CHAPTER NINE
LIZZIE
I was working on the painting, had moved into the solarium which had lots of great natural light and good ventilation.
“Miss Danton.”
The brush wasn’t near the canvas or there would have been a streak of purple across the image. “How does a man your size move so quietly?”
He approached, but his focus was on the painting. “You’ve captured more than the image. It pulses, like it’s a living breathing thing.”
“The castle kind of is. It’s stone, but all the stories it could tell. All the lives it touched. I believe some of that lingers, becomes part of it. Haunted houses, I think they’re haunted because there’s more darkness than light in their history.”
His eyes seemed to have gone flat, but then his focus shifted to me and I wondered if I had imagined those lifeless eyes. “Yesterday, the circle you asked about. It’s a healing circle. I thought you might like to see it in the daylight.”
So he did know what the circle was. Why share with me now, and not last night? Curious, but I didn’t ask. Instead, I teased him, “Inviting me to see the circle. Are you feeling okay? Maybe you shouldn’t take late night swims when it’s so cold.”
It was just a grin, a barely there one at that, and yet, like last night, the transformation in him almost had my jaw dropping.
“Shall we?”
“Yes.” I quickly rinsed off my brush and placed it on the palette. “A healing circle, do you know anything else about it?”
We headed out of the solarium as he explained, “The carvings on the pillars were for the Celtic goddesses, the hag in particular as she was a healer. It was believed if you were ill, spending the night in the circle would heal you.”
“Do you have any idea how long it’s been there?”
“The carvings are very worn. It’s possible the circle dates back to when the Ferguson clan owned the land back in the thirteenth century.”
“It’s one of the things I really love about Scotland, Europe in general…the history and continuity.”
“Not all history is good, some is better forgotten.”
I hadn’t imagined the harshness of his words. We stepped into the woods—the place was very different in the daylight—wildflowers, little streams ran here and there, the variety of trees, the shapes of their leaves and colors.
“It’s magical.”
“The woods?”
“At night it was a little scary, but seeing it during the day. It’s beautiful. I love that you didn’t tame the back of the castle. The contrast of the tended gardens and lawn against the wild woods…I kind of feel like Little Red Riding Hood.” I glanced over at him. “Fitting since I’m keeping company with the big bad wolf.”
He snarled, much like a wolf. “Fenella was right. There are a lot of superstitious nitwits in town.”
“Still makes you wonder how the rumor got started about you being a werewolf.”
It wasn’t anger, but more like weariness when he replied, “People fear what they don’t understand. A werewolf is a killer.”
His choice of words, did he know the other rumor about him? Was it possible there was some truth to it? I should be alarmed, even scared, but I wasn’t. In fact, I even felt the need to defend him.
“A werewolf is a man who shifts during the full moon. The instinct of the wolf is to kill, but there’s more to him than those basic instincts. One only needs to look to see.”
I’d have made a pact with the devil to know what he was thinking. We reached the circle and my feet just stopped. Chills danced down my arms. “It’s magnificent.”
Brochan stood near one of the pillars. I joined him, but my focus was on the carvings. He was right; it was hard to make out the images. I had to touch it. Something done centuries ago and it was still here, a link from the past to the present. Standing in that circle, I was overcome with emotion. I hadn’t realized tears were in my eyes until I heard Brochan ask, “Miss Danton?”
“All the people who came here, the ill and the family of the ill, looking for a miracle … clinging to hope. It’s heartbreaking because you know most probably didn’t make it.”
He studied me. I wiped at my eyes. “Sorry. I’m not usually a crier.”
“How do you do it?”
I met his gaze. “Do what?”
“Feel so much. Isn’t it exhausting?”
“Yes, but I’ll take that over not feeling at all.”
In the morning, I woke to the sound of bagpipes. I thought perhaps the pipes were like that haunted wail I’d heard the other day, just another ghost from the past, but the longer I lay there the more I realized there were indeed bagpipes outside. I jumped from bed and ran to the window. The lawn was filled with activity. There were obvious tourists walking around—cameras hanging from their necks, fanny packs around their waists and canteens in their hands. Stands had been set up, like at a fair, to sell food and souvenirs. A man dressed in a kilt stood off from the others, a lonely looking figure, shrouded in mist, or maybe the painter in me added the mist. His hauntingly beautiful song carried on the wind. How the hell had they set up so fast and why hadn’t anyone mentioned it to me? In studying the scene I realized there were quite a few men wearing kilts, women too. Glancing at the clock, it was only eight in the morning. What was going on? I quickly dressed and hurried downstairs. In the kitchen, Fenella and several others were whipping up biscuits, as cookies were called here, and cakes. Her smile greeted me, and she answered my question before I asked it. “Highland games.”
“What’s that?”
“A lot of fun. Go see.”
“Can I help in here?”
She waved me out of her kitchen. “Go on now.”
The day was bright and cool, the perfect day for outdoor festivities. Farther down the lawn, the games were being played. Men and women dressed in their family’s tartans were competing in wrestling, shot put, hammer tossing, relay races and more. It was the event at the far end that held my attention. Men were tossing logs, cabers, which looked to be over twenty feet long. They were tossing them. Holy shit.
“Are you thinking of trying that?”
I jumped at his voice, but surprise turned to pleasure that Brochan was teasing me. I didn’t hide the smile. “No, but it’s amazing. Have you ever done that?”
“When I was a lad.”
“How long is that caber?”
“Nineteen feet and six inches and weighs about a hundred and seventy-five pounds.”
“Damn.”
There was another game involving a pitchfork, a burlap bag filled with something that was being tossed with an overhead throw to fly over a horizontal bar. “What’s that?”
“Sheaf tossing.”
“I think I need to try my hand at something.”
He turned to me and though his expression gave nothing away, he was teasing me again. “The caber toss?”
“No, obviously, but there has to be something I can try.”
“There is,” he said cryptically. “Come with me.”
I felt giddy that he was offering to join me for at least part of the day. I didn’t understand the rumors about Brochan because I really enjoyed his company…probably more than I should.
I did the sheaf toss and shot put, I even tossed a caber. Sure, I was competing with kids and they kicked my ass, but it was so much fun. Caleb, a little boy of seven, had just whipped my ass at the caber toss. I walked over and shook his hand.
“Nice toss.”
He smiled. Too shy to answer but I just knew he’d be bragging to all his friends about his victory.
“Are you hungry?” Brochan asked when I joined him after my very sad performance on the caber field.
“Yes, getting my ass handed to me makes me hungry.”
We stopped at one of the stands. Brochan ordered a Cornish pasty and a bridie. As the woman fetched our food, I asked, “What’s a Cornish pasty and bridie?”
“They’re similar, both are seasoned beef wrapped in pastry. The Cornish pasty also has carrots and potatoes, the bridie is just beef and onions.”
“Sounds good.”
He ordered us each a pint of ale.
“Which do you want?” he asked.
“You decide.”
He handed me the Cornish pasty and after the first bite my eyes rolled into the back of my head. “This is amazing.”
“Try this.” He handed me the bridie.
“Do you want to try this?” I asked as I held out the pasty. I wanted him to say yes, the idea of eating from something his mouth was on. Please say yes.
He didn’t say yes, he just took the pasty, his eyes on me as he took a bite. Was he thinking the same thing? I couldn’t tear my gaze from his mouth then realized what I was doing and took a long drink of ale to cool down.
We strolled through the activity and I was feeling a little off because the punch of lust and attraction came out of nowhere. Maybe not out of nowhere, more likely creeping up on me slowly but surely.
“Are you going to try any of the events?” I asked.
“I hadn’t planned on it.”
“Why?”
“Part of the rules is wearing your tartan. I won’t wear my colors.”
Bitterness laced through his words. He lost his father, but it didn’t sound as if they had a good relationship. My heart went out to him because I understood. Looking at the people around us though, his tartan wasn’t just his father’s. There was a long line of McIntyres that had worn it before him.
“I get it. I think you know that, being familiar with Norah. I wouldn’t share a fucking tissue with that woman. But seeing all these people, the generations—babies to white-haired men and women—those plaids are bigger than any one person. Their tartan links all of them, every generation. I wouldn’t turn my back on that. I wouldn’t give anyone that kind of power over me.”
He was watching me when I glanced up at him. His silence was meaningful. We had reached the castle.
“Excuse me,” he said before disappearing inside.
I was disappointed he left because I had been enjoying his company, but I had been too familiar with my comments. I didn’t know the details of his relationship with his dad and I wouldn’t be thrilled with comments from the peanut gallery on my relationship with my mother.
Fenella stepped outside not long after Brochan left. “There you are, lass. I was just going to look for you. Are you having fun?”
“Yes, it’s wonderful. Brochan just left. He was showing me around.”
Her face lit up. “He was?”
“Yes. Does he host this every year?”
“Aye, for many years now. Finnegan and I took him to the games in Edinburgh when he was a wee lad. He loved it.”
They didn’t talk about his father and from the way she spoke I had the sense his father hadn’t been in the picture much. At least he had Fenella and Finnegan, and Brianna. There was no question they loved him; he’d had family and that made me smile.
Fenella’s gasp turned my head in the direction she was staring. Mine wasn’t a gasp, but a punch of lust that almost knocked me off my feet. Brochan stepped from his castle dressed like his ancestors. His stern face and cool blue eyes did nothing to deter people from staring. His kilt hung from his narrow hips. The white shirt and tailored jacket hugged the muscles of his chest and arms. His muscled legs ended in hose and those black shoes everyone was wearing. It was the single sexiest sight I’d ever seen. He moved in that controlled way he had, the practiced moves of a predator. His destination was me. Another emotion, stronger than lust, moved through me seeing him wearing his kilt. He had found something in my words to change his mind. I had a feeling he didn’t change his mind often.
He said nothing, just offered his arm. I fell a little bit in love with him in that moment.
“I like your ensemble,” I said shyly.
He didn’t acknowledge me, his focus was straight ahead, but I saw his lips twitch. How could people be so wrong about him?
We reached the caber field. He took off his jacket and handed it to me.
“What’s that called?” I asked of the pocket thing sitting over his kilt.
“The sporran.” He looked up and grinned. “Kilts don’t have pockets.”
My heart fluttered, but damn this man was dangerous.
For the next hour, I watched as he tossed a caber. Halfway through he took off his shirt. Watching as that powerful body moved, the muscles straining under his golden skin with his efforts. I wanted a canvas and paint. Holy hell I needed to paint him. I wanted him life size, just like that, on my wall. I wanted him, period. It was stupid to deny it.
He joined me, dripping with sweat despite the cool temperature. My mouth watered thinking about licking him dry, every inch.
“I need a shower.”
I almost offered to wash his back. I bit my tongue.
He took his shirt and jacket from me as we walked back to the castle. My tongue was tied. I couldn’t form a thought because I was battling the strongest case of attraction I’d ever felt. He headed for the door, but stopped. He said it so softly and that made the impact even stronger. “Thank you.”
He disappeared inside before I could say anything. I stood there, unable to move.
Fenella appeared. “You got him to wear his tartan. I can’t tell you how many times Finnegan and I have tried and failed. What did you say to him?”
“Only that his tartan is more than just his father and that I wouldn’t let anyone keep me from my family history.”
“He listened to you.” She turned to me. “I think because he knows you’re kindred spirits.”
An ache started in my chest. “He didn’t have a relationship with his dad, did he?”
“Ah, lass. It was more complicated than that.”
She touched the thin white scar under my eye. “How did you get that?”
“Nadine, my tormentor at boarding school. She was mean. Picked on kids younger than her. Always looking for a fight, but she never fought fair. The staff let her get away with it too. I never understood that. I got whacked with a ruler my first weeks there because I had reached for a second dessert, but she victimized kids and they turned a blind eye. She always had a posse with her, those who were spared her torment. Instead of steering clear or standing up, they egged her on. Even knowing it could have been them she beat on, they encouraged her and laughed while doing so. I got more than a few black eyes courtesy of Nadine.”
“I’m sorry to hear you had a difficult childhood too.”
“It’s why I started painting. I had to believe there was something beautiful in the world. I hadn’t seen it personally, but people wrote songs about it, books, and poems. Life for me had been one never-ending nightmare. Painting saved me.”
“That explains the darkness of your work.”
“I don’t see it so much as dark. I see it as finding beauty even in the ugly. It was what I did.”
“Let’s walk,” she suggested, but was already heading down the lawn. She had a faraway look, as if she had slipped back in time. “Brochan’s dear sweet mother died in childbirth. Finlay loved Abigail. She was his whole world. When she died, he was lost. I won’t make excuses for what he did. There aren’t any. He took that loss, that pain and put it on Brochan.”
Horror twisted in my gut. I had expected bad, but I hadn’t expected evil. “He put her loss on his son?”
“Aye. He was such a sweet boy; from the day he was born, sweet and innocent. It seems like only yesterday he was chasing butterflies on his little two-year-old legs. There is so much of his mother in him, even now, her kindness and calm deposition. Finlay didn’t see any of that. The older Brochan grew, the more twisted Finlay became. I won’t go into detail, that’s for Brochan to share, but I will say he was not safe around his father. He endured a lot and it didn’t break him. But everyone has their limit. I can’t tell you how hard it was for Finnegan and I to see the change in him from that sweet and trusting little boy, to the hard and closed off man he is now.”
His thank you earlier touched me in an entirely different way, learning what demons he battled and how somehow I had gotten through.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want you to understand.”
“Understand what?”
“Why he is the way he is.” She glanced up at the house. “I’m needed in the kitchen.” She said nothing more, just took my hand and squeezed before she left me with my thoughts.
BROCHAN
My kilt hung from my closet door. Fenella had had it cleaned. I couldn’t believe I’d worn it. I had almost burned it in the fire, but I felt that connection Miss Danton mentioned, that link to the past. It was why it had been spared; even wishing to bring about the extinction of the McIntyre clan, I hadn’t destroyed it. Apparently, I lacked conviction.
I’d acted like an adolescent, foolishly trying to please my girl. My girl? She wasn’t mine. She was a houseguest, Brianna’s kin, and also the woman who, despite my best efforts, kept drifting into my thoughts more often than she should. The look on her face though, she felt it too. Whatever the hell was brewing between us, it was mutual.
Curious what she was up to, I went in search of her. Right outside the great hall, I found her. Resting my shoulder against the wall, I crossed my arms over my chest and fought a grin. Miss Danton was trying to look under the paintings in the great hall…every single one. The paintings were bolted to the wall due to their size and weight. After a few, she was beginning to see the pattern. She stepped back, dropped her hands on her hips and blew her hair out of her face. She looked annoyed, slightly frustrated, and fucking adorable. She glanced my way then did a double take. I enjoyed watching her cheeks turn pink from her embarrassment.
“Hey,” she called.
“What are you doing?”
Her eyes narrowed. She looked annoyed again. “What did you think I was doing?”
“I haven’t a clue, which is why I asked.”
“I was trying to find the television.”
“Under the paintings?”
“Rich people hide safes behind paintings. Why not televisions.”
“You want to watch television?”
“I just finished painting for the day and I was hoping to unwind, but I’m too tired to focus on a book.”
“Even one where you skip to the end.”
I had the sense if I was anyone else, she would have stuck her tongue out at me. She had that look, one of a petulant child, but on her it was oddly cute.
“There’s a television in the library.”
“I looked there first. I didn’t see it.”
I gestured for her to precede me. “I’ll show you.”
Something was on her mind; she seemed fidgety. She didn’t make me wait long before she said, “You wore your kilt.”
Instinct for me was to evade, but I found that wasn’t instinct around her. “You had a persuasive argument.”
She twisted her fingers together before she added, “It’s a really good look on you.”
Those shyly spoken words went right to my balls. Yeah, whatever was happening, she felt it too.
We reached the library and I led her to the back where a smaller sitting area was set up. The look on her face was priceless. She thought I’d lost my mind.
“There’s no television back here.”
I slid the panel that looked to be part of the bookcase to reveal the television. Her eyes widened, but instantly turned to slits. “How is that any different than behind a painting?”
It wasn’t, but it was fun getting a rise out of her. “What did you want to watch?”
“A movie would be nice. Do you have pay per view?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe a superhero flick, Superman, Avengers, Thor, Wonder Woman, Batman, but only the ones with Christian Bale. Who is your favorite superhero?”
My blank look wasn’t lost on her. I rarely watched television.
“Have you ever seen the movies I mentioned?”
“No.”
She had a thought on that but kept it to herself. “I think Avengers. You’ll watch it with me, right?”
I’d stay for only a few minutes. “For a bit.”
“We need popcorn. Tell me you have popcorn?”
“I have no idea if we have popcorn.”
“I’ll go. You cue up the movie.” She ran from the room then peeked her head back in. “Maybe when it gets dark we can watch a scary movie. I both love and hate scary movies.”
I couldn’t believe I was actually looking forward to watching a ridiculous movie with superheroes of all things. I was a thirty-five year old man who killed people for a living and yet here I was preparing to watch a movie with a woman I couldn’t get out of my head. I was fucking losing my mind.
She returned; cheering as she held a bag of what I assumed was popcorn over her head. “I got us soda too.”
I was on the sofa, left her the chair. She had other plans; sitting so close she was practically on top of me. She crossed her legs and put the bag of popcorn between them. I wasn’t sure if she was teasing me because I had teased her, but the idea of putting my hand between her legs to get the popcorn, coupled with her ass resting on part of my thigh, yeah I was hard and growing harder. Where the fuck was my discipline?
“Hit play. You’re going to love it.”
I wasn’t even going to watch it.
She knocked my arm with her elbow and handed me the soda, but her eyes were glued to the set.
“Have you seen this before?” I thought she had, but with how excited she was maybe I misunderstood her.
“Yeah, a dozen times at least. It’s awesome. There’s a second one, we can watch that after this.”
The opening credits rolled. I placed the soda on the table and prepared my excuse as soon as the movie started, not that I thought she’d care. She was already in the zone and it was just names flashing on the screen.
Two hours later, I understood her enthusiasm.
“You liked it,” she said knowingly.
“I did.”
“The second one is awesome too, unless you have something else to do.”
I had plenty to do, but at the moment there was nothing else I wanted to do but sit in my library with Miss Danton, who made my body ache in all the right ways, and watch as the Avengers kicked ass.
I reached for the remote then glanced at her from the corner of my eye. “We need more popcorn.”
LIZZIE
My pillow was very hard. Was my head resting on a rock? I slowly woke and felt a little disoriented until I saw the television. I glanced down and noticed it wasn’t a pillow, but Brochan’s thigh. A thigh that had a bit of drool on it. I wiped at my mouth and sat up. The television was off; Brochan’s head was resting on the sofa back. He was sleeping. I didn’t want to wake him, but I did want to see the awesome man that was Brochan McIntyre sleeping. He didn’t look peaceful, even in sleep his expression was stern. There was a line between his brows. I wanted to rub that line away. I wondered what he was dreaming about. Did he dream?
His head turned and his eyes opened, those pale blue eyes that I had thought looked icy, but there was nothing cold about them now. “We missed the ending,” he said.
“We can watch it again.”
“It’s cold. I’ll start a fire.”
He stood, stretched that tall body and walked to the fireplace. He’d watched television with me; he’d let me drool on him. How was it the townsfolk had such crazy notions about him? I joined him, resting against the wall as he worked.
“Why do the townsfolk think you’re a werewolf? The rumor had to come from somewhere.”
I noticed the muscles in his back and shoulders tensed. I wouldn’t push, but I did think he should know Fenella had shared a bit about him.
“Fenella told me part of your story.”
His head jerked up.
“Not details, just that you didn’t have any better a childhood than I did.”
He finished with the fire then moved to the bar. “Do you want a drink?”
A little whisky would be nice. “Please, what you’re having.”
He splashed a few fingers in two highballs and handed me one. I sat on the sofa closest to the fire.
“What was Brianna like?”
He took the seat across from me. The easiness from early was missing, but I understood how the past could haunt. “She was fierce and loyal. Pigheaded and convinced she knew best.” His gaze flickered to me. “You remind me of her.”
He was teasing, but it warmed me to know I was like her. “It’s fascinating that Aunt Brianna raised my mother and yet she is nothing like her. How someone can be so different from the person who helped form them into the person they became.”
“Your mother is an anomaly, it skipped a generation.”
I liked he thought so.
It was a risk mentioning Tomas, but I was curious how he’d react. I took a sip of the whisky and enjoyed the warmth that followed. Carefully, I said, “I ran into Tomas in town the other day.” If looks could kill. “I see the animosity is mutual.”
“He’s a dick.”
“I agree.” I debated if I should continue. Curiosity won out. “He had some very interesting things to say about you.” Our eyes met. “He said you were a hitman.”
It was his lack of reaction that twisted my stomach into a knot.
“It’s true?”
He said nothing, but it was an affirmation. I was mildly alarmed at the revelation. My only reference for hitmen was from movies and television. Regardless, I never thought I’d be sitting across from one. Knowing that when he left on business after I was sick he was off killing someone was definitely unnerving. Even being unnerved, I didn’t feel fear because this was Brochan. The same man who had nursed me back to health, had let me use his lap as a pillow, had put on his kilt and tossed a caber in some sense for me. In the time we’d spent together, I was learning there were many layers to him. A hitman was only one.
He didn’t take his eyes off me, challenging me or waiting for me to run away.
“How did you become a hitman?”
Surprise flashed in those pools of blue. “That’s it?”
“Were you expecting me to run screaming from the room?”
“At least cross yourself. The folks in town all do when I’m near.”
“Is it jarring to hear you’re a hired killer? Yes. Am I in shock? Probably. But killing is what you do, not who you are.”
“Did you just say that?”
“It’s true. You spent the afternoon watching the Avengers with me. You took me to the healing circle and showed me around the Highland games. Are you ruthless, cold even? I imagine you need to be, but there’s more to you than that. Besides, I’ve thought about killing people and not just in passing like when someone cuts you off in traffic and then honks at you. No, I’ve thought hard about killing a few people. If I had a little more guts, I might have followed through.”
His expression was priceless. He thought I was nuts.
“Would you prefer that I run screaming from the room?”
“It would be more understandable than your easy acceptance.”
“I’ve seen ugly too. Maybe because I have I understand better than most what we do to cope with that ugly.”
He finished his whisky then stood. “I’m not sure if you’re a curse or a gift.” He placed his glass on the table and walked out of the room.
“Funny, I was wondering the same about you,” I said into the empty room.
I was heading into town to have lunch with Fergus. My thoughts drifted to Brochan often since last night. I had thought I’d be more freaked out this morning, having the night to process that the man I had been keeping company with was a killer. I wasn’t freaked. In fact, I found him even more fascinating. I understood now why the townsfolk thought he was a werewolf; he was beautiful and deadly. Tomas’ behavior, knowing that he was right about Brochan, didn’t make sense. Why taunt a man who made a living hurting people? Did the dude have a death wish?
I arrived before Fergus. Bridget seated me. “Coffee?” she asked.
“Please.”
The door opened and Fergus strolled in and called to Blair, “A plate of haggis.” He really liked his haggis. I had yet to try the can I bought, the can Brochan had encouraged I try.
“I see that look, lass, but it is delicious. You should try it.”
“I’m talking myself into it.”
His laugh sounded like a gun blast. He folded himself in the chair across from me. “I haven’t seen you around.”
“I’m working on a painting.”
“How’s it going?”
“Really well. That’s understating it. I’ve never been this excited about a piece before.”
“I’m not surprised. ’Tis Scotland.” He definitely had country pride.
I rested my arms on the table. I had to tell him about Norah. I didn’t want to because I didn’t want to set the mood for lunch, but he needed to know. “I do have some news that isn’t great.”
His large brows furrowed. “I’m listening.”
I explained the situation with Norah. His expressions were both scary and not surprising. Bridget returned with our food.
“I don’t understand how that woman is kin to Brianna and you.”
I wondered that myself but had no answer except for Brochan’s. It skipped a generation.
“Thank you for telling me. Joseph is good, really good. If he says he has this, he does.”
I was relieved to hear that, still the journey to the verdict was going to be trying.
Fergus started digging into his haggis. “What are you painting?”
I hesitated sharing because I knew he’d have an opinion on my choice of subjects. “Brochan McIntyre’s home.”
His fork came down with force, his eyes snapping to me. “Lass, Brochan is bad news.”
“I’m just painting his castle.” I didn’t mention the attraction, or that I was growing to like him or the fact that I knew he was figuratively a big bad wolf and it didn’t make a lick of difference regarding the aforementioned attraction.
He wasn’t appeased. Did he know about Brochan’s profession? “Why is he bad news?”
“Haven’t you noticed that his eyes are empty?”
I didn’t see empty. In the beginning I saw hard and closed off. Now I saw interest. And even if they were empty, my own had been empty once too.
“I watched him nearly beat a kid to death. He was sixteen, old enough to know better. Tomas’ jaw was wired shut for eight weeks.”
Tomas? Now that was interesting. I wanted to break his jaw and I hardly knew the man.
“Why did he beat him up?”
“Is there any reason to justify beating someone nearly to death?”
The correct answer was no, however nothing was that black and white. And Tomas, the man grated and I hardly knew him. I think if I had to spend any amount of time with him I’d probably cause him physical harm too. “No, but there can be factors that make people do the unthinkable.”
“He’s been doing the unthinkable his whole life. He has no remorse, no empathy. I’m telling ye, lass. Stay away from him.”
Interesting that Fergus didn’t see what I did, but Aunt Brianna had. “I appreciate the warning, but I’ve learned from personal experience that things are not always what they seem. You might be right about Brochan, but I prefer forming my own opinion.”
The smile came out of nowhere. “You sound just like Brianna. Fine, form your own opinion, but I am not above saying I told you so.”
“So noted.”
On the way back to Brochan’s, I detoured to his family’s ancestral home. This place hadn’t been a home for him and I suspected it wasn’t a memorial so much as a reminder. Still, there was history here. He had family that had lived on these lands for centuries. It seemed to me it might be cathartic for him to learn about the others who came before him. Possibly now after the Highland games, he might be receptive to looking into them.
I fiddled with the medallion I had found. I carried it with me. I’m not sure why. I should return it to Brochan, but I found comfort in it. Maybe because it had survived what had to have been an inferno and still it had endured. I felt a little bit like that. I had endured the inferno. I was singed a bit, but I was still in one piece.
I hadn’t realized I wasn’t alone until that deep voice startled me. “What are you doing here?”
I expected to see anger when I turned to him. Instead, I saw nothing. He wasn’t even looking at me, his focus on the ruins around us. What happened here? Fenella and Finnegan adored him; Aunt Brianna had loved him. That wasn’t usually the case when someone was so hardened and removed from others. According to Fenella, he had been a sweet and loving child, so what had his father done to him to turn him into the man he was now?
I didn’t think he was waiting for an answer to his question, but I gave him one anyway. “It’s peaceful.”
I didn’t imagine the harsh exhale. “It is now.”
I wanted to ask what I didn’t know; I wanted to know what his father did to him. Instead, I bit my lip.
“There used to be a pond over there.”
I glanced where he gestured, but all I saw was green grass.
“It’s gone now. I had it drained then filled in. Under our feet, there used to be an intricate maze of halls lined with cells. The dungeon. I had it filled in with cement.”
“It’s not a memorial, is it?”
For the first time since he arrived, those pales eyes sought mine. “No.”
“I don’t know what happened to you, but I understand better than most the damage that can be done by those meant to love and protect us. And based on what remains, whatever happened was unimaginable. I think it makes you human to erase the memory of the one who did harm to you.”
He didn’t reply but his focus never wavered.
“Fergus told me you once broke Tomas’ jaw.”
There was a flicker of what looked like satisfaction that sparkled in those eyes. “Aye.”
“I bet he had it coming.”
“That he did.”
“I’m not sorry I let his truck slide down that embankment.”
Another flicker, but this time it was understanding or maybe comradery. “I can see you aren’t.”
“He’s a dick.”
“You are one of a few who see that.”
“People see what they want. An easy smile and the good ole boy act and people are blind to what’s under that, but someone who doesn’t hide behind an easy smile, who doesn’t always have a quick reply, and they see trouble. I’ve seen the masks people wear. I think only people who have truly seen what lurks beneath are skeptical of those who are too agreeable too often.”
“It was Brianna who stepped in that day. She tried so hard to fix me.”
My heart stilled then nearly swelled right out of my chest at his confession. He was lifting his mask, even if just a little, to let me see a bit of the man underneath.
“I don’t think she was trying to fix you, Brochan, because you’re not broken; you’re just bent.”
His eyes went dark but what fueled that reaction I didn’t know. He practically snarled at me. “Are you for real?”
So taken back by the venom in his words, I answered absently. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He turned away, his long strides putting distance between us. “Please don’t…” I didn’t finish because I didn’t know what I was willing to beg him to do. I just knew that there was a man under the mask that I wanted desperately to know.
BROCHAN
“Damn you.” I stood over Brianna’s grave as a war raged in me. “Did you know? Did you know the one you sought was the one you cursed on me with your dying breath? She learned what I am, what I do, and didn’t even bat a lash.”
I didn’t understand half of what I felt…anger was there, but it was the other unknown feelings that baffled and enraged me.
“I don’t want it. I don’t want her.” And yet even saying it I knew I was lying. Being around her, it was the same peace I found at my home, but stronger. Just her being brought a calm in me I never felt before. Calm and oddly alive…almost drunk on the knowledge that someone understood the darkness because she too lived there. And damn Brianna because she knew. It wasn’t Miss Danton’s pretty face that broke through; it was her pain, her own demons that made her understand. And even understanding me, it wouldn’t end well. Just by the nature of who I was, her knowing me was only going to bring her more pain.
“I’ll hurt her, but that won’t stop me from claiming her. How is that being a good man, the one you were so convinced existed? Heaven help her with what you’ve set in motion.”