He releases me, pushing me onto the seat beside him, and dresses back in his shirt before we exit.
“You’ll be meeting your in-laws and servants who’ll wait on you shortly,” he begins. “I expect your behavior to be polite and dignified. Understood? I’ll have none of that surly attitude from you, lass.”
I huff out in indignation, when I feel his hand on my arm.
“I said, do you understand me?”
I think he somehow instilled fear in me with the punishment he gave me, for my heart does a quick beat in my chest at the memory, of him holding me down and wielding his palm and weapon on me.
“Yes. I understand.” I’d rather be on good terms with them anyway.
“Good.”
And then we’re exiting the car, and I’m trying not to look at anyone. There are so many. Uniformed servants and men in suits, some that attended the service today and some that didn’t. Right before me stands a beautiful, black-haired woman holding a baby in her arms, and beside her a shorter woman with the McCarthy family green eyes and dark brown, wavy hair, full pink lips, and a ready smile.
The black-haired woman smiles at me, an almost other-worldly look about her. I wonder where she fits in here. The woman beside her gives me a tentative wave.
“Welcome,” the woman holding the baby says. “You’re Aileen?” Her voice is pretty, almost musical. How can she look so normal and cheerful when she’s witnessing this travesty?
A squeeze of my neck reminds me he’s watching, goddamn it. “Yes,” I say, then look away. I’m embarrassed to be here in front of the others.
“I’m Caitlin,” she says. “Your sister-in-law. I’m married to Cormac’s brother Keenan, Clan Chief. And this is little Seamus, your nephew. And meet Megan. She’s cousin to your husband.”
My husband. My stomach flips.
Still, these two seem decent enough.
“Thank you.”
Her eyes soften in sympathy. “Poor thing,” Caitlin says. “She’s tired, Cormac.”
“She’s fine.”
Megan adds her opinion as well.
“Cormac, really, perhaps she—”
But he’s whisking me away before she can finish.
“Taking her upstairs?” It’s the man who stood beside him at the wedding. Caitlin’s husband Keenan, then? He eyes me curiously, his lips pursed like Cormac’s. He doesn’t trust me either.
“Aye,” Cormac growls.
Keenan speaks to the men around us, and everyone disperses, even Caitlin and little Seamus. This is no cheerful welcome home, no honeymoon. I’m goods he’s acquired, no more, no less. It’s what I expected.
“Welcome home, Mrs. McCarthy,” Cormac says with a grim smile. My stomach tightens. I don’t like how he says that. He waves his hand at the estate, and despite my anger and apprehension, I have to admit, this place is beautiful. The large mansion overlooks the gray, craggy cliffs of Ballyhock, the Irish Sea churning just outside the front windows. Blue-green and gorgeous, endless miles of ocean extend as far as the eye can see.
A beautiful garden surrounds the front of the house. I don’t have time to take in all the details, but quickly note stone benches, an archway laced with greenery, and beautiful flowers in full bloom. The beauty that surrounds contrasts so much with the cold, sterile home I grew up in. There were no beautiful views, no gorgeous flowers or greenery. The grounds were well kept but more reminiscent of a prison than a home.
But there’s more. I can’t quite put my finger on it, not now, when I’m being pulled along toward the steps that lead inside. There’s something else that makes this place very different from what I’m used to.
We enter the house, people greeting us on all sides. I smile tightly and nod, but don’t have time to make real introductions. I suppose there will be time for that later. Cormac wants me away from everyone, and makes that clear with his curt replies and rapid steps.
The house smells warm and welcoming, like warmed vanilla and cinnamon. Someone’s baking, the scent reminding me it’s been a long time since I’ve eaten a proper meal. Every surface gleams, and bright light filters in through large, diamond-shaped windows in the entry hall. The staircase that leads upstairs is majestic, narrower at the top and wider at the bottom, swooping gracefully downward like the swells of a lady’s gown. Above us, the tall ceilings are graced with crystal chandeliers.
I might not like my husband, but perhaps he’ll be busy most of the time. I most certainly like this new home.
We walk up the carpeted stairs, and when we reach the top, he tugs me to the left. “We’re on the third floor,” he growls. “Caitlin and Keenan are opposite us. My mother lives here, as does my brother Nolan. The others live nearby.”
“Excellent.” I don’t like the detached, cold tone of my voice, but I can’t seem to help it. He’s a prick. It doesn’t bring out the best in me.