Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
I quietly creep up to the window in the garden, since it’s open. I can either get in, or spy and see if I can hear anything inside.
Voices. I freeze, listening carefully.
I hear Father Finn. A rough, deep voice, heavily laced with an accent of the north. And a softer, feminine voice. I close my eyes, concentrating hard.
Is that… Maeve?
I step on a ceramic statue and give myself a tiny bit of leverage so I can peer in the window.
Jesus.
Finn gave me a signal, alright. They’re here. All of them.
Five armed men stand sentry over Maeve and Father Finn, tied with rope to sturdy dining room chairs. They can’t see me from where I am in the shadows, but I can see them and hear them clearly. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Keenan would lose his bloody mind.
They wear leather cuts, and their voices are thick with accents I don’t recognize. They sound almost… forced?
I lean in closer to hear their words.
“We’ve come from the North to enact our revenge on the Clan.”
Maeve frowns, her eyes narrowed in anger. “That’s a lie.”
“Shut it, woman,” the man growls, stepping closer to her. “Or I’ll shut it for you.”
She tosses her head, ever the proud McCarthy Clan matriarch. “When my sons find out you laid hands on me, you’ll pay dearly.” I stifle a snort. Understatement of the fucking year.
He reaches for her, grabbing her arm, when Father Finn speaks quietly. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll not touch a hair on her head. Even I can’t hold back the wrath of the McCarthys if you harm one of their own.”
Goddamn right. I’ll break every one of his fingers before I slice his fucking neck if he touches her.
“Now, what makes you so clever you think we aren’t from the north, hmm?”
“Oh, you’re from the north, alright,” Maeve says through clenched teeth. “But you’ve made it seem like you were the men of the mountains, didn’t you?”
“We are, you stupid bitch,” one of the larger men says. His friend shakes his head at him, and he quiets.
“You think we aren’t, then, hmm? We sent our housekeeper here to distract you. She was bloody good at lying for us, wasn’t she?”
Maeve rolls her eyes. “Lies.”
I stifle a groan. Jesus, Maeve. Don’t provoke them.
“And why do you think we aren’t the Scots, hmm?”
She purses her lips. “Because I know your face. I know your eyes. And I know precisely who your father is.”
He glares at her. I look around for a point of entry that will get me in there. There are three of them and one of me, how the bloody hell will I take them? There’s no time to alert the others. I have to let someone know. I need backup. Everyone else is on alert at the mansion, but the real instigators are here.
I take out my phone to shoot Keenan a message, when it buzzes.
McKenna.
I swipe it so fast I nearly drop my phone. Where is she? Is she alright?
Tully, we need to talk.
Where are you?
I text her as quickly as possible, keeping an ear on the conversation inside. I can’t let them hurt Finn or Maeve, but I need to make sure McKenna’s safe.
I went for a walk by the ocean. I’m down on the beach below the cliffs, the private McCarthy family beach. Where are you?
STAY. THERE.
She’ll be bloody safe there.
The words inside are getting more heated, and I can feel the threat of danger in the air.
Text Keenan, send backup to the parsonage and STAY THERE UNTIL I GET YOU.
I shove my phone in my pocket. The doors are all locked, and I have no idea how I can get in without alerting the men inside, when it dawns on me.
Meet me at the office in the parsonage.
The office. Though there’s no office, when I was a lad, we’d all come here on break from St. Albert’s. Seamus would have us trim the hedges, mow the lawn, paint the fence, and do whatever else was needed for the upkeep of the house and grounds. Every once in a while, one of us would need to speak privately to Father Finn. With a twinkle in his eye, he’d always say, “Come into my office,” and he’d lead us to the pantry with two bar stools and a jar of sweets.
If I go to the right… right under here, where the bushes meet the fence… there should be a window to the pantry. I push through cobwebs and dry, crunchy leaves to get to the door, walking as slowly as I can so I don’t make a sound. Above me, the window to the pantry’s wide open. It’s far enough from the others I should be able to get in.
There’s only one problem. Father Finn has grossly misjudged my size. There’s no bloody way I can fit in there.