by Jane Henry
“I’m done,” Aileen says with a smile. She points to her empty plate.
Mam finishes her scone and stands. “Let’s go then. The baby’s with his nanny, then, Cait?”
Caitlin nods. I watch as the three of them walk toward the exit toward the garden.
“Good,” Keenan says, as the girls leave. “I want a word with you boys.” He gestures for Nolan, Boner, and Tully to join us as well.
We crowd the dining table, and listen to what he has to say.
“Yesterday, we made alliance with the Martins, as you men know,” Keenan says. “Aileen was delivered to Keenan, after they’d found her, and he punished her. But she bore a black eye from her brother. Damaged.” I hate how he puts it, like she’s property. I know Clan code, I know what he means, but I clench my fist to keep my temper in check just the same.
His gaze swivels to mine. “And we have your word she was untouched? A virgin?”
“Aye.” It’s important she was a virgin when I took her.
“And you proved to the clan she came from she’s no longer a virgin, your consummation’s complete.”
We won’t call the Martins “her clan,” but “the clan she came from.” She’s McCarthy clan now.
“I did.”
Nolan slaps my back. “Well done, brother. Christ but I’m jealous. Bet she was—”
“Finish that sentence, it’ll be your last,” I say. He shuts his trap.
Keenan goes on. “Now that we’ve settled with the Martins, I want as little to do with them as possible.”
“Hear, hear,” I mutter. “Thank Christ.”
“Why’s that?” Boner asks.
“Manky sons of bitches,” Keenan says. “Underhanded. Conniving. Don’t trust ‘em far as I can throw ‘em.”
We may be mafia. We may be feared in all of Ireland, and for good reason. But there’s a decided difference between mobs that bully and mobs that rule. Even as mafia, we see to the needs of Ballyhock with generous contributions to the church and a promise of protection. The residents of Ballyhock know who we are and turn a blind eye to what we do, and for good reason, while the Martins’ locals cower in fear.
“Same,” I say. “I don’t trust them either. What little my wife’s told me of her family confirms this. They’d just as soon kill their own as they would another clan.”
Nolan shakes his head. “And her brother’s a right twat.”
“Acts the maggot on the regular,” Boner says, his lips pursed. “Damn near scuttered at the weekend, took a girl against her will. Club couldn’t do nothin’ about it. Some of the boys did, but he won’t see justice.”
“Raped a lass at the club?” Keenan asks with deadly calm.
“Aye,” Boner growls.
“Glad you busted his arse,” Keenan says to me.
“We afraid of blowback?” Tully asks. “Fuckin’ hope the motherfucker comes at us. I’d like a chance to break his nose myself.”
“I say we catch him, string him up, and take turns like a piñata at a fucking birthday party,” Nolan says, and though his lips tip up his eyes promise vengeance.
The men laugh, but a moment later a woman’s high-pitched scream rents the air. We’re on our feet, weapons drawn, before the echo of her scream dies.
“Garden,” Keenan says. I’m the first though the door. I race toward the garden, but don’t see the girls or mam.
“Aileen!” I shout, looking to my brothers for help.
“Christ almighty, they’re by the greenhouse,” Keenan says.
“Where’s the fucking guard?”
“Calling them now,” Nolan says.
I’m not prepared for what we see.
Thick black smoke pours out of the greenhouse, flames licking at the sky.
“Help!” a voice screams from ahead of us.
“It’s Aileen,” I say to Keenan.
We race to the greenhouse and Nolan calls for backup. We reach them in record time.
What the bloody hell is this? The doors are locked, and it’s going up in smoke. They’re fucking barricaded.
I step back before I lunge at it, trying to knock it down, but it’s no use. They scream louder, while the flames get bigger, hotter. Someone locked them in here and set it to fire, goddamn it.
I take the butt of my gun and slam it against the glass, but it’s no use. The glass is solid. It won’t budge. I look around me for something, anything at all I can use to break the door down.
“Open it!” I scream. “Unfasten the lock!”
“I can’t!” It’s Aileen. “It’s broken. Won’t open!”
“Get the ax!” Keenan shouts. Behind the greenhouse is the woodshed our groundskeeper uses to chop wood for fires in the dead of winter. Nolan’s there before I am. He runs back with it and I take it from him.
“Get the guard,” I growl to Nolan. “Find the fucking guard.”
My men stand and wait, prepared to save them, but this is my job.
“Stand back! I’m going to break it!”
I lift the ax and slam it against the glass. It shatters into a million shards that clatter to the ground like a hailstorm of diamonds. I swing the ax again, and again, until the wood frame splinters and we can get them out. But the flames are too thick, and I can’t see them.
I launch myself into the thick of it. Smoke immediately chokes me, but I pay it no heed. I need to get to Aileen, to Caitlin, to my mother.
“I’ve got Cait!” Keenan shouts somewhere behind me.
“And mam!” Nolan says. There’s a jumble of confusion, blinded by smoke and flames.
Aileen is still there. She screams again, when I hear the sickening sound of the roof collapsing. I see her just in time. She’s huddled on the floor, covering her head.
“Aileen!” I scream. I reach for her when the roof begins to cave. I throw my body over hers, caging her beneath me. Something strikes the back of my head. The world goes black.
Chapter 10
Aileen
They’re speaking beside me. Voices I don’t recognize, though some are vaguely familiar. At first they sound distant, like they’re in a tunnel. Or I am.
Where am I?
“She could’ve died,” one deep, rumbling voice says.
“Severe head trauma,” says a pragmatic, scholarly voice in reply.
“Would’ve died if he hadn’t shielded her. Will she wake?” The last voice is decidedly feminine.
“If she doesn’t, I’ll fucking kill them.” The deep one again. This last voice is somehow vaguely… very vaguely… familiar. I can’t recall how I know it, though.
“Who? We don’t know who did it.”
“We can guess,” the rumbling voice responds. “Said something about Martin ruining everything. He brought the wrath of someone on us…”
It’s as if the words are being spoken in a foreign language. Without context or understanding, they’re meaningless to me.
I lie still. It’s odd being surrounded by voices I don’t know. Something soft’s on my body, and beneath my head are piles of pillows. I’m in a bed, but it isn’t my bed. It’s nothing at all like anything I’ve felt before. It’s too comfortable. The only bed I’ve ever slept in was the small, cramped bed… somewhere.
Where am I?
What happened?
Who am I?
My eyes flutter open, and the chatter around me dies. I don’t move except to swing my gaze nervously about the room. I try to swallow, but my throat’s too tight. I don’t speak. I could be a prisoner for all I know. Everything around me is foreign.
There are three people in this room altogether: two men and one woman. One of the men looks like he could be a doctor, with a telltale stethoscope around his neck.
The woman’s the oldest, I think. She’s got soft red hair graying at the temples, and kind, gentle eyes that have seen many things. I can tell by the aged, wise look she gives me, when she gently nudges a large, younger man sitting beside her.
“The lass is waking, son.”
/> She’s his mother, then. Whoever he is. His head snaps up, and bright green eyes meet mine with recognition. My belly stirs with discomfort, though. Why is he looking at me as if he knows me, when I don’t have the foggiest idea who he is?
I swallow several times, trying to figure out what to say, but settle on nothing. It’s unnerving not knowing what to say.
He gets to his feet. His clothes are rumpled, his hair untidy, as if he’s slept in his clothes for days, but he’s incredibly handsome, with his dark curly hair and strong, muscled body. Everything about him is ruggedly masculine.
I wish I knew who he was.
“Aileen,” he says, coming to my bedside. I look to the woman. Is she Aileen? But they’re all looking at me. Who’s Aileen?
“She’s just a bit disoriented,” says the man with the stethoscope.
“Where am I?”
He reaches for my hand. I flinch, and pull my hand away. I don’t like strangers touching me.
“Don’t touch me,” I whisper. “I don’t know who you are.”
The entire room stills. No one speaks for long minutes, the tension palpable.
Did I say something wrong?
The taller, thin man I guess is the doctor walks over and places his hand on his shoulder. “Cormac, remember what I told you.”
His name’s Cormac. The name’s familiar, like a long-distant memory from my childhood. I don’t know it, though. He has no place in my catalog of thoughts.
I sit up, and I reckon my own face mimics the stricken face on the man before me. He’s white and pale, his eyes wide in disbelief. I know how he feels.
“What’s my name?” I say. My voice cracks, and tears well in my eyes. “Where am I?”
I try to get out of bed, but the man called Cormac shakes his head. “Stay in bed,” he says. His voice brooks no argument, as if there’s no question about obeying him. “No getting out of bed without assistance.”
Why should I listen to him, though? What harm is there in sitting up? I ignore him, shoving the blankets aside, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me back to sitting.
“I said stay, Aileen.”
So I’m Aileen. My name’s Aileen. His scent washes over me, raw and masculine and virile. He’s an attractive man, whoever he is.
“My name’s Aileen,” I say, shaking my head. “How come I couldn’t remember that?”
“Aileen, my name’s Sebastian. I’m the clan doctor, and I’ve come to help you,” says the man beside Cormac.
I don’t reply at first. The pretty, older woman with the graying red hair comes to my side, too, and tentatively reaches for my hand, then pulls away. “We’re here to help you, love,” she says in a clear, compassionate voice.
She’s here to help me. If Cormac and this woman are on my side, it’s going to be okay. “My name’s Maeve.”
Maeve. It rings another vague bell, but too soon the clanging of the memory fades.
She opens her mouth to speak, but Sebastian shakes his head and holds up a palm to her. “Not too much Maeve. It’ll overwhelm her.”
“I want my sister,” I whisper. Do I have a mother? I don’t remember. I do know that I had a sister, and she was kind to me. I know that much. My sister is the one who helps me. Who listens. She’ll help me understand.
“Which one, sweet girl?” Maeve asks, stroking her thumb along the top of my hand.
Oh God. I have more than one?
I blink, and a tear rolls down my cheek. I don’t know. I can’t remember her name.
“We could ask her family for help,” Maeve says to Cormac.
He glares at her. “Are you out of your mind? For all we know, her family’s responsible for—” He pauses, and looks at me. “No. I don’t trust them. No fucking way.”
He’s fierce, this man. Fierce and protective. Am I supposed to like him?
“Who are you?” I ask. He looks to Sebastian before he answers me.
Sebastian nods. “It helps if we spoon-feed information, specifically things that might trigger a memory recall.”
Cormac looks to me and swallows before answering. His eyes are a beautiful green, vivid and intelligent. “I’m your husband, Aileen.”
Cold realization leaks through my limbs. I must look stricken, for the doctor mutters, “Spoon feed, not drown her.”
I blink, trying to understand.
I’m married to a stranger.
“No,” I whisper. “I have no husband. I can’t. You’re not my husband.” My voice raises to a shriek, as a full panic attack consumes me. “No! You people aren’t my family. I don’t know you. Bring me home!”
Even as I say it, I know I don’t want to go home. I don’t like home. It’s nicer here. But I’m scared, and I want to be back in a place that’s familiar.
Cormac looks saddened, and his face drops, but he’s determined.
“You aren’t going to let me go home, are you?” I whisper.
“No, lass.”
The door opens and we all look to see another man enter the room. He looks from me to Cormac, then back again. He resembles Cormac, but he’s a little thinner, and a little older, I think. His brother, maybe?
“She’s awake, then. Thank Christ,” he says. But the somber response to his statement makes him pause mid-step. “What is it?”
“Amnesia.” Sebastian says.
Amnesia.
I don’t know who I am. I don’t know where I am. I’m married to a stranger. You don’t know how terrifying the lack of memory is until it happens. No context for what they say, or who they are. No recollection of what my place is in this world. How do I even function if I don’t know who I am?
“Family meeting,” the man says. “Assemble the men. We have to talk about what happened, and how we help Aileen. Mam, you stay here.”
Keenan looks to me, and his stern eyes soften with kindness. “Aileen, do you know me?”
I shake my head in silence.
His eyes soften. “My name is Keenan. I’m your brother-in-law, Cormac’s older brother and Clan Chief.”
I nod.
“Before you had a head injury, you met my wife, Caitlin. Would you like to see her now?”
I shake my head. “No. No, thank you. I’m tired. I don’t want to see anyone.”
“Understood,” Keenan says. He gestures for the men to join him, but Cormac shakes his head.
“I’m not leaving her side, brother.”
“We need you, Cormac.”
Cormac shakes his head with vehemence. “No. Fucking phone me in if you have to. I’m staying with her. Anything you tell the Clan you can relay to me. I’ll do my duty, but my first duty is to Aileen. As her husband.”
I don’t know the man, but I like that he’s loyal to me, that he prioritizes staying by my side. Is being protective in his nature, or does he feel responsible for what happened to me? So many questions.
Keenan’s lips press together. He finally nods. “Aye. It is.” He smiles at me. “Your husband is a good man, Aileen. I hope when your memory comes back to you, you remember that.”
I swallow. I’m not going to lie. “I hope so, too.”
I don’t believe any of them right now. I don’t know who they are or how they’ve treated me. I hate that I don’t have any recollection, any foresight at all into how I should act with them.
“Leave us,” Cormac says to the room. “I want a word alone with my wife.”
So patience isn’t his strong suit.
Maeve takes her leave, as does everyone else.
“I’d like to see your mother later?” Even though I don’t remember her, I know I have an ally in her.
“Aye,” Cormac says. “You will.”
When we’re alone, I turn to face my pillow. I’m honestly scared. I don’t know him at all. What if he isn’t a good man, as his brother says? Would my instincts know? All I can tell right now is that he’s definitely someone who commands authority, and he’s capable of doing dangerous things. He’s here with me... and by the look on his
face, he looks as if he’s been here a while. Does that mean he cares about me, then? How would I know?
“Aileen, look at me.” Cormac sits beside me.
I look at him. I’m suddenly filled with a strong, irrational sense of longing, to be held by him. I’m scared. You don’t know how your memory brings you comfort until you lose it. It’s terrifying not knowing who I am or how I got here. Even though I don’t know him, and didn’t want him to touch me, he looks strong. I bet it would be nice to be held by him. I bet it would feel comforting.
“Why don’t we start by answering your questions.”
“It isn’t possible,” I whisper. Tears well in my eyes. I swipe them away, angry at how emotional I’ve become. “I’ve too many questions to ask you.”
“Aye,” he says. “I imagine you do. But why don’t you try?”
“Okay,” I agree with a nod. “You look as if you haven’t slept in days,” I say to him. “Why is that?”
His eyes quickly widen before he schools his features. I don’t think he expected that question.
“I’m your husband,” he says. “ And it’s my duty to care for you. You’ve been unconscious for a number of days. I couldn’t leave your side. I’ve been worried, so no. I haven’t really slept. But I’m fine.”
I feel my jaw drop. I don’t speak at first, processing this. I’ve been unconscious for days?
“Why?” I whisper. “Why was I unconscious? Why did this happen to me?”
“I don’t quite know why,” he says, and if I’m not mistaken, the flash in his eyes indicates temper. Did something I say anger him? “I’m not sure who attacked us, but you, my mother, and Caitlin were attacked a few days ago.”
“Attacked? How?”
“Someone ambushed our guard and set fire to the greenhouse you were in.”
I gasp. “Did everyone escape?”
“Aye,” he says. “Only before you and I did, the ceiling collapsed and you suffered serious head trauma.”
“My God,” I whisper. “Did you get injured as well?”
His jaw firms. “I did, but I’m larger. I sustained the injuries more easily. Concussion. We were afraid you experienced brain damage.”
I feel as if I’m going to throw up. “Did I?”
