I drop my head to her shoulder. My wife. My life. She’s a fucking lioness.
I’d arrived just in time to take the knife out of her hand, having left for Scotland the moment I’d spotted her scrawled message across the mirror. A short flight and a hair raising drive to the castle, imagining that would be the one place she’d feel safe after what I’d forced her to confront. I was cursing myself, my every muscle tense, regretting every moment while knowing in my heart she needed to see it. She needed to know who I’d forced myself to become.
Then my phone rang. It was the bank querying the transfer sum. A change of direction and just a few minutes lost before I spotted Archie and Hugh racing along the hedgerow to the street, intent on flagging down a passing car.
She didn’t need help. She learned that lesson the hard way, the way I had learned it.
We do what we must to protect those we love.
I’d like to say I finished the job for her, finished him off for her. I would’ve cut his throat as easily as blinking. As with Anatoli, who’d touched my wife, who’d been trafficking vulnerable women into prostitution, cancer needs cutting out.
Tom is a cancer. A leech. But I had to think of the bigger picture. As terrified as the boys were by the experience, he was still their father. How could they grow to love me knowing I’d murdered him? Murder also weighs on the soul. I didn’t want that for Isla.
So I’d taken her in my arms, then the emergency services.
Tom is currently serving a lengthy prison sentence for attempted kidnapping, grievous bodily harm, and a list of other offenses. He deserves every day he’ll spend behind bars after luring Holland and the boys away at the end of the football match, knocking her out, tying her up, and generally terrorizing two women and two children.
And they say I’m a bad man…
After a police investigation, Isla faced no charges.
It pays to have friends in high places. And people in high places who owe you.
I don’t count Sandy in that group. By default, Sandy and I are now part of the same family. He says he’s learned to live with that fact, but I know he’s pleased to see Isla and the boys happy. Looked after. Loved.
“Well, we’re not calling either of these children Tiberius,” Holland says.
We’re still having this conversation?
“We’re going to have to call them something, darling,” Alexander replies, absolutely winding her up. “We can’t carry on calling them Thing One and Thing Two, no matter how cute you think it is.”
“How much longer do you have to decide,” I ask, resting my arms around my wife.
“Four weeks.” Isla answers for her sister-in-law. “But twins often arrive early.” Her words are wistful, but I’m sure I’m the only one who notices. Holland and Alexander are too wrapped up in their own joy to see Isla’s quiet sorrow.
“It’s too early,” I’d cautioned her the last time we’d had this discussion. “You put yourself under far too much pressure.”
“Time is running out,” she’d replied with a teary laugh. “I’m not getting any younger. If it doesn’t happen soon, it might never—”
“So be it.” I’d taken her in my arms, brushing away the trickle of tears. “I have everything I need right here. I have you. I have Archie and Hugh. To ask for more would be greedy.”
But I know she also wants a child for herself.
Sliding Isla’s hair from her face, I curl it around her ear. When she’s near, I can’t help but touch her. When she’s not, my body seems to ache for her. “Where do you suppose Archie has gone?”
“The long way around to the kitchen. After-school snack,” she says with a tiny shrug. He’ll have to work fast; Sergei is probably there. He complains about the accents up here, but he secretly loves it. He’s become partial to Dougal’s cooking. And is probably helping himself to the cooking sherry.
“Want to take a walk around the gardens?”
Isla gives a coy flutter of her lashes. “Because you want to take advantage of—”
“The beautiful day, of course.”
Holland snorts.
Pulling Isla more solidly into the cradle of my lap, I whisper. “What do you think?” I gently bite her ear.
She shivers and, with a soft laugh, slides from my knee.
“Where are those two going?” Alexander asks as we step out onto the terrace, hand in hand.
“To look at the flowers,” Holland answers in a bright tone. Then I’m sure she adds, “Dirty little horticulturists.”
Isla’s dress flits around her bare knees as our feet trip lightly down the old stone step like a couple of teenagers finding themselves home alone for a few hours.
“Wait for me.” She giggles, following me as I cut across the lawn.
“Come here.” My voice sounds husky as I slip my hand around her waist, pulling her behind one of the huge old cedar trees dotting the lawn. Her laughter is bright and carefree as I press her against the wide, gnarled trunk.