I’m ashamed of who I am. I’m ashamed of who I’ve become. I’m ashamed of the trouble I’ve brought to this lovely family.
“Now, Ais,” Fiona says in a warning tone, wagging her finger at me. “You were laughing with us just moments ago and now you’ve gone cold somber. What gives, love?”
I don’t even know where to begin. How can I tell her how ashamed I am of my past? How can I tell her that I’m ashamed I’m their prisoner because I can’t be trusted, or that I had to take STD tests given to me by Sebastian? I tried to block that particular moment from my mind.
Does she know who I am?
Or… was?
Can that terrible part of my life be buried in the past?
Could it be that this is…a new beginning?
I shake my head, unable to explain my feelings, when Caitlin speaks up. She’s not brash like Fiona or bold like Maeve, but confident in her own quiet way.
“It’s a bit too much to take in, isn’t it?” she says. I nod, hating the fact that my nose is all tingly and my throat’s tight. “I can understand that, you know.”
“Can you?” I manage in a whisper.
“Oh, aye,” she says. “I daresay you don’t know my history? Not many do.”
I shake my head.
She smiles. “I was taken prisoner by Keenan when his father was still Clan Chief. The McCarthys fancied me a spy, but it was the man I called father who actually was.”
The man she called father… I bet hers is an interesting story.
I nod. “Go on.”
“They kept me here as prisoner while they investigated my supposed betrayal. But at the same time, Keenan was heir to the throne, and he needed a wife…” her voice trails off and her eyes go misty as she looks far away, lost in her memories. I’m shocked she speaks of this so plainly. Neither Fiona nor Maeve make a move to stop her.
“I’d never left the lighthouse,” she says.
Surely, she must be exaggerating.
“Never?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Never. My father was an American, so I don’t sound like everyone else. And when I say I was a fish out of water…” she laughs, a pretty little musical sound that delights me. “Well, I’m not exaggerating. I’d never seen a cell phone, driven a car, or so much as walked through the streets of Ballyhock.”
I marvel at her, shaking my head in wonder. And now here she is, gracious and kind, the matriarch-in-training as it were.
“Wow.” My words fail me.
“But Keenan was immediately possessive of me. It’s how they are, you know. They… well, they’re at ease when they’ve a lass to protect, or even a family. They can be possessive. Domineering, even. But you’ll never find a more devoted soul.”
I nod slowly. “Aye,” I say softly. “I’ve seen Lachlan behave that way.”
She nods. “The men of the Clan hold the weight of everything on their shoulders. The wellbeing of the McCarthy family, not to mention the prosperity of all of Ballyhock. They command a small army here on the coast.” She smiles. “They’re old-fashioned men. We like to give them space to pound their chests, as it were.” She winks. “But we keep them on their toes.”
Maeve chuckles. “That you do, love, and you girls make me proud. Not a one of you quakes in the face of danger. You’ve got spines of steel and wills to match theirs. I’m right proud of the lot of you.”
I nod, mulling this all over. I want to be honest with these good, sincere women.
“I have… a past I’m not proud of,” I say, staring at my hands.
“My brother doesn’t seem to be troubled by that,” Fiona says. “And I’ll have you remember, I didn’t exactly come from a perfect home myself.”
Neither did her brother. I squeeze her hand, and she squeezes me back.
“Now, then, let’s see to that ordering,” Maeve says, reaching for my laptop. “You haven’t even scratched the surface of your budget, love.”
I give her a grateful smile.
She squints at the screen. “What the bloody hell is that?” she asks. “Fiona, did you log into a retailer or a damn sex shop?”
Fiona howls with laughter at Maeve’s expression, accidentally knocking over a teacup. Tea goes splattering onto Caitlin, who jumps up and screeches, making Fiona laugh even louder.
“Oh my God!” I say, running to the kitchen for a tea towel, when the door bursts open and Tiernan runs in. If looks could kill, I’d be a dead girl. His eyes are flashing, his cheeks hot with anger. I haven’t seen him this angry since the night he killed my assailant.
“What is it?” I ask. I can feel the color draining out of my face. “Are you alright?”
He looks around the room. The other girls have gone still, all eyes on him. He exhales, leaning against the counter, and shakes his head.