Keenan (Dangerous Doms 1)

“Know what?”

She looks over my shoulder, and her brows knit together. “Everything, lass. What they do. Why they do it. Who they bury, and why.” She turns back to me. “And most of the time, I allow them to shield me. I let them think I don’t know. It’s better that way. But I made a mistake with Nolan.”

She knows then, at least partly.

“How so?” I want to learn from this beautiful, brave woman. I want her to teach me.

“I protected him. Too much, you see. And it did more harm than good.” I wait, for I know intuitively she isn’t finished. “When the boys were young, their father took them under his wing. They were taught respect and obedience, and off they went to St. Albert’s, where they learned so much more. But when it came to Nolan…” her voice trails off.

“Why was he different?” I ask, keeping my voice gentle. She’s opening up to me, but I don’t want to push her too hard.

She drags her eyes away from the distant memories and looks back at me. When she answers, her voice cracks, and I’m startled to see her eyes are bright with tears. “He was the one that lived, lass.”

A chill runs down my spine, and a lump rises in my throat. I feel as if I’m going to cry. There’s a heartbreaking story there.

“The one that lived?”

She nods. “Come for another walk, love? Let’s leave the magazines here. We’ll return shortly.”

I stand, and the guards that held their distance flank our sides again.

She leads me back toward the house, but we don’t go inside. Instead, we take the pathway that leads us to the church.

“I’ve never shown this to the boys, though I’m sure they’re familiar.”

We walk quietly side by side, the wind rustling the leaves in the trees among the faintest call of goldfinch.

“Thank you for trusting me.”

I’m surprised when we walk past the church, rising high above us, the cold gray stones sturdy and unyielding. The cross at the very top glimmers with a hint of sunlight, and the stained-glass windows shine brightly against the backlight of sky.

Maeve opens a small gate, and I realize with a start she’s taking me to the graveyard.

Nolan’s the one that lived.

I’ve no superstitions about graveyards, and they don’t spook me. But I feel somber and reserved, looking at the stones with carved dates that hearken back centuries. There’s history in this graveyard. People have loved and lost, lived and died, and all that remains are their bones, buried beneath the soil, and the marker of tombstones at their graves. Some of the graves have flowers on them, still others greenery, but others have long since been forgotten.

She pauses at a cluster of three. When I read the dates, I close my eyes and swallow hard.

“These were the ones that died,” she whispers. “Three of them. Sweet, wee babies that never lived past their first month of life.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

And she doesn’t explain away my apology or tell me it’s alright. She only nods, accepting the belated condolences and with a small nod, says, “Thank you.”

We stand in silence, but it isn’t awkward. It seems we need to keep a moment of silence for the little babies she’s buried. After a moment, she speaks again.

“They were born before Keenan,” she says. “Each was a girl. I cursed God for taking them from me and convinced myself that it was because my firstborn was meant to be a son.”

“I don’t blame you,” I say in sympathy. “I’d have felt the same.”

“It was senseless. By the time we had our third, we had the best care of every doctor we could summon, but it was no use. Hours after birth, she died like her sisters.”

I want to cry for the young woman she was, who experienced the tragedy of infant death. I want to cry for her husband, who bore the pain with her, and for her sons, who never met their sisters. “Then Keenan came. And Cormac. And I resigned myself to the fact that they were born to be leaders of The Clan. I allowed Seamus to take them from me, right after they were weaned.” Her voice drops, and she fingers the delicate chain at her neck. “But I lost two more after Cormac. And when I gave birth to Nolan, I nursed him at my breast until he was two years old. Seamus railed against me, fought me as hard as he could, but I’ll tell you something, Caitlin.”

She looks to me, her eyes earnest and stern. “There are times to obey your husband. To allow him the lead in your house, as it were. We’re old-fashioned people with old-fashioned notions, and Keenan will expect obedience from you.”

I tighten my lips before responding. “Don’t I know it.”