“Come again, dad? Wee bit of a breeze outside that window right now, I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that.”

  His father lifts his head up a fraction of a centimeter higher and holds Leith’s gaze, unwavering. His words are guttural and ancient, like the locks on a treasure chest. Powerful, but weakened with age.

  “Am mac mar an t-athair.”

  I know immediately it’s Gaelic. Though I don’t hear it often in my home, I like to think I’m well-read and educated. I know it’s the founding language of Scotland, perhaps derived from the Irish. It was the major language of the Kingdom of Alba back in the day, and though it’s evolved with time, it’s still ancient and revered.

  Leith nods. “Agreed.”

  Though it’s imperative I pay close attention to every detail, my primal needs kick in. I’m starving.

  I dig into my eggs and sausage with vigor, quickly finishing my food before they take the plate away or remember I’m their prisoner and don’t deserve good vittles like these. The eggs are cooked perfectly, crispy around the edges, creamy in the center, hot and salty. The sausages are plump and fairly burst in my mouth with flavor, but the pastry almost makes me wish I could actually speak. I’d tell them it’s the most delicious pastry I’ve ever put in my mouth.

  I never get food like this at home, of course, but I’ve hardly ever had anything like this in my life. Golden brown and rich, the buttery pastry melts in my mouth with the sweet tang of raspberry preserves and icing and thick sugar crystals. It seems almost disrespectful to eat such a thing in silence as I do. No moaning or licking my lips, but I hope whoever made this heavenly concoction can tell how much I loved it by the way I haven’t left a single crumb on my plate.

  When I’m done, I finally sit back, surprised to find Leith’s gaze on me.

  “That’s a good lass. A very good lass,” he says, looking at my plate with approval. I blink in surprise. What an odd thing for him to say. Did he expect I’d starve myself on his watch?

  “Now, then, that you’ve had some food, it’s time you told us a bit more about yourself.”

  His father’s watching us with interest. I sit beside him and fidget in my chair. He’s promised to punish me if I don’t answer him, but we’re right here in the kitchen where anyone could hear or see us.

  Footsteps sound behind me, and I look up to see one of the brothers from the night before enter, the one they called Mac.

  “Morning, all,” he says cheerfully. He snags a pastry off the platter and eats it in two bites before he’s sat beside Leith. “Leith, growing soft in your old age, are you?”

  “I’m not,” Leith says coldly. “What makes you say that?”

  “Bringing our prisoner to the breakfast table like she’s your date?”

  Leith rolls his eyes. “Aye, you know me. Hard up for a date, I’ve resorted to taking women off the street.”

  Everyone else laughs but him.

  “She was just about to tell us her name,” Leith says. “Weren’t you?”

  I shake my head. Nope. Defying him again scares me this time. I swallow my nerves as I watch his reaction.

  “Told you what would happen,” he says in a low, warning tone.

  “For the love of God,” Islan says, pushing herself to her feet to get everyone’s attention. “Are you all as dumb as bricks or what?”

  Leith’s eyes narrow, but she’s got his attention. My belly swoops with anxiety. I know in my heart she’s about to reveal my secret.

  “Can the girl speak?” Islan says, shaking her head. “Are you really so dense?”

  Leith’s wide eyes swing from hers to mine, and Islan pushes on.

  “Has she made a single peep since you got her? Hmm? A single gasp or scream or laugh?”

  Leith shakes his head. “No.”

  Islan sighs. “Och, aye, y’all are fu—”Her eyes come quickly to her father’s. “Y’all are addled,” she finally says. “Give the girl a piece of damn paper, see if she can communicate.”

  Yes.

  A moment later, a notebook and a pen are shoved into my hand, and I quickly write as legibly as I can. Silence falls over the room as the pen scratches over paper.

  My name is Cairstina.

  I am not able to talk. Mute.

  I was in an accident several years ago and lost my ability to speak.

  I push the pad of paper over to Leith who quickly reads it.

  “Cairstina,” he says. It’s the first time he’s said my name out loud, and my heart does a little somersault. Hearing him say my name in that voice of his, the thick brogue of the north with the rolling r’s, all growly and rugged and masculine. I swallow hard, wishing him to say it again, and as if hearing my thoughts, he does.

  “Cairstina.” He frowns at me. “It’s a beautiful name.”

  Thank you.

  He looks down at the page, then nods.

  “Last name,” he says.

  Reilly.

  He reads as I write, then shakes his head. He’s not heard of my family, then. Very few have, so I’m not surprised.

  Islan stands, reading over his shoulder and chuckles to herself when she does.

  “See? Knew it. You could do all you want to her to make her speak and you’ll get nowhere. Go ahead, Leith. Tie her up. Torture her. See how far you get.”

  “That’s enough, Islan,” he says with that quiet authority that I’ve come to expect. She stops.

  He turns to Mac. “How do we know if she’s lying?”

  Oh no. Does he seriously think I’m making this up? Good God, how will I ever convince the man?

  He gets to his feet and shrugs. “Oh, I’ve a few ideas.” He beckons to me. “Come here, lass.”

  I look to Leith for permission, as I know he wouldn’t let me go to his brother unless he allowed it. His jaw is tight, his eyes narrowed and angry when he responds.

  “Go on, then. But don’t you forget whose she is.” My heartbeat spikes with fear. Why is he giving him that warning?

  His brother looks at him with wide eyes, as if he’s astonished that he’d ever think of doing anything but performing completely on the up and up. “Now, Leith, I’d never dream of doing anything disrespectful toward you, brother.”

  Leith nods at him, giving me permission to go to Mac.

  Mac leads me away from the table and off to the pantry. I look at the shelves of the pantry eagerly, since I’ve never seen anything like this before. What on earth? Shelf after shelf, teeming with food as far as the eye can see.

  Non-perishable goods, rows of crackers and tinned things, spices and jams and jellies and pickles.

  “Now, lass, look over at Leith,” Mac says with surprising calm. I look over at Leith, who’s looking at me as puzzled as I am. What is Mac playing at? But before I can formulate a response, a large bang sounds, and a huge crashing sound makes me jump nearly out of my skin. I open my mouth in a silent scream, and turn around to face him, absolutely shocked. Of course, I don't make a noise. My heart pounds, slamming against my rib cage with the fear.

  “Solved that, then,” Mac says with a wink. “She didn’t make a bloody sound.”

  Leith’s on his feet, walking my way as something cold and wet pools at my feet. I look down in astonishment at a huge jar of pickles broken on the tiled floor, the yellowish-green liquid seeping around my feet as the smell of garlic and vinegar reaches my nostrils.

  “Honest to fucking God, you couldn’t have clanged a bell or something?” Leith asks, though he doesn’t look as angry as I’ve seen him before. Staff rushes over with a mop. Leith jerks his chin at Mac. “Hand it to him,” he says to the staff. “Don’t you dare help him clean it up.”

  Mac only shakes his head with a chuckle, clearly pleased with himself, but not at all deterred by the dressing down of his older brother. He must be pleased he was the one that’s proven my disability. Fucking bully for him.

  “And you,” Leith says, holding me by the elbow. “You’ll come with me.” He brings his mouth to my ear. “Now that I know how to communicate with you, we’ve got much to discuss, don’t we?”

  Well. We’ll see about that. I only nod.

  “If you’ll excuse us,” Leith says to his father. “I’m going to ask her some questions, and I’ll be back later.” Tate walks into the room as we’re leaving. “Tate, call the others and tell them we’re meeting at noon. I want everyone prepared with their quarterly reports as well.”

  The quarterly reports thing throws me a wee bit. He’s an interesting sort, half gangster, half businessman. What on earth does he do? Who is this family, that they have this reclusive lodge, apart from all people and nearly completely detached from all civilization? Who did I fall in with? I’d ask myself how do I get out of it, but I have no interest in doing so quite yet.

  Eventually, I’ll get there. Right now, my curiosity’s a bigger pull than the call for freedom.

  We leave the kitchen and don’t head upstairs like I expect, but down a hallway that leads to another room. I inhale deeply as we walk, enjoying this so much. The staff is cleaning, and the scent of pine and wood polish fills the air, mingled with the scent of woodsmoke from various fires. The one in the kitchen, one in a sitting room of sorts, giving the home a cozy atmosphere.

  He opens a large door to a room that’s lined with books and drags me in. I wish I could speak. I’d tell him he doesn’t need to drag me around like this, that I’m fully capable of walking of my own accord. And really, have I given him any indication whatsoever that I’ll run?

  “Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to a large, comfortable-looking dark brown sofa. I obey, sitting primly on the edge. He doesn’t speak at first, pacing about the room with his hands in his pocket. “And to think,” he mutters as if to himself, “all this time I thought she was willfully silent, and she can’t fucking speak.” He looks up at me and scowls so harshly I flinch.

  It isn’t my fault, I think at him, glaring.

  “Don’t you give me that look,” he warns, wagging a finger in my direction. I’m tempted to stick my tongue out at him like Islan did, when the door to the study opens, and the younger sister walks in, not realizing at first we’re there. She’s got a mobile up to her ear and she’s speaking in hushed tones, but when she sees Leith glaring at her, she nearly drops it.

  “Oh my, I’m so sorry!” she says. “Didn’t know this room was occupied.”

  “Get out,” he growls. She turns and fairly runs.

  Why do you have to be such a dick to everyone?

  It’s probably a good thing he can’t hear me.

  He stalks over to the desk and grabs a Cambridge yellow legal pad. He practically shoves it in my hands, then gives me a blue pen with the Scottish flag on it.

  “I’ll ask, you write.”

  I nod. Fair enough. I’m used to this.

  “Do you know Father MacGowen?”

  I write. Aye.

  I bite my lip, embarrassed when I realize I could’ve easily just nodded.

  He nods. “How?”

  This response takes me a bit longer.

  He’s a friend of mine. Sometimes I need to leave my home, and he’s given me refuge at the church a few times. He’s very good to me and I like him very much.

  “Why do you need to leave home?”

  It never occurs to me to tell him anything but the truth. I’ve nothing to hide, and if I’m honest… I don’t want to go back. Perhaps this family can consider me an ally of sorts. Or perhaps that’s my overactive imagination again.

  I go back to writing, giving him nothing but the bold, honest truth.

  I am mistreated at home. My brother is an alcoholic and he beats me when he’s angry. My mother enables him. They are not kind people.

  Since it takes me a moment to write, he doesn’t watch me write, but waits until I’m finished, then looks at the paper when I show him the pad. I don’t know what to expect from his reaction. Indifference? Curiosity? But it’s nothing like how he actually responds.

  His eyes narrow, and his jaw clenches. His whole body stiffens, as he clenches his hands into fists.

  “Tell me your brother’s name.”

  Dougal Reilly.

  Will he find him? Will he do something?

  And why does the thought of him doing that give me a sliver of hope? I’m not a vindictive person…

  Am I?

  “He’s the one that gave you the bruise on your cheek?”

  I completely forgot about that. I hesitate for a moment, then nod.

  He doesn’t ask me a question for a moment, but takes his mobile out of his pocket and slides his finger along the screen. He doesn’t tell me what he types, of course, but curiosity is killing me. He slides his mobile back in his pocket, and sits beside me. For the first time, I write something on the pad before he has a chance to ask me another question.

  I could do this a lot faster if it weren’t by hand and I could type on a mobile. His face alights with interest.

  “You mean like texting me?”

  I nod. Even faster than writing.

  “Excellent. I’d like that.” He takes his mobile out again and places a call. A second later, I can tell someone’s answered.

  “Can you do me a favor?” There’s a pause, then he continues. “I need a burner phone, high quality. Going to text with Cairstina.”

  He nods and holds my gaze. “Aye, it is a lovely name.”

  My heart does that squeezing thing again. I swallow hard and doodle along the margins of the page. A sun and a moon, a little star, a teeny, tiny Scottish flag.

  He hangs up the phone. “We’ll have a phone for you within the hour, but you will not be allowed to communicate with anyone but me until further notice. Do you understand?”

  I nod. Of course. He really doesn’t know me at all.

  Who on earth would I actually communicate with?

  I write on the pad and show it to him.

  That won’t be a problem. I have no interest in communicating with anyone else. The only friend I have is Father MacGowen, and I wouldn’t get in touch with my mother or brother if I were dying.

  He looks at me curiously after that, this time not asking any more questions.

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

  Leith

  The interrogation goes on for over an hour, as the communication is slow and halting.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “Do you know what you witnessed in the graveyard?”

  “Will anyone come looking for you?”

  At the last question, her face falls and she shakes her head. I’m sorry to tell you, but no. She looks so mournful, that I decide to give her a break.

  I hate how hot and stifling it is, and decide I need to get out. Islan will be here any moment with the phone, so as soon as she is, we’ll head outside.

  I pace back and forth in the study, trying to get my bearings. Trying to understand what to do next. What will I do with this woman? I feel like I’ve rescued a defenseless puppy who was orphaned or some such shite. If I release her back into the wild, whatever happens to her is on fucking me.

  I can’t let her go anyway, since she was witness to a crime. I know I can’t, and if my father’s reaction was any indication at all, after leading the Cowen Clan for decades, I know he thinks I’ve been far too easy on her. His words from a lecture days before ring in my ears, over and over again.

  “If you’re to be a man of this Clan, and the fucking leader, you don’t hesitate to mete out punishment that’s due, nor do you ever back down in the face of taking a life for the protection of the Clan.” I know it, don’t I bloody fucking know it. I didn’t take the job as a damn cobbler or stone mason, or one of the men of the mines. Sometimes I wish I had.

  Tavish was fearless. He’d have known exactly what to do. It seems Tavish always made the right decision, the brave decision, the one that made my father proud and strengthened the Clan. I don’t know if it’s something like hero worship or if my memory’s flawed, though. It was his fearlessness and bravery that led him to his death.

  I stride to the window at the furthest end of the room, the one that overlooks the small Cowen family graveyard behind my family home. The grave in the furthest corner of the lot is bordered with the hearty purple heather native to our land, sturdy enough to withstand the bitter cold. Mum visits every damn week.

  I’ll visit soon. I’ve been telling myself that since he died, but for some reason I haven’t done it.

  A gentle knock comes on the door seconds before Islan barges in.

  “Here you go!” she says with a grin, holding a sleek white box. “You were damn lucky Paisley was in town when you called, brother.” She rolls her eyes at Cairstina. “We live here in the bloody boondocks, takes ages to get there and back for an errand.” She winks at her. “You’ll thank me later, lass, I had her get a top of the line phone there. Better than my own damn mobile.” She tosses it to me and I catch it mid-air. “Since you were buying, I had her pick up a wee pressie for myself, too,” she says with a grin. In her palm lies a small white box. Of course I’ve no idea what the hell it is, and I don’t fucking care.

  “Thanks, Islan, this is brilliant. Thank Paisley for me. Now off with you.”

  “This is brilliant,” she repeats to Cairstina as she heads for the door. “It’s the kindest thing he’s ever said to me.” She opens the door and yells over her shoulder just before she shuts it. “You should be happy you’ve found yourself a mute woman, Leith. The one and only that’ll never talk back to you.”

  Slam.

  My father spoiled the fucking lot of them.

  I look over to Cairstina, shocked to see her shoulders are shaking. Is she crying? Why the hell is she crying? I walk to her, as she wipes her eyes, and I suddenly realize she’s laughing.

  “Don’t even think about following her lead, woman,” I say with warning in my voice. “She gets herself in plenty of trouble.”

  Cairstina scribbles on the pad.

 

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