I grunt again, not terribly interested in having this conversation.
“Says you may not let her travel at the weekend. That you told her she had to remember who she was and ask your permission?”
I nod. “Something like.”
Mum blinks once, then twice. “Leith.”
I glance at the clock on my phone. “I have to go soon. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
A muscle ticks in her jaw. “Remember that a good leader shows meekness.”
I blow out an impatient breath, eager to get going on my task. “Of course. Have I done anything that showed you otherwise?”
She shakes her head and walks away. I have the distinct feeling I’m missing something.
Ten minutes later, my Clan brothers and I are driving down the steep, narrow path that takes us into the heart of Inverness. We’re far enough away, no one ever comes here by accident, but also far enough away it’s a pain in my arse to get into the heart of the city. I make a silent vow that one of my new jobs as Clan Captain will be to ensure I’ve got a better route to the city, as long as we continue to be well hidden.
The mountains of the north have so few inhabitants, until recently it’s been easy to keep our existence quiet. Now, however, with more people living in the mountains, reclusivity’s become harder and harder to maintain.
“Need a guard dog,” I mutter under my breath as I go down the steep incline.
“Come again?” Mac says, furrowing his brow as he looks at me. He’s the youngest of the brothers but older than the girls. Mac has my mother’s bright blue eyes, his hair as dark black as hers was when she was younger. He leans back, his feet up on the dash, watching me, his large frame at rest but imbued with latent power. He’s got my father’s breadth of shoulders, his arms as big as tree trunks.
“Need a fucking guard dog,” I say, louder this time. “With more people populating the city, we’re liable to have visitors more often than we’d like.”
Tate laughs out loud from the back. The middle brother, he’s quieter than the rest, but being the second oldest in the family means he’s taken on a good deal of responsibility. He has the occasional melancholy side since our eldest brother’s passing. Pragmatic and intelligent, he’d do well as Clan Bookkeeper or Secretary if he didn’t have the responsibility of a leadership role. As such, though, he’s the Chief, and second in command.
“Leith, you’re out of your fucking mind,” Tate says, leaning on the seat to speak to me. “There’ve been, what—two people who’ve come anywhere near us since the fucking summer?”
“Two people too many,” I mutter, ignoring the way the rest of them laugh.
“Jaysus, Leith,” Clyde, our head enforcer mutters in his thick northern brogue. He’s a massive, burly lad of twenty-two, still wet behind the ears with a scant beard, but he and Mac are a veritable force to be reckoned with. “You act as if the two people who’ve come’ll fuckin’ threaten us.”
“Alright, enough,” I mutter. I don’t care if these men are my brothers, my father never allowed backtalk and I won’t either. “I want a fucking guard dog, and we’ll have one by this time next week.”
They’re all quiet for a minute. I’m new to the role of Clan Captain, and they’re new to the expectations of obedience and deference. Though I was second in command until recently, the Captain commands far more than the Chief does, and they know within Clan law they have no choice but to do what they’re told.
“Alright, then,” Clyde says. “A dog it is. You know I’ve no real objection. I fucking love a good dog.”
“Aye, same,” Tate mutters. “Now can you tell us, Cap’n, why we’re heading to the Cathedral?”
“Aye.” I draw in a breath, mentally preparing for what lies ahead. “Keenan McCarthy contacted Dad today.”
“Why Dad? Doesn’t he know you’re Captain now?”
“Likely not.”
“I’ll be sure he does,” Tate says firmly from the back. He’s the most loyal of our group, and I feel a surge of gratefulness. “He ought not be going straight to Dad anymore, but you.”
“’Twill take a wee bit of time before the Clans recognize new leadership. But just the same, I’d appreciate that, Tate.”
“Aye,” he mutters, then everyone goes quiet, waiting for me to fill them in.
“McCarthy’s hacker discovered that fucking Aitkens was responsible for fuckin’ up our deal in Inverness last month.”
The men mutter curses and grunts. Doesn’t matter which Aitkens it was. They’re all our sworn enemies. Though our Clan is reclusive and quiet, preferring anonymity, we conduct a good deal of business from Inverness to Edinburgh, between townsfolk, politicians, and our Clan allies. Occasionally we even work an arms trade with the McCarthys in Ireland.