I have to face what may happen.
If he doesn’t make it… I’m Clan Chief. I’ve a wife, now.
“I don’t need a honeymoon,” Caitlin says in her quiet way. “We’ll find a way to celebrate.”
I lean in and kiss her cheek. “I have many ideas.”
My mother dozes in a chair beside Caitlin. I’ll never forget the way Caitlin’s handled her tonight. She’s held her when she cried, fetched her tea and food, and talked to her in her soft, soothing way.
“Will he make it, Keenan?” Caitlin asks, her troubled eyes looking at my mother.
“Dunno, lass,” I whisper. My throat tightens. My father’s heart is weak. I don’t know if he will.
The doctor comes to us late in the night, exhausted. He knows who we are. Everyone in Ballyhock does. He scrubs a hand across his brow and speaks aloud for anyone to hear.
“He’s pulled through, but he isn’t doing well. The… accident took a toll on his heart.”
“Can I go to him?” Mam is on her feet, her eyes rimmed with black mascara. She’s had her cry and now she’s doing what she always does: facing what she needs to bravely.
“Of course,” the doctor says.
I join her, and the doctor puts a hand on my shoulder as mam walks by.
“He may not wake from this, sir,” he says. I nod. I know it.
We go to my father, and it scares me a little to see him stretched on the bed, his eyes closed shut, so white he looks like vapor. There are machines stretched out beside him, all around him, regulating his heartbeat and breathing. We’re not supposed to be in here, not so soon, but the doctor’s waived protocol to let us in.
My mother stands on one side and I on the other.
“He’d be pleased to see you wed,” she says, her eyes shining brightly at us. She reaches for my father’s hand, and squeezes. Caitlin, the brave, sweet lass that she is, reaches for my father’s second hand.
“Mister McCarthy,” she says in her clear, pretty voice. “If you can hear me… I want to thank you. For raising this son of yours. For allowing me into your family. And for taking such very good care of me.”
I love this woman and will spend the rest of my days seeing to her every need. She’s so brave. Unencumbered with the ways of the world, she faces everything—life and death, marriage and circumstance, the violence and loyalty that forges our brotherhood—with steadfast loyalty and honesty.
We stay by my father’s bed until the wee hours of the morning.
And when the sun rises on a new day, my father’s gone.Chapter Twenty-FiveKeenanOne week laterWe’re assembled in our meeting room. Every one of us. Caitlin’s with my mother. They’re picking out furniture for the new bedroom, and I think packing a bag. We’re going to the school at the weekend.
My father was buried with the highest honors, and the men of nearly every clan came to pay their respects. Martin sent a letter to me, asking for permission to speak to me. He didn’t come to the funeral. He wasn’t welcome.
Today’s the day he’s to come.
But we have business to attend to, first.
Lachlan, standing bravely before me, holds his hand on mine, taking his vows. We’ve followed the rules of induction, the ceremony. My father would be proud. We’ve gone over the rules of The Clan, then Sebastian slit his hand. Lachlan didn’t even flinch. I did the same, and our blood joined as one in the first initiation shake. Cormac followed suit, and when Nolan returns home next month, he will as well.
He’ll have to undergo final training. But it won’t break him. He’ll do well. It’s because of him my bride survived.
“Keenan?” Carson stands by the door, gesturing for me. “Mack Martin’s arrived.”
I nod. “See him to the study, please.”
Lachlan’s taken under Cormac’s wing. Tonight, he’ll be brought to the pub, they’ll drink to his honor, and get him a woman for the night. And tomorrow, I’ll give him his first assignment. He’ll get his Clan ink at the weekend. I’m proud of the boy and pleased that we’ve welcomed him into the fold. He’s my first inductee as Chief. He’ll serve us well.
I steel myself for what I have to do next. Mack Martin, the man who ordered a hit on my wife, the man responsible for my father’s death. I want nothing more than to make him hurt, but he’s here to speak to me, and it’s in everyone’s best interest if I keep the peace. So I go.
The short, fat, beady-eyed man waits in my office, flanked by his soldiers. As if I’d kill him right here.
He nods his greeting to me, his voice oily and thick when he speaks.
“Keenan, my condolences for your loss, and congratulations on your wedding.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, gesturing for him to sit.