had once thought I had brought about the extinction of my clan.” His eyes lifted to me. “Thanks to you, that isn’t true.”
He lifted his son, so tiny in his big hands. Brice looked liked his daddy, the same black hair and those beautiful pale blue eyes. I joined them. “I like seeing you wear my colors.”
He’d had a sash made for me out of the clan’s tartan. “I like wearing them.”
“Are you ready for this?” he asked. The Stewart clan was in the great hall. Brochan had the great idea of having the reunion during the Highland games. It took the pressure off conversation but still allowed for the dialog. Fenella had grown more and more quiet the closer the day came. I understand her nervousness. She and Finnegan had it in their power to bridge the distance between Brochan and the Stewarts, but they had opted to respect the wishes of their son. She was right, but I could understand her being hesitant coming face to face with the family who had been denied Abigail’s child.
“I am. Are you?”
“Yes. It is time to heal the wounds.”
We’d been doing a lot of that since Norah’s death. The town no longer treated Brochan like an outsider. He was still reserved and distant, that was his way, but like Cait’s wedding, he tolerated his peace being disturbed for me, for our son, for our growing family.
He reached for my hand, holding our son against his chest, and we headed downstairs. As soon as we hit the landing all heads turned to us. It was a sea of plaids. The sight was awesome. Fenella and Finnegan moved through the bodies to join us. The patriarch of the family and Brochan’s great uncle, Alastair Stewart, approached us. It wasn’t hard to pick him out because like Fergus, the man was huge. As he approached his focus was on Fenella and Finnegan.
I felt myself brace, I couldn’t image what Fenella was feeling. He then wrapped her into a hug. “Thank you.” There were tears in the man’s eyes. He was clearly not comfortable with showing affection because he awkwardly stepped back then offered his hand to Finnegan.
“Thank you for stepping in, for giving Abigail’s child a family, a home.”
It was like the whole room took a collective sigh. Alastair turned to Brochan. “’Tis so good to finally meet you.” His green eyes turned to me. “And you.” They settled on our son. “And who is the wee lad?”
“Brice Stewart McIntyre.”
Alastair’s head jerked up to Brochan, his eyes wet. “A strong name. May I have the pleasure of introducing you to the family?” Alastair asked.
Brochan replied with a soft, “Aye.”
After the introductions, some went off to join the games and others gathered to get caught up on what they’d missed since they’d last seen each other. Brochan and I were with Alastair. He had been sharing about the Stewart estate, a trip I definitely wanted to make. The conversation turned when he grew thoughtful before saying, “Abigail chose Finlay. We tried to talk her out of it, but she loved him.”
That was news. “Why did you try to talk her out of it?” I asked.
“He loved her, at least he believed he did, but it was too much, too consuming.”
I had thought that once myself, obsession not love.
“When we learned she died, we reached out to Finlay. We tried to bridge the distance, tried to be part of your life. He wouldn’t hear of it. At the time we thought he was bitter and angry that only after her death did we try for a reconciliation.”
He didn’t want to let go of Brochan because he needed an outlet for his madness. I took Brochan’s hand; he linked our fingers.
“I’m sorry, son. I wish we had done right by you.”
“That’s in the past. I think it’s time we think about the now.”
“I agree. Thank you for this, for bringing us all together.”
“I think my mother would have wanted it.”
“Aye, she would have.”
“Come.” Brochan handed me Brice before Be
thany Stewart, the oldest living member of the Stewart clan and Abigail’s great grandmother, took his hand.
She led him to the sofa where someone handed her a photo album. Her delicate old hand lifted the heavy leather cover. I stood where I was, holding our son and watched; my heart so full it should have burst from my chest.
“This is Abigail. She loved pistachio ice cream. She would have eaten it for every meal. She liked the color blue.” She looked into his eyes. “Pale blue, just like your eyes. She never learned to ride a bike, but she sang like an angel.”
Brochan had given them the link to Abigail and for the rest of the afternoon they gave him his mother.
That night Fenella and I dropped onto the sofa. Finnegan fed the fire and Brochan got the whisky, and water for me since I was nursing. Fergus and my father were getting something to snack on. The house was filled with Stewarts, all of whom were sleeping.
“I’m exhausted, but what a good day,” Fenella said as she took her glass from Brochan.
“It was. All those stories and the pictures…we have more to add to our walls, Brochan,” I said.
He stood near the fire, swirling the whisky in his glass. He was lost in thought and after everything he had learned today, I wasn’t surprised. “Aye.” He took a sip of his drink then added, “She liked pistachio ice cream.” His pale eyes turned on me. “So do I.”
My heart swelled.
Fenella reached for one of the books Bethany had brought. I moved closer as we paged through it. “All the history.”
Fergus and my father entered, carrying a tray of shortbread. “Good choice,” I offered.
Fenella froze at my side; her hand even shook a little. I glanced over and her face was pale. “Fenella, what’s wrong?”
“I think I’m more tired than I realize.”
“Why?”
“Because that looks…no it couldn’t be.”
“What?” I asked.
Her wide eyes of wonder lifted to me. “That looks an awful lot like Brianna.”
I glanced down at the very old photograph. “That’s not possible.”