But he remembers how to give a verbal lashing. He remembers his biting tongue. And he may be older and frail, but it doesn't mean he still can't do irrevocable damage.
“I did,” I say to him, my voice loud and clear, carrying across the suddenly silent kitchen. “She’s my guest.”
“She’s a fucking Aitkens.”
I can feel Bryn trembling beside me, and in that moment, I feel like I could protect her against anyone. No one is going to hurt her. I know I shouldn't feel this way, but I can't help it. She's depending on me to take care of her, to protect her, and I can't let anyone threaten her.
“And who bloody cares?” I challenge him across the room, with everyone’s eyes on me. “We were never part of your brawl with Aitkens. You buried that hatchet, and I won’t be the one to stir up old grievances.”
It’s a lie, though, a bloody lie.
He takes a step toward us, and I push myself to standing to my full height. Last year, when Leith was in town, before he married Cairstina, my father put his hands on her.
If he tries that with Bryn, I’ll kill him.
“Bram, enough.”
Mum’s on her feet, her own eyes blazing with fury. There was a time when my father would intimidate even Mum, but not now in his older age and frailty. He looks sharply at her, shaking his head.
“Our son brought a guest in this house, and I don’t care who she is or what her surname may be. She’s a guest, and as such we will treat her as one.”
Paisley turns from the stove, glaring at Dad. “We will.”
“Aye,” Islan says, clenching her fists while she stares at him. “Agreed.”
Leith looks at all of them in surprise. He's usually the one that tells everyone the way things are going to go down, but he doesn't intervene, because clearly if the girls have it under control there’s no need.
“Are you bloody joking?” my father says, and his furious eyes turn to Leith.
“Not sure even the Captain would be smart to go against every damn one of the Cowen family women,” Leith says quietly. A warning.
But Leith is playing the part very well. He knows why she’s here, why I’ve brought her, and he doesn’t bloody care if he has to go against a legion of women or men, he’ll do what he thinks best regardless. Because he knows why she’s here, though he wants to throw my father off.
“Fine, then,” Dad says, turning away from everyone. “The bloody lot of you can do whatever it is you like.” He glares at the staff. “Bring me my fucking dinner, and be quick about it.”
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”
He storms off, the sound of the cane he uses to steady himself clomping on the hardwood floor as he mutters and fumes on his way out.
There’s silence in the room for a few moments after he leaves. Then Mum turns to Aisla.
“No need to bring Mr. Cowen’s meal up to him,” she says with a grim smile. “I’ll do that myself.”
I know why she's doing this, because she needs to remind him why Bryn’s here and what my plans are. She needs to make sure he doesn't interfere like this again, and fuck everything up. She also probably wants to make sure he doesn't abuse the staff when his food is brought up.
We pay our staff well, and in turn they give us their loyalty and allegiance. They're often privy to details we wouldn't want repeated outside of the walls of our clan, so it makes sense to keep our staff happy. My father, however, has somehow forgotten that.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Aisla says with a curtsy. She scurries out of the room with a duster, likely off to find the most distant dusty place she can. Mum sighs as she prepares food on a tray to bring upstairs.
“Mac, I’ll need you briefly this morning,” Leith says. “We’ve a job to do. Seems the recent storm we had knocked down the fence by the graveyard. Tate and I are heading down to fix it shortly. Join us? It’ll go much quicker.”
“Of course.”
“Leith, we’ve an errand in town this afternoon,” Islan says, and Paisley flushes.
“Not today,” Leith says, without looking up from his plate of food. They know that Leith hates when they travel away from our home, but like any young women they want some freedom. I know that they do, and in the past I've been the one that they come to, to intervene for them with our oldest brother. But this time, I'm not so sure I disagree with him.
“What do you mean, not today?” Islan asks, her eyes flashing at him.
“I’ve reasons, Islan,” he says, with no further explanation.
“We have to make sure we—”
“Not today.”
She looks to me like she usually does, hoping I’ll intervene, but I don’t want her in downtown Inverness today any more than he does.