“Did they, now?”
“Well, he was quite desperate.” She gives me a small smile. “You’ve bewitched my brother, haven’t you?”
I shrug and give her a mischievous smile.
I walk down the hall with her. I’ve never been on this floor of the mansion. Above me are large, brightly-lit skylights, casting vibrant sun on us from above. I bask in the sudden light and warmth, as we continue down the hall. Pretty vases of flowers sit on little tables, and voices are hushed. It smells vaguely of antiseptic.
She leads me to a room at the far end. Inside the door, deep voices are rising and falling, until Fiona gives a tentative knock.
“Who is it?” I recognize Keenan’s voice.
“Fiona and Aisling.”
The voices on the other side of the door are suddenly silent. Footsteps sound, then the door’s yanked open.
Keenan looks at me with concern, and I think he’s got more gray in his beard than he had the last time I saw him.
“You be careful,” he scolds me. “Fiona, you shouldn’t have let her get out of that damn bed.”
Fiona gives him a haughty look. I have to admire the girl; it takes bravery to face Keenan the way she does. “With all due respect, Keenan, there’s no keeping these two apart. She hardly went out for a jog, but basically toddled down the hall holding onto my arm. Now, if you’d step aside, I’d be very much obliged.”
Someone chuckles at the other side of the room. “Feisty, sweet girl.” Lachlan.
Lachlan’s in one bed, and Tiernan’s in the other. His eyes go wide when he sees me.
“Jesus,” he mutters. I can’t get to him fast enough.
One eye’s swollen shut, and one arm’s in a sling. He’s got bruises and lacerations along the length of his face, and his leg’s extended in front of him, stiffly wrapped. I wince.
“You look terrible.”
“Do I?” he asks, giving me that grin that makes my heart skip a beat. “You look lovely as a picture.”
I bury my head on his chest, and tears flow freely.
We’re okay. We made it. We’re banged up some, but we bloody made it this far.
He holds my hand. “Thought I lost you for real,” he says. “You were knocked out cold, and blood was pouring from your head. Christ, I’ll never get that out of my head.”
“Never saw a man lift a car like that,” Lachlan says. “Superhuman strength, I’m telling you.”
I look at him in surprise. “You didn’t, Tiernan!”
He only shrugs. Jesus. My fierce boxer of a man took the literal world on his shoulders.
“Did what any of my brothers would’ve done. Did what I had to.”
Keenan crosses his arms over his chest and looks on.
“Tell me, Tiernan. How’s Tully?” I ask.
“Sustained a pretty bad head injury. He was unconscious and we thought he might be in a coma, but I’m told he’s revived and ready to go.”
Keenan chuckles. “Of course he is.”
“And you, Lachlan?” Fiona’s crossed the room to him. She sits in the chair, holding his hand.
“Ach, I’m fine,” he says, brushing me off. “Don’t even need to be in the damn hospital wing. Should be able to leave here tonight, eh, Keenan?”
Keenan nods. “I think you’re all well enough to go.”
Tiernan nods. “And tomorrow? Did you tell her, Fiona?”
“Oh, aye,” Fiona says. “She knows.”
Tiernan squeezes my hand. “It’ll be fine, love,” he says, running his thumb along the top of my hand.
I nod.
“Need to get you a new name,” he says. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and looks somehow shy and smug at the same time. “What do you think of the surname Hurston?”
I smile, lean in, and kiss his cheek. “I think it’s perfect.”Chapter 22TiernanI hold Aisling’s hand as we watch the funeral from the upstairs window. Keenan made a fair to-do, and I’m glad he did. He’s got bagpipes in from a friend he knows in Scotland, and the soulful music seems fitting on the day we bury Aisling’s old identity.
Fiona plays her part well, dressed in black, crying as she holds onto Lachlan’s hand. He walks with a limp, but is otherwise fine. Sheena covers the story with a friend from the press, and they take lots of pictures. It’s a bit like a celebrity funeral.
Father Finn reads from his prayer book. He believes he’s actually burying Aisling. Though he’s smart enough to know in time, we thought it most appropriate that he believe what we’re telling the world. Puts less of an onus on him to tell a lie. His voice carries across from garden, as the funeral procession begins here and will walk as one to the cemetery.
“I kind of want to go,” Aisling whispers.
I gather her up in my arms, her back to my front, and wrap my arms around her. “No, love. It’s too risky.”
She sighs. “I know it.”
I nuzzle my head in her long brown hair that hangs nearly to her waist. I’ve no idea how the staff did it, but it had something to do with extensions, and she fucking loves it. “Another identity,” she says with a grin. “I’d go red if the Hurston family didn’t already have the corner on that market.”