Twenty-Eight
Camille
I knewBrennan’s father by looks alone.
Even in his late sixties, Aidan Sr. was an undeniably handsome man.
It was almost perverse that he could be so attractive, that Brennan and his other sons could be too, considering their work.
They had blood on their hands, on their hearts and their souls, but their faces were angelic. At least, if angels had the kind of faces that you wanted to kiss.
Not that Aidan Sr.’s made me want to get kissy with it, but it certainly made it easier for me to understand how Inessa had fallen for Eoghan so fast, and why, with Brennan, all of these bewildering desires were flooding me to the point of being overwhelmed.
How could any mortal resist a fallen angel?
His grin of welcome morphed into a frown of confusion as he looked me over, his eyes narrowed. From that in-depth scan, I was aware that he knew who I was. He recognized me and he didn’t approve of my presence here and what it might mean that Brennan would bring me here on a Saturday night for a meal with his folks.
For all that he was insane, he was evidently shrewd.
“None of that, Da,” Brennan rumbled, his voice low and deep. The warning clear, and all the more soothing to me for that.
I peered up at him, finding comfort in his proximity. Finding comfort in him, truth be told. In this, the land of my father’s enemies, it was nice to have a friendly face close by.
“None of what? Why’s she here?”
“Aidan? Are you interrogating our Bren on the doorstep? What’s the matter with you?”
The waspish grumble had me tilting my head so that I could see around Aidan better. When I found a woman, all curves and red hair, a face that would have been pretty when she was younger but was stunning now, I knew this was the famous Magdalena O’Donnelly.
The woman Aidan Sr. had gone to war over.
God only knew how many men were dead because of this man’s love for his wife.
It would be romantic if it wasn’t also depressing.
“The matter is he’s brought someone with him,” was Aidan’s retort.
Lena frowned, but her gaze drifted to mine. “Oh.”
“Oh? That’s all you’ve got to say, Ma?” Brennan chided, but his tone was softer. Gentler.
With his father, he was brisk and to the point. Not necessarily argumentative, but borderline aggressive.
It was quite apparent that my husband loved his mother.
“You should have told me you were bringing company.” She barked at Aidan, “Let them in, man. What do you want them to do? Camp out on the doorstep? They’ll catch their deaths in this cold.”
Aidan grunted but shuffled backward, his unwillingness clear even as his hands went to my shoulders to help me out of my coat.
I turned to look up at him, and whispered, “Thank you.”
I’d learned over the years to face a predator with strength so I looked him right in the eye until he arched his brow, seeming to understand what I was doing.
He broke eye contact first, but that was less to do with how impressed he was by my ballsiness, and more to do with Lena calling out, “Aidan, give the girl room to breathe.”
Though he backed up, taking my coat with him, with his other hand, he reached for mine, twisted it around, and pursed his lips as he cast my Band-Aid-covered palms a sharp look.
“Da, leave it alone,” Brennan rumbled, making me wonder if these O’Donnelly men were some kind of mentalists. After all, I’d gone through an adolescence with no one in my family recognizing what I was doing, yet they’d learned the truth in a shocking amount of time.