Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Keenan’s jaw clenches, and his eyes narrow. “Bloody hell,” he curses, then, “Fine. But only with my mother, and you’ll have your phone with you the entire time.”
I nod. I’m still angry with him, but this much I can do for my own safety.
And then he’s gone. I’m in the room, pacing, wishing there was something I could do to ease the ache from punishment and the ache in my heart. I’m worried about Nolan, and I can’t even speak to Maeve about it, for they’re not going to tell her.
I pace the room, trying to sort through the thoughts and feelings that flutter through my head like a flock of birds.
Do I still have a say in this?
Does he really have my best interest in mind?
Do I have what it takes to a be a woman of The Clan?
My husband expects obedience and will demand it from me. Can I acquiesce to a man like Keenan?
Have I made a grave mistake?
I have no answers.
No answers.
But what happened just now… I’m not sure if I’ve got it in me to be the woman he wants, the woman he expects, the woman he needs. And I make up my mind. I can’t go along with this. I have to leave. Somehow, I have to get away from the guard he’s got watching me like a prisoner, take some food and money, and find my way. Leave this place, and never look back. For once I marry, there will be no escape.
I sit by the window, a book in hand, but I’ve read the same paragraph three times over. I can’t focus, but I can’t leave the room either. He told me I could see his mother, though. I lift my phone and frown at it.
I’m ashamed to admit, I don’t quite remember how to use it. How do I call her again?
But before I can remember, a knock comes at the door, and I rise to my feet.
“Yes?” I ask.
“It’s Maeve, lass. May I come in?”
I put the phone down and rush to the door, so eager to see her I’m slightly embarrassed. I want to tell her everything that happened, what I’m trying to sort, that I’m worried about Nolan. I want her to hug me and ease my worry. But I hold myself together and usher her into the room.
“Caitlin, y’alright, lass?” she asks, stepping into the room. She looks as beautiful as ever, in a lovely emerald green dress that clings to her curves. Her hair’s swept up in a graceful up-do, and though she’s stunning and graceful, her eyes look so tired, I wonder if she’s ill. She’s got shiny, glossy books in her hand.
“I’m alright,” I tell her. “Are you?” I reach for her hand and squeeze.
She sighs, comes into the room, and shuts the door behind her. Looking about the room, she shakes her head.
“Not in here,” she says. “I’m too restless to sit. Walk with me in the garden?”
I look out the window. It’s warm and sunny.
“Keenan says we’re to have the guard with us,” I tell her.
“Yes, of course.” She makes a quick call on her phone, and I take note, trying to remember how to do this when I need to. They’re right outside the door, so soon we’re surrounded by Keenan’s small army. I recognize Boner and Tully, and a few others who accompanied us to the church.
“Thank you, boys,” Maeve says. “We’re only going to the garden.”
She takes my hand, and we walk downstairs like that, hand in hand, like friends.
“What are the books you have?” I ask her.
“Oh, they’re magazines!” she says. “Bridal magazines. We’ve no time to order anything, but we can get some ideas about your hair and such.” She smiles at me and squeezes the hand she holds. “I’ve never had a daughter, you know,” but her eyes are troubled. We reach the door, and she releases my hand and hands me one of the magazines.
“Have a look, will you?”
“Oooh,” I say, when I see the beautiful, elegant bride on the cover. Her hair’s swept up gracefully, tendrils of curls on either side, the loops of chestnut curls dotted with pearls. Her dress dips so low in the front it hits her naval, her full breasts barely contained. Tufts of fabric and lace and pearls make up the gathered skirt, and she wears shoes that look as if they came from Cinderella herself.
But though Maeve seems interested, she’s distant, and I fear she’s troubled.
“Maeve,” I ask her, as we reach the garden, and I follow her lead in sitting on one of the benches beneath the swags of greenery.
“Mmm?”
“You seem worried. Is something upsetting you?” I ask. I hate that I know about Nolan.
Sighing, she turns to face me. “They try to shield us, sometimes, Caitlin,” she says. “But a mother knows. You’ll know yourself, some day.”