He’s said as much, but it makes me nervous.
“Do we have to?”
“Yeah, we do,” he says, but he doesn’t tell me why.
Keenan and I lead the group of men to the steps that lead to a little house attached to the church.
“What’s this?” I ask him.
“Rectory,” he says, but that still doesn’t mean anything to me.
“Does someone live there?” I ask.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
I shrug. “Know what?”
“Who anyone else is,” he says. “At all.”
I swallow hard. “Guess not.”
I haven’t a clue what he’s talking about. Should I?
“So you’ve never seen Father Finn?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. As I’ve told you, the only person I’ve ever spoken to was my father.”
“Right,” he says, looking ahead, as if he doesn’t want to make eye contact with me.
My heart’s still hammering in my chest when we reach the doorway of the rectory, and Keenan knocks. After a moment, the door opens, and an older man with graying hair answers.
“Keenan,” he says. “How are you, son?”
“Doing well, Father. Need to ask you a few questions.”
The older man scowls at the small crowd of men. “You needed reinforcements to talk to your uncle, did you?”
But before Keenan responds, the man’s gaze swings to me, and he gives a little start. “My God,” he whispers, bringing his hand to his mouth.
“Dead ringer for her mother, is she, Father?” Keenan says.
My mother?Chapter ElevenKeenanI didn’t think we’d have to use our harsher methods on the Father. Though he’s many flaws, dishonesty isn’t one of them. I wanted to see what he’d do when he looked at Caitlin. If she’s the spitting image of her mother like mam says, he won’t be able to hide his shock.
“Come in, boys,” Finn says, opening the door wide. “Dorothy’s just pulled out some scones. Help yourself.”
The men pile into the door and assemble in the Father’s living room. They eat the scones on little glass plates, all on their best behavior. Father Finn looks older every time I see him, the worry lines around his brows deeper. He sighs, taking a seat beside me in a large, overstuffed chair.
“What do you need to know, Keenan?”
“Who her mother was,” I tell him. “And what her story was.”
Finn closes his eyes briefly, and in that moment, I see panic written in Caitlin’s features.
“Me?” she whispers. “Are you asking for me?”
I nod.
“Her mother was Caitlin Martin,” Father says. “I counseled her twenty-one years ago, when she came to me.”
“Because she was pregnant,” I say.
“Yes.”
“Who was the father?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve no idea, Keenan. She wouldn’t tell. She took it to the grave. But she told me, and I believed her, that if anyone heard of the babe’s existence, it would mean war between the Clans.”
“Jack Anderson was not her father, then,” I say. I know this, but I want his confirmation.
Father sighs. “Jack Anderson never even knew her mother. Her mother died in childbirth, and back then the child would’ve gone to an orphanage. I didn’t think her safe there.” His eyes swing to Caitlin’s, and he pats her hand gently, the worry lines around his eyes deepening.
Caitlin’s eyes go to me, and I watch as her gaze clouds. It’s the first she’s heard that the man who called himself her father wasn’t. Her eyes meet mine, and I give her hand a little squeeze. I hate that she has to find out this way, that the one truth in her life, her only constant, will be taken away from her like this.
“Why Anderson? Why’d you interfere?”
He looks back to me. “Because it wasn’t safe if anyone knew she was alive, Keenan. Think on this, son. And Anderson owed me a favor.”
Think on it I will.
“Why does mam seem to think her mother committed suicide? She had no idea her mate had a child.”
Father Finn clears his throat. “It was an unfortunate rumor that was… started… so that no one would find out she was with child.”
He lied then? He, or someone he knew, fabricated that lie. I ask him everything I can, until it’s clear he’s got nothing left to offer. He’s told us everything we need to know.
“I’ll be back, Father,” I warn him. I would never raise a hand to him, and I don’t mean to threaten physical harm. But I will have my questions answered.
At the doorway, he places his hand on my arm and speaks so low, only I will hear. “Take good care, Keenan. The girl will be sheltered and in danger. Take good care.”
“You have my word.”
We leave the rectory, and Boner scoffs a handful of scones on the way. Cormac’s sober, and even Tully and Nolan are quiet. If Caitlin’s existence will bring about trouble for The Clan, we all have to be on the same page.
What would’ve caused war between The Clans?