Shout (The Voice Trilogy Book 3) (7 page)

              “You could never hurt me, Beautiful, never.”

CH. 9

              The next few days passed without any complication. Rhys rested and I doted. It was nice, comfortable, and I felt useful and needed. The third morning we woke with the sun and made slow love with the windows open while the birds came alive with the day. I was able to get him up and out for a leisurely walk around the block only to return to the most unpleasant company; a stretch limo, blackened windows, the driver standing sentry. As we approach the car, the door opens and out steps Bianca, just as one would expect her to be, draped in Chanel and a strand of pearls. Her hair perfectly coiffed, make-up flawless, but her practiced smile falls from her face the moment our eyes meet, a crack in her well cultivated shell.

              “Mother,” I try to retreat behind him, but he squeezes my hand and pulls me closer. She hesitates, then steps closer to place a cool kiss on his cheek, careful not to come near me. “Now is really not a good time. We just took a walk and I’m a bit worse for wear.”

              “Well, I’ll just come in for a moment and help you get comfortable and make sure you are taken care of. I brought you some groceries.” She starts up the steps motioning for her driver, who holds a grocery bag and cake box, to follow her.

              “No, Mother, now is not a good time.” She stops and looks at him; confusion, irritation and embarrassment creeping from her eyes.

              “Rhys.”

              “Bianca,” he doesn’t miss a beat. Pulling me up the stairs past her, he swings me towards the door and turns to grab the grocery bag and cake box. “Sophie is taking very good care of me. I will let you know when I am ready to receive company, Mother. Thank you for the gifts.” He lifts them in the air and steps through the door, handing them to me. He turns to close the door on her stunned face. “Goodbye, Mother.”

              Glee, disbelief and exasperation mix in his eyes when he turns to me. He pulls me to him, brushing his lips across mine before claiming my mouth. I taste the desperation, the urgency in the thrust of his tongue. When he finally lets me go, my bottom lip is swelling from his bite and I am breathless.

              “I want to take you away, somewhere where I can relax and recuperate and we can be together in peace. Say yes.” I follow him into the living room; he pats his lap, inviting me in as he settles on the couch. I straddle him and wrap my arms around his neck.

              “Yes.” I kiss him slowly as he wraps his hands around me, gripping my hips, pulling me closer.             

              “That was easy.” His warm breath tickles my ear.

              “I think you’ll find that I can be very easy, Mr. Slate.” I tease, nipping at his lip, but not letting him consume my mouth. I turn my head and direct him to my neck. “That was not a very nice way to treat your mother,” I whisper as he covers my collarbone with his warm lips.

              “She deserved it.” he mumbles as he continues to coat my neck with kisses. “After the way she treated you, she is lucky I am talking to her at all.”  A small smile of triumph twists my mouth as he pulls my ear between his teeth and he quietly roars, “I love you, Sophie Rose, I want you to understand how much. There was nothing before you, and there will be nothing after.” The growing lump in my throat makes it hard to breathe while his fingers wind in my hair. “You wiped it all away. There can only be you. You are the only woman in the world as far as I am concerned, my saving grace, and my home.” I take his face between my hands, his eyes shining with sincerity and lust while my eyes are clouded by love.

              “I didn’t know I was lonely before I met you. I have been reaching for things, collecting…. women. I had my head buried in the sand, blinded by my goals, driven by the greed around me. And all the while, all I really needed was you. You are my prize.” He shakes his head at me, looking so exasperated. “I wish I could just…tie you down and make you understand.”

“Why do you need to tie me down to make me understand?” I shift in his lap, resting my head on his shoulder. “Have
you
ever been restrained?”

“No,” he laughs. “I like to be in charge, Sophie.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

              “Do you want to tie me up, Sophie?” He looks at me with a quiet determination while I contemplate the notion of being in control. His body tied down and at my mercy, touching him at will, anywhere I want.
Yes, please!
But, I play coy and resolve to form a plan, to keep that notion in my back pocket.

“Maybe, I do.” The wolfish grin comes out and his eyes sparkle in anticipation. “But, not now.”

              “What is wrong with now?” There’s a challenge in his look and I know the thought makes him excited as well.

“I think the lesson would be lost.”

“So you want to teach me a lesson?” He shifts me from his lap and stands, towering above me, looking down into my eyes with an unmistakable hunger.

“Perhaps,” I return, coquettishly, “I think there are a few things you could stand to learn. You should know how it feels, however, it seems rather unfair when you are so frail and helpless,” I tease.

“Frail and helpless?” he snorts, indignant with a slight chuckle, “Well, I will look forward to my upcoming lesson, and showing you just how frail I am.” That crooked grin makes an appearance and almost sets me aflame.

He heads into his office and begins with the travel arrangements right away; sending me to Olivia’s to get my bags, refusing to tell me where we are going. The only hint is to bring my passport.

Olivia is beside herself with glee, flitting around my room, offering me various pieces of her wardrobe. She brings dresses and heels, bags and necklaces.             

“Liv, I really doubt I will need any of that. He said we were going to find peace and recuperate. We aren’t going on vacation.”

“I thought you didn’t know where you were going?” She slips a little black dress into my luggage.

“I don’t, but I don’t want to over pack.”

“Just one casual dress, then, I promise. But, you never know Sophie, it’s better to be over prepared than under prepared.”

“Ok, Liv, one dress. Thank you.”

Olivia and Matthew drive me back to Rhys’. Olivia walks me in while Matthew moves my bags from his trunk to Rhys ‘car. Olivia wastes no time embarrassing me as she asks Rhys where we are going and why almost the moment we hit the door.

“I need to know where you are taking my girl, Rhys. It will put me at ease knowing she is properly prepared. So, where are you heading?” He looks to me with an infectious, truly happy smile.             

“Home.” His smile brightens, as does Olivia’s. “I am taking Sophie home with me. We are going to Tulla for a few weeks, going to visit my family, where the world cannot get to us.” My heart leaps into my throat and I am elated and terrified! I have always wanted to go to Ireland, and I desperately want to know Rhys’ family, but, Ireland? I’ve never left the country.

CH. 10

              We collect our bags and cross the parking lot to a sleek, silver Mercedes. Dropping our bags behind the trunk, I look to Rhys and he is eyeballing Charlie who wears a mischievous smirk.

“Ay, Cousin, I do believe I am off the clock ye see. I’m confident you can hoist your own bags into the boot, and don’t forget the lady’s bags as well.” He winks and tips his hat before walking around the car and climbing into the back seat.

I watch Rhys adjust the mirrors and his seat, buckle his seat belt and start the car all the while watching Charlie through the rear view. Charlie merely grins.

“Now, if ye don’t mind, I’ll catch a bit of rest on the way home, driver.” He taps Rhys’ seat and sits back, pulling his cap down over his face barely hiding the wide smile he boasts. Rhys presses down on the gas and before I know it, we are winding through the greenest countryside I have ever seen. Rolling emerald hills, craggy outcroppings and thatched roof cottages pepper the landscape.

              “This is Tulla.” We slow to a crawl as we skirt the village center and out of town we go. “This is where I grew up.”

              “But…” I turn and look out the back window watching his childhood disappear behind us.

              “Don’t worry, we will go into town one day, I’m just impatient to get home,” and as he says it, I feel the sincerity in his voice, the pull he has to this place. This really is his home, his family. Over rolling hills and down through narrow roads cut through the peat, we roam for what feels like not long enough before he pulls down a tree lined lane. The willows shake hands across the road, bowing and swaying as we drive through the lovely shaded tunnel they create. When the sun breaks through again and we leave the trees behind, a wide open swath of the most beautiful countryside opens up and at the bottom of the hill we are perched upon sits a gray stone house.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but a stone cottage was not it. I felt myself sink a bit. Perhaps in the back of my romance addled mind, I expected a proper Irish manor, a country house. I’ve watched too much Downton Abbey. This is not what I would expect from the Slate family. This looks like original roots, this is heaven, and this is the real Rhys.

              “There she is,” he sighs, “home.” Down the hill, and the sun seems to follow us as if to welcome Rhys home herself. Chickens bustle about a feed yard that sits to the left of the house enclosed by a low stone fence. There is a small herd of sheep I can barely make out meandering down the field behind the house, but as we come down the hill I lose sight of them. The blue sky meeting the jewel green turf is overwhelming and my heart swells. And I swear I can hear a fiddle in my head as we pull around a half moon drive and up in front of this tall, stone house surrounded by a high stone wall with a bright red front gate. Rhys turns to me and lights up the car with the most gleeful grin I have ever seen before the gate flies open and a mob of young men push their way out the too narrow passageway.

              “Aye, Rhys!” One shouts as he pushes two others out of his way with his broad shoulders, effectively blocking the door to get first rights. I look over at Charlie, still snoring, fast asleep and completely unaware until the back door is yanked open by one of the other men and they slap him across the head with his cap.

              “Wake up ye fool, Mother’s missing her precious bairn! Oh,” he stops as our eyes meet and he smirks with a familiar twist of his mouth, “well, hello, lass.” He reaches across Charlie and offers his hand, I offer my hand back and he pulls me towards him with a Cheshire grin and kisses my hand never looking away from my eyes. “Are ye Charlie’s girl then? You know I’m the better brother, lass.”

              “Aye!” Charlie snaps as he sits up and breaks our handshake. “The better brother indeed. The lady hasn’t even left the car and look at ye! Already hounding her like a rabid mutt. Back up, William, would ye and give Sophie some room.”

              “Sophie,” he says, slowly in his broguish tongue, “a beautiful name fer a beautiful lass.” He winks and backs out of the car letting Charlie stand up. Rhys opens my door and extends a hand to me helping me from the car, saving me from William.

              “Aye, William, this here is Sophie and she’s
mine
, and I’ll thank you to keep your dirty paws off her.” The roll of his tongue sets me on fire and I watch him for a split second in awe before he takes me in the most passionate, theatrical kiss for all to see. The men break out in cheers and slap one another on the back as they funnel us through the gate with a roar of laughter. In the courtyard there are two huge Irish wolfhounds lounging in the shade of a large weeping willow and a few stray chickens that seem to have escaped their enclosure. A large double door to the right is propped open to reveal a sprawling country kitchen.

              I listen to the men welcome Rhys home and try to get a feel for who everyone is. There is a kinship here I’ve missed so sorely in my own life. A consuming love for one another that is at once overwhelming and completely comforting. Rhys turns and pulls me in front of him, whistling to catch the attention of the small crowd.

              “Aye, cousins, this is Sophie, Ms. Noelle, if you know your manners.” He winks at me before kissing me on the cheek. “You treat her like family and you’ll not catch the wrath of me!” He points into the crowd and starts shouting names, as if I will ever remember. “William and Finn, that over there’s Patrick, you know Charlie.” They jeer him, hoot and holler in silly protest before they are broken up by the appearance of a most angelic creature. Long, dark, strawberry blond hair pours over her shoulder in a plump braid. Her pale green eyes sparkle from twenty-five yards away. She is tall and slender.

              “I’d like to see that, I would.” She stops and rakes me over for a moment and winks at me before turning her gleaming smile to him.

              “There she is, the emerald in the Slate family crown! Colleen, bring yourself over here and give me a hug.” She is quite possibly one of the most beautiful young women I have seen in my life. Her pale peach skin appears translucent in the late day sun, a swath of light brown freckles dot the bridge of her nose, and those Slate family eyes that would set her apart from anyone. She is a true beauty, a beauty among beasts it would seem.

              “My goodness, little Colleen, every time I see you, you get more beautiful. Thank God, you are tucked away here in the country.

              “Aye, Cousin, when will you let me come see ye in New York?”

              “Oh,” he shakes his head with a grin, “uh-uh, not any time soon!” She hits him playfully on the arm and pulls away from him turning her attentions to me.

              “He is such a right brute!”  she proclaims, before embracing me and whispering in my ear, “Welcome, Sophie, lovely to know ya.” She pulls away from me and grabs my hand. “Come now, let’s leave the animals be, Mam’ll be wanting to meet ye. It’s not every day Rhys brings home a girl, not ever in fact!” She giggles as she pulls me through the large kitchen door and away from Rhys.

              “Mam, we’ve got a visitor,” Colleen calls as we step into the large kitchen. A long farmhouse table sits in the middle of the room piled high with potatoes and greens. The floor is rough and uneven lending and an old air to the room. The walls are covered in bright white plaster with arched door frames and windows. The far wall is dominated by a large archway that looks like it may once have been a hearth, but now houses a large stove. I look around and fall in love with every inch of the space, the old and new mixed in to a cobbling of memories and meals.

              “So, what have we here then?” She wipes her hands on the apron that hangs around her hips as she emerges from what I assume is the butler’s pantry; short, shorter than Colleen at least, a beaming jovial smile on her face and a bright blush across her cheeks. She wears the freckles of an Irish woman with an angelic grace, her strawberry hair, peppered with gray, sits atop of her head in a full bun, a falling tendril tickling at her nose. She wipes it away with the back of her hand and steps closer to me, as if to inspect me.

              “Yer the girl, are ya?” Her face takes a stern set and I’m nervous, wanting her to approve of me.

              “Yes, Ma’am,” I manage, more meager than I had intended. “I’m Sophie.” I extend my hand to her, but she just looks at it.

              “So, ye are.” Standing stock still for a split second, she knocks the wind out of me with a cold breeze before sweeping me into her arms like a joyful mother. “It’s lovely to meet ye, Sophie, welcome to our home,” she says as she pinches my face then pats my now red cheeks. “Colleen, fetch her an apron.” She smiles at me and points me towards the table. “I’ll be needing your help if we are to feed these boys tonight, Sophie. Can ye peel a potato?”

              Colleen hands me a patchwork apron and a paring knife. “Yes, Ma’am,” I reply as I slip the apron over my head.

***

              We sit down to dinner at a long table that the men have assembled in the courtyard. Colleen sets the table with jugs of water and two large casks of what I assume is beer. The boys file out of the kitchen, each with a dish in their hands. Roasted pig, steaming vegetables, boiled potatoes, greens, a board of fresh cheeses, and loaves of Irish bread with freshly churned butter that smells like heaven. As everyone settles in, Brigid takes her seat at the head of the table and Rhys takes his seat next to me. The food circles the table as everyone helps themselves. A well-rehearsed silence befalls the feast the moment everyone’s plates are full. Hands in their laps, they all bow their heads as Colleen says a prayer over the meal.

              “Bless, O Lord, this food we are about to eat; and we pray, You, O God, that it may be good for our body and soul; and if there be any poor creature hungry or thirsty walking along the road, send them into us that we can share the food with them, just as You share your gifts with all of us. And thank ye, Lord, for returning my brother and Rhys safely to us and for bringing Sophie into our home.”

             
Slainte!
They all call in unison before raising their glasses.

              “Halt!” William calls as he pushes himself away from the table. “Hold yer glasses,” he grumbles as he walks into the kitchen, returning with a burlap sleeve. “I do believe this calls for a special toast. I just happen to have the perfect thing.” He pulls a bottle from the burlap and sets it down in front of Rhys. “Aye, what do you think, Cousin?” Rhys lifts the crystal bottle and turns it in his hands with a grin.

              “Is this what I think it is?” he asks, lifting the bottle to the fading sunlight, watching the light play off the dark amber liquid.

              “Aye, our first bottle, just in time for your arrival. Been aged for four long years.”

              “Shall we have a taste then?” He grins at me with his eyebrow perched high on his forehead before handing the bottle back to William to pour. Two fingers in a dozen juice glasses and the bottle is no longer.

              “Now, for a proper toast,” William says as he raises his glass to Rhys. Rhys pushes back from the table and stands, his glass stretched high above the table.

             
“Here’s to women’s kisses, and to whiskey, amber clear; Not as sweet as a woman’s kiss, but a darn sight more sincere!”

              He winks at me before they roar
Slainte!
again, and I follow suit as they all take a deep sip of their whiskey and dig into their plates of hot food.