by Henry, Jane
The black-haired woman smiles at me, an almost other-worldly look about her. I wonder where she fits in here. The woman beside her gives me a tentative wave.
“Welcome,” the woman holding the baby says. “You’re Aileen?” Her voice is pretty, almost musical. How can she look so normal and cheerful when she’s witnessing this travesty?
A squeeze of my neck reminds me he’s watching, goddamn it. “Yes,” I say, then look away. I’m embarrassed to be here in front of the others.
“I’m Caitlin,” she says. “Your sister-in-law. I’m married to Cormac’s brother Keenan, Clan Chief. And this is little Seamus, your nephew. And meet Megan. She’s cousin to your husband.”
My husband. My stomach flips.
Still, these two seem decent enough.
“Thank you.”
Her eyes soften in sympathy. “Poor thing,” Caitlin says. “She’s tired, Cormac.”
“She’s fine.”
Megan adds her opinion as well.
“Cormac, really, perhaps she—”
But he’s whisking me away before she can finish.
“Taking her upstairs?” It’s the man who stood beside him at the wedding. Caitlin’s husband Keenan, then? He eyes me curiously, his lips pursed like Cormac’s. He doesn’t trust me either.
“Aye,” Cormac growls.
Keenan speaks to the men around us, and everyone disperses, even Caitlin and little Seamus. This is no cheerful welcome home, no honeymoon. I’m goods he’s acquired, no more, no less. It’s what I expected.
“Welcome home, Mrs. McCarthy,” Cormac says with a grim smile. My stomach tightens. I don’t like how he says that. He waves his hand at the estate, and despite my anger and apprehension, I have to admit, this place is beautiful. The large mansion overlooks the gray, craggy cliffs of Ballyhock, the Irish Sea churning just outside the front windows. Blue-green and gorgeous, endless miles of ocean extend as far as the eye can see.
A beautiful garden surrounds the front of the house. I don’t have time to take in all the details, but quickly note stone benches, an archway laced with greenery, and beautiful flowers in full bloom. The beauty that surrounds contrasts so much with the cold, sterile home I grew up in. There were no beautiful views, no gorgeous flowers or greenery. The grounds were well kept but more reminiscent of a prison than a home.
But there’s more. I can’t quite put my finger on it, not now, when I’m being pulled along toward the steps that lead inside. There’s something else that makes this place very different from what I’m used to.
We enter the house, people greeting us on all sides. I smile tightly and nod, but don’t have time to make real introductions. I suppose there will be time for that later. Cormac wants me away from everyone, and makes that clear with his curt replies and rapid steps.
The house smells warm and welcoming, like warmed vanilla and cinnamon. Someone’s baking, the scent reminding me it’s been a long time since I’ve eaten a proper meal. Every surface gleams, and bright light filters in through large, diamond-shaped windows in the entry hall. The staircase that leads upstairs is majestic, narrower at the top and wider at the bottom, swooping gracefully downward like the swells of a lady’s gown. Above us, the tall ceilings are graced with crystal chandeliers.
I might not like my husband, but perhaps he’ll be busy most of the time. I most certainly like this new home.
We walk up the carpeted stairs, and when we reach the top, he tugs me to the left. “We’re on the third floor,” he growls. “Caitlin and Keenan are opposite us. My mother lives here, as does my brother Nolan. The others live nearby.”
“Excellent.” I don’t like the detached, cold tone of my voice, but I can’t seem to help it. He’s a prick. It doesn’t bring out the best in me.
Nolan… I know that name. I can’t place it, though. Have I met him?
After we go up the small staircase to the third floor, we walk down long, carpeted hallways, the sounds of voices dying. My heart begins to beat faster. We’re secluded up here. And when we’re finally alone…
I can do this, I coach myself. I must do this.
We walk down the hallway and I note a small table holds a potted plant, green and vibrant, and on another table, a large bouquet of blooming white flowers fills the bowl. The fragrant scent wafts toward us as we hasten by. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was a home for upstanding citizens.
“Why are you in such a hurry?” I ask. He doesn’t reply.
We pass doorway after doorway, my heart sinking the further we go away from the others. We’re so isolated here, so far from the others, we might as well be in our own country. No one will come to rescue me. No one will hear me if I scream.
He’s planned it this way.
Finally, he comes to a stop outside a large door. He releases my hand, and without looking at me, orders, “Stay right there.” I watch as he opens the door, before he reaches for my elbow and yanks me in again.
“I can walk myself,” I tell him. “For goodness sakes, stop yanking me around like I’m—”
My words die on my lips. I look around me in wonder.
This entire room is like the inside of a botanical garden, teeming with flowers and vases. Tulips and daises, roses and asters, a myriad of the most gorgeous flowers I’ve ever seen welcomes me home.
“Oh my,” I whisper.
“For Christ’s sake.” He rolls his eyes heavenward as he slams the door, then throws the deadbolt in place. “Leave it to Caitlin to plant a fucking garden.”
“Caitlin? The pretty, black-haired woman with the baby?”
“Aye.”
“You asked her to set up flowers?”
“Well, no,” he says, shrugging out of his suit coat and tossing it on a hook by the door. “I asked her to make it look presentable in here. Less...manly.”
“Well,” I say, reaching my fingers out to touch the silky petal of a crimson rose. “It certainly is.”
“This is our flat here,” he says, waving his hand around, and though he’s still being gruff, there’s a note of unmistakable pride in his voice. “You’ll see no kitchen, though. We eat our meals downstairs with my brothers.”
“I see.”
“But there’s a kettle.” A small dining area stands to the left, and behind it, a large, carpeted living room, shelves lined with books, a leather armchair, and comfortable-looking furniture. The black leather and dark wood accents give it a decidedly masculine air, but the flowers soften it.
“Your bags have been brought up,” he says. “But you’ll only be allowed very few garments.” He’s loosening the buttons at his neck as he leads me to the bedroom. “Come along.”
I look at him sharply. “Excuse me? What am I to do, walk around naked like a little sex kitten?”
He turns to me. “I like the fucking sound of that.”
I choke. “What?”
He snorts. “Relax. I only meant I don’t want you to wear the clothes you wore in the Martin clan. You’ll have new clothes here. I’ll pick them out.”
“Will you?”
“Aye.” If he notes the icy tone of my question, he doesn’t show it.
“For fuck’s sake.”
He’s pushed open the door to the bedroom, and this room is much like the entryway, laden with flowers.
“She changed the fucking duvet?” He looks with disgust at a floral and ivory coverlet on the huge bed.
“That’s the biggest bed I’ve ever seen in my life,” I say, before I can stop myself. “It’s like a cruise ship.”
“You may have noticed I’m a large man.”
The way he says it makes my heart make a sudden leap in my chest. Is he… is he a large man in every way? Will he hurt me?
“Cormac, I—” I freeze. It’s the first time I’ve ever said his name aloud. He turns to face me. Sunlight filters in from the window, illuminating his handsome face. He raises his eyebrows questioningly.
“I like the sound of that, too,” he says, his tone t
he softest I’ve heard from him yet.
I swallow hard. I’m not sure what to say to him, how to respond. My throat feels tight and my nerves are shot. I’m shaking. “Of what?” I finally whisper.
“When you say my name. I imagine you’ve called me all sorts of things in your head.”
Am I that transparent?
“But it’s the first time you’ve called me by name.”
I swallow again. “Aye. Wish I could say the same about your saying my name.” As soon as I say it, I wish I could take it back. “I—I’m sorry. My mouth has a way of getting ahead of my brain sometimes.”
His eyes harden, and I wonder if I imagined any softness. “I’ve noticed.” He unfastens the shirt again, like he did in the car ride here. “I want to take a shower. You’re to stay here in this room while I do. You may get out of that dress and wear the robe you’ll find in your closet. Rest, explore, I don’t much care what you do.”
I nod. But the question of our consummation looms. I want to know.
“Cormac?”
“Yes?” He’s taking off his t-shirt, revealing again his muscled torso. I couldn’t put my arms around him if I tried. His arms are as large as small trees, his hands could span my waist. He’s got several tattoos, but the only one I recognize is the Dara knot. Is it a McCarthy one, then?
I realize I’m staring.
“Did you have a question, lass?” he asks, his fingers coming to his waist.
“The… our… our consummation,” I say in a strangled sort of voice. I don’t know how to ask this, so I just say let the words fall from my lips unchecked. “When? How?”
“After I shower. We’ve not time to waste.” He looks at his wristwatch.
My heart thunders in my chest. “So soon?” I ask. “Why?”
“Your brother will want proof. And I want the bastard off my arse as soon as possible.”
Oh, God. Oh God.
Proof that he’s taken my virginity. My legs give way and I sit heavily on the bed while he shuts the door to the bathroom.
Chapter 7
Cormac
When I enter the bathroom, I make up my mind. That was the last fucking time I’m asking Caitlin to do anything hospitable. Even the bathroom’s strewn with flowers like a goddamn greenhouse. The scent is nearly cloying, but at least Aileen seems to like them. And I suppose that matters.
God, but the lass pisses me off. She’s got a smart mouth she’ll learn to tame, but a quick wit I hope she doesn’t. I like that about her. She’s a clever lass.
I wonder if she thinks she’s been given some freedom in here, but soon she’ll see she hasn’t. My men stand guard outside the door, and the windows are barred with thick metal. Though the purpose is to protect us from intruders, it goes both ways. If she’s foolish enough to try to escape again, she’ll have no luck.
I strip off the rest of my clothes. My rock hard cock springs free. I grip it and groan.
I know this is a job. I know she’s afraid. But damn if I’m not at least a little eager to fuck that pretty, virgin cunt of hers. I stroke my cock, momentarily contemplating the thought of stroking one off so I’m not so eager to take her. So I can have some fucking self-control when I finally do.
Christ.
But I decide against it. I need evidence of our consummation, and soon. I quickly lather up, welcoming the steaming hot stream of water that cleanses the Martin filth from my pores. I stand under the billows of steam and water and think of what’s happened today. How I punished her. How we took our vows. Our terse talk in the car on the way here. The way her eyes lit up when she saw the garden, the view of the ocean from the front door, the flowers in the room. She hasn’t even seen the full estate, the greenhouse we built last year, or the woodshed behind it where we store wood for winter’s hearths.
The Martin scum live in near squalor, the manky bastards. At any rate, I can offer her a better home, and happily. Reckon it’ll help me tame the lass.
I shut off the shower, and reach for a towel, cursing when I knock over a fucking vase on the floor. The glass shatters, pink tulips splayed on the floor like lily pads in a pond. I grunt, step over them and onto the small bath mat, and towel dry off. I’ll have to have someone clean those up.
I open the bathroom door to find Aileen in the doorway. She’s white as a ghost, and her eyes are wide and fear filled. My pulse spikes.
“What happened? Are you alright?”
The poor girl looks a fright. Her long, blonde hair has come loose from the pins that held it, damp strands clinging to her forehead. Her makeup’s running, black eyeliner or whatever the fuck giving her the look of a raccoon.
I’m out of patience. “I asked you a question, lass.”
“I heard the glass break,” she whispers, her fingers coming to her throat as if in self-preservation. “I—I fancied you were angry about what you had to do and you—you broke it on purpose.”
Anger spirals in my belly. What sort of fucking bastards were the Martins that she acts like this? When I get my hands on her brother, I’m going to enjoy pummeling the living hell out of him. Her father, too.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Caitlin’s filled the feckin’ bathroom with all sorts. Flowers and greens and vases like a goddamn garden.”
She blinks.
“Knocked it over by accident is all.”
“Oh.” Now that her fear’s been put to rest, it seems she realizes I’m wearing nothing but a towel. Her eyes roam over my body, and her fingers on her throat splay.
Her words come out in a rushed whisper. “You’re a very large man, Cormac McCarthy.”
“Aye.” I can’t help but give her a wry smile. “Serves me well in this trade.”
“What’s your role?”
I don’t hesitate. Our roles are fluid, changing with the seasons and time, but Keenan’s needed muscle he can trust. “Bonebreaker. Clan Captain, having taken his role when he took the throne, I’m second in line as Chief.” That makes me his confidante as well.
“Aren’t you all, though?”
I look at her with curiosity before I respond. “Are we all bonebreakers?”
“Aye.”
“Well, no. We have different roles in our Clan. I’m the larger one, trained ealaíona comhraic.” As an Irish girl, she’ll know what I mean, as many of us are trained in martial arts. “Trained at St. Albert’s. Captain.”
“Oh, that’s right,” she says. “My dad said y’all were posh. Had a finishing school.”
I definitely don’t like her father.
“Aye.” We all attended St. Albert’s, the finishing school for our Clan, and learned everything from reading and writing to boxing, wrestling, and stick fighting.
“So you’re the strike force, then?”
“Aye. When we need to strike, I’m called. I’m also second in command.”
“Keenan’s first?”
“Aye.”
She takes it all in with a serious nod.
“And if you’re second in command, that means you prepare for the possibility that one day you’ll be first in command.”
“I do. Keenan’s a fair leader, and he likes my counsel as well.”
She nods again, her words coming fast and furious now. I wonder if she’s stalling. “Will you introduce me to all of them? Tell me their roles?”
“Aye, in time, lass.”
She takes a step back from me, and her back hits the doorway. She conks her head and winces. Christ, but the girl’s bravado has failed her. She’s scared.
We’re not prolonging this anymore.
“Come here, Aileen.”
“You say that a lot.”
“What?”
“Come here.”
“Eventually you’ll learn to come without me telling you,” I say, crooking a finger at her. “Now come.”
She holds my gaze across the room, a little bit of the vixen returning. “Now that we’re married, will you punish me if I disobey you?”
“Especially
now that we’re married.”
She doesn’t like that. Her brows furrow and she purses her lips. “Excuse me?”
“Enough talking, lass. I said come here, and I mean it.”
She takes in a deep breath, squares her slender shoulders, and walks to me. When she’s a foot away, she stops, lacing her fingers behind her back primly.
I reach for her, grip the back of her neck and squeeze. Not hard. Not soft. Just enough to remind her who I am. Who she is.
“Why, Cormac?” she whispers. “Why do you want me?”
I bend my mouth to her ear and whisper. “Because it’s time, lass.”
“I—what if I want a shower first?”
“No.”
“But you took one. It isn’t fair that I—”
My grip on her neck tightens. “I said no.”
After I’ve fucked her, after we’ve consummated our union, I’ll take her to the bathroom and clean her myself, with my own hands. But for now, I want her as she is, disheveled and vulnerable.
I want in her.
Now.
“Will you always be so—”
I silence her backtalk with a kiss before she earns a good spanking. It will happen, I’ve no doubt, as the only discipline I’ve administered was under the guise of another man. She hasn’t yet learned to obey her husband. She will.
Her eyes flutter closed and her head bends back as I explore her sweet, sensual mouth. She tastes like peaches and cream, sweet and rich, and the more I taste, the hungrier I get. I don’t want to break this kiss, not when we’re just beginning. So I lift her in my arms and walk her to the bed, our lips still joined.
I lower her, then kneel beside her, bracing my arm above her head, effectively caging her in, before I heighten the kiss.
Has she kissed a man before?
I’m no virgin, but in that moment, when her beautiful mouth yields to mine, it feels like this could be the first time I’ve ever kissed a woman. I groan as I slip her robe off her shoulder, massaging her sweet, soft skin. She moans, and I’ve only just touched her shoulder. My cock strains against the towel.
