Page 16 of Rekindled (The MacTavish Heirs #5)

In which there are drones, pickpockets, and fresh underwear.

Lucas…

Three years ago…

The Chieftain might be in his late fifties, but the bastard can still pack a punch.

I’m on my back in seconds, jaw feelin’ like it’s dislocated.

“Ye slept with my daughter?” he thunders.

Getting back on my feet, I massage my jaw. “Aye, Chieftain.”

“I should shoot ye right fecking now.” He sucks in a deep breath, his hands clench into fists.

“It’s the first rule for security in this clan.

Ye know this, ye took an oath. No bodyguard can protect his asset if they’re emotionally involved.

Ye get stupid. Emotions take over. I lost my cousin because of this. ”

He strides toward me again and I brace for another punch, but he stops himself. “I trusted ye with my daughter’s safety.”

There’s nothing to say.

“Ye knows what happens to men who violate their oath to MacTavish Mafia,” he grits out, jaw tight.

“Ye are one of the three best men in the clan’s security force, but to disrespect me like this, disrespect the clan.

” He walks to the huge bank of windows, looking out.

“I’m gonna have to make an example of ye. ”

There’s regret in his gaze and I brace myself for what comes next. “You’re out of the clan, banned. Ye will serve four year’s penance with an allied family. Most importantly, ye will never see or speak to Catriona again.”

I’d prepared for this, expected it. Even so, his words hit me like a hammer slamming into my chest. There’s a searing, spreading ache that feels like my heart was just carved out of me.

“I understand your decision,” I say, proud that my voice is steady. “I will follow it to the letter. But after I serve those four years, I am coming back for Catriona.”

The Chieftain’s eyes, jade green like my Cat’s, narrow in fury. “Go pack your bags, you’re leaving today. Do not attempt to contact my daughter before ye go or I will shoot ye.”

I nod, heading toward the door.

“She’ll be married by the time ye return, Stewart.”

Turning to face him, I smile coldly. “We’ll see.”

Present day…

Adding some charcoal to the fire, I guard Cat’s sleep. She’s curled up on her side, knees to her chest so I know her back is still hurting.

It would have been so easy, sending her a message through one of my friends in the clan.

Hell, any one of her cousins would have gleefully delivered my explanation to her.

The fecking Chieftain, though, he knew I would honor my word.

My word cost me three years of time with Cat. It nearly cost her life.

No one can hold a grudge like this lass. I’ll wear her down. For now, I’ll try to get some sleep.

A soft scraping sound wakes me and I’m on my feet with my gun out in seconds.

“Ach! Calm yourself!” Cat’s staring at me, eyes wide.

Blowing out a breath, I look around the room.

She’s put an ancient kettle on the hook over the brazier.

“I found some carob pods on the tree in the courtyard,” she says.

“I thought I could make us something coffee-like before we move on. We dinnae have any cream or sugar, obviously, so I’ll be taking mine black, like ye always did. I’m babbling a bit here. Awkward.”

She looks better this morning, and her gaze is softer. Though I canna believe she’s been up and moving around and it dinnae wake me.

As if she knows what I’m thinking, she smirks, just a bit. “Ye were exhausted, aye? I do know how to move about undetected. Bad back or not, I’m no fragile flower. I’m a MacTavish.”

That name, MacTavish.

The clan closes ranks around its people. I dinnae what Michael was told, but Cat’s twin is notoriously protective of her. Kenna, her cousin, could see the energy simmering between us, I’d catch her sharp eye watching us more than once. She would have supported us getting together, I suspect.

The MacTavishes might have unimaginable power and money, but none of them are a match for my determination. I’m going to woo Cat, woo her so fecking hard that she’ll be forced out of her stubbornness and pride. This woman is mine.

Today’s progress is infuriatingly slow. That feck Hugo must sense we’re getting close to civilization and out of his territory because the helicopter flyovers are increasing and we have to hide every time we hear one closing in.

“This son of a bitch really hates not getting his own way,” Cat says crossly, watching the movement of the chopper searching the area in a grid pattern.

“Dubois knows once we get closer to Marrakesh, I can call for extraction. Too much cell activity for his team to triangulate anything.” I’m watching through my binoculars for any drone activity.

“I’m more concerned about his drones. The wee bastards are harder to spot.

” The treetops look clear. “Let’s move on. ”

Cat’s softer today, allowing me to help her over rougher outcroppings and not instantly letting go of my hand the way she’s done before. As we get closer to civilization, the little towns group closer together.

Stopping in a group of trees, I point out a street market. “I’m gonna go pick up a hijab and some clothes for ye. From here, it’s gonna be harder for his men to track ye if your face is covered.”

“That would be grand,” she sighs in relief. “Clean clothes! Ye could buy me a burqa and I’d happily wear it.”

After checking the ammo clip, I hand her my Mossburg. My lips twitch when she checks again.

“Ye always double check,” she grins, “just like ye double tap. ”

“Never go stingy with the bullets,” I agree. We stand there in the shelter of the palm trees, sunlight dappling off her beautiful face and I physically ache with the need to kiss her.

Later.

The trip to the street market is successful, clothes, sunglasses, and I head into a shop where the little lady running it is scandalized when I buy lady’s underwear.

Everyone is out, enjoying the local pandemonium and there’s even a few tourists sprinkled in the crowd, wolfing down tea and pastries and buying scarves and trinkets.

Doubling back takes time, but I change my course repeatedly, looking for the tail I could feel is there, even if I canna see him.

There he is. Young, looking around casually when I glance back in his direction.

Rounding the corner of a house, I step into a recessed doorway on a quiet street and when he passes me, I disable him with a swift punch to the solar plexus and grab his neck, slamming his head hard against the crumbling stucco on the house.

“eudhra! eudhra! Sorry!” The boy yelps. “la darar! No harm!”

Growling, I look him over. Too young. A standard pickpocket, and based on his skinny body and ragged clothes, not a good one.

“yajib ealayk 'an takun 'akthar hdhraan bishan man tastahdifuhu, 'ayuha al'ahmaq alsaghira. You should be more careful about who you target, you little fool.”

His eyes widen and he nods furiously. With a sigh, I hand him a fistful of dirham.

“Tzzi!”

The lad may be a terrible pickpocket, but he’s no fool, racing down the street the instant I let go of his throat, money clenched in his fist.

“How did ye do?” Cat’s right where I put her, stepping out from the cover of a palm tree and putting the safety back on the pistol.

Handing her the cloth bag I picked up in the market, I say, “It’s no Gucci, but it’s comfortable.”

“I’d pick comfortable over Gucci any day,” she snorts. Holding up the bra and underwear, she flushes and stuffs them back in the bag. “Ye got the size right.”

“Ye dinnae think I’d remember?” Ach, that comes out more husky and intent than I’d planned. Cat narrows her jade eyes at me and steps behind the tree again to change.

I nod in approval when she comes back, hijab securely in place, with comfortable linen pants and a demure blouse. “One last thing,” I say, handing her a simple silver ring .

“Really?” she eyes it, “Is this necessary?”

“You’re either my sister or my wife if we dinnae want to stand out, now that we’re around people again.” With a sigh, she takes it, sliding it on her ring finger as I put one on mine.

One day soon, I’ll be putting a proper wedding ring on her finger.

The call for Dhuhr, the noon prayer is sounding as we walk through the village. “We’re safe to hire a taxi here,” I murmur, sidestepping an older man hauling a cage of angry-looking chickens. “Then, by the next town we can call the Chieftain.”

“Do ye think we can get a place for tonight?” she asks longingly. “I’d kill for a shower.”

“Aye,” I chuckle.

Hailing down an ancient, dusty Mercedes, I nod to the driver. “kam taklifat alrihlat 'iilaa wadi 'uwrika? How much to take us to the Ourika Valley?”

His weathered face lights up, this is going to be a profitable day for him. He names a price. I’d gladly double it but bartering is to be expected. Within minutes we’re on our way and Cat leans back against the cracked seat, taking a deep breath.

“I’m almost afraid to relax,” she whispers. “It feels like ill vage tae us, bad luck.”

My hand finds hers and I squeeze it gently. “Almost there, lass.”

She’s asleep on my shoulder within minutes and the driver eyes us in the rearview mirror with some amusement. I know he’s checked our wedding bands already.

“siah? Tourists?” he asks.

“fi shahr aleasal, we’re on our honeymoon.”

“aha, hubi alshababi, ah, young love,” he says approvingly. “'iinah wadih fi eaynayka, I see it in your eyes.”

I know it’s clear in mine. I just have to hope he’s right about seeing love in Cat’s gaze.

***

Tzzi! - Moroccan slang for go away, or scram.

Ill vage tae us - Scottish slang for “bad luck to us.”