Tully (Dangerous Doms 7)

“My father intervened, and after the bloody, brutal war between Clans, part of the agreement of truce was that I was to marry Seamus. But I suspected my Welsh boyfriend wasn’t prepared to let me go.” She sighs. “It seemed the Scottish had come to attack us. We were told by Mary it wasn’t them, and I think we wanted to believe that.” She turns to Lachlan.

“The night of the attack, was their Scottish ink on the men you killed?”

I blink in surprise. I haven’t heard them speak of these things so frankly.

Lachlan holds her gaze. “No.”

Maeve nods. “It’s clear to me, then. Tonight, at the parsonage…” her voice trails off, and she swallows hard. She sighs. “I saw the son of Elys Hughes, the Welsh Clan. And he told all.”

“So let me get this straight.” Tully’s voice booms loud and clear, and all eyes come to us.

“You were in love with the Welsh Chief as a girl. Hughes.”

Maeve nods.

“But you were promised to Seamus by your father.”

“Aye.”

“But the Welsh Chief never got over it, did he? As he saw the McCarthy Clan growing, he decided he wouldn’t let bygones be bygones anymore.”

Maeve nods again.

“When you saw his son, you knew it wasn’t the Scottish. You knew he was Welsh-born.”

“Exactly.”

“So the Welsh framed the Scots, then,” Keenan says. “And it was fitting, since they’d come to protect Mary. But none of our enemies showed the ink of the Scots, did they?”

“That’s exactly it, Keenan,” Maeve says. “It wasn’t until I saw the face of the man in the parsonage tonight that I knew who he was.”

Keenan nods slowly. “Then we fight the Welsh.”

There’s silence in the room as we all process what he’s telling us.

“They’ve attacked the Clan matriarch. They killed a McCarthy man of the cloth in cold blood. It’s an act of war.”

“Aye,” Maeve says. She swallows hard. “But Father Finn would hate to know there was more bloodshed because of him.”

Keenan paces the room. “Does it matter, Mam? He’s gone, and we’ll have a proper burial.”

“I already ended the threat against us, Keenan,” Tully says quietly.

“Perhaps you’d have an alliance with the Scots, then, if they know they were framed?” I speak up, immediately feeling my cheeks flame. “Is it possible the Welsh will send more men down here?”

Carson pulls out a shiny silver laptop and fires it up. “Just a minute. Let me see what I can find.”

He taps the keyboard, punches in some details, and nods.

“They know their men were killed in Ballyhock. They know we’re responsible.” He taps his chin, reading on. His eyes widen. “They sent someone as spy for them, and it seems they think he attacked McKenna?”

A chill skates down my spine. “’Twas Mary, Carson. They attacked her, thinking it was me.”

“So your ex-boyfriend was hired by the Welsh. Why?”

I shake my head. “I’ve no idea. None at all.”

“We’ll have to ask your mother,” Tully says quietly.

I turn to look at him. “My mum? What does she have to do with it?”

He sighs. “She’s said a few things that have raised my suspicions. Let’s pay her a visit, shall we?”

I nod silently. “Tomorrow?”

He nods. “Aye.” He sighs. “Let’s get some rest.”

“We convene first thing in the morning, at breakfast,” Keenan says. “We’ll plan our attack.” He sobers. “And we’ll plan the burial of Father Finn.”

We leave in a somber mood, but he smiles at me as we get ready to go. “Good night, McKenna. I’m glad you came back.”

I smile at him. “I’m glad of it, too.”

* * *

Chapter 18

Tully

I feel the weariness in my very bones as I head upstairs with McKenna. We’re nowhere near at peace yet after what’s happened tonight, and I know that battle is imminent. The fight we fought tonight is only one of… how many?

Patrick attacked Mary, thinking she was McKenna. Where’s he now? I wish he’d show his cowardly face. I’d fucking kill him with my own bare hands.

Maeve says it’s the Welsh who’ve framed the Scottish, and I know now she’s right. There’s no other explanation. The night I saw the men of the north, they were here to help Mary, not attack us. Was it really an old wound that caused the devastation we’ve been dealing with?

But old wounds fester, and when there’s no resolution to anger or discord, it sometimes explodes.

“You look so tired, Tully,” McKenna says, gently cupping my face with her hand. Her eyes gentle, and she smiles so softly, she looks like an angel.

“I could sleep for fucking years,” I mutter wearily.

She nods. “Come. Let’s get some rest.”

I don’t know how she’s dealt with everything we dealt with tonight and seems so at peace with it all.

We enter our flat, and thankfully the guard’s in place outside our door. We need good, deep sleep tonight.

Even with the guard outside, I inspect every room, every closet, every corner of the flat before I give her the signal we’re clear.