Plausible Deniability

Though Priscilla and Matreo try to stop her, Aila’s grandmother has her mind set on leaving. And when Celine Maleigh Greene has her mind set on something, nothing can change her decision except her. So Aila and Niall wait outside as the old woman finishes packing up a bag for a week-long visit.

Aila leans into his side, shivering in the gust of wind that brings the scent of the settlement lunch. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting her come with us back to Primden. For knowing what I wanted before I even asked.”

He turns toward her, his lips curved into a sweet smile. Such a difference from the demonic look on his face as he murdered the man. His kiss is warm, and Aila melts into it without hesitation. She belongs with him; his lips taste of home, and it’s everything she’s dreamt love could be. As a child, she knew she didn’t want her parents’ love for each other.

Priscilla makes the choices. Wendell doesn’t care.

Aila and Niall are a team in spite of her newness to this lifestyle. He lets her argue his points and occasionally concedes—unless it’s her safety in question.

“Love, why would I have a problem with your grandmother coming? It makes you happy, and all I ever want is for you to be happy.”

“You make me happy, too.”

“Then I’m doing my job.”

“I’m ready whenever you two are,” Celine’s husky voice sounds from the doorway.

Niall grins as he glances at Celine. “Then I say it’s time to go.”

The train ride back into Primden is louder, more chaotic. Passengers are wide awake on the noon-time trip, and voice crash over each other. Phone calls and chatter amongst each other. Aila settles back in her seat between her grandmother and the window, clings to Celine’s hand, and listens as the old woman tells Niall of Tarrisian tales. Legends of the settlements from the 1800s.

The townships were built around the farms, each ‘clan’ making up their own rules for their settlement. Many have died out now; too many generations mixing with each other have wiped away their lineage. The settlements left behind are still unused. According to folklore, those who tries to resettle in the towns found them to be haunted by ghosts of the past.

Aila thinks it’s a load of shit. The ‘ghosts’ are nothing more than soil unsuitable for planting after so long of desertion. Houses and shacks collapsed from rotted wood, not a vengeful spirit hellbent on killing the new settlers in their sleep. Every bit of the tales can easily be explained by scientific fact, but who is she to argue with her culture?

After all, she didn’t question Niall’s description of the Queen of the Faeries.

And that is far more unexplainable.

By the time the train pulls into the station, she has heard every single tale from her childhood again. For the thousandth time. She remembers being a child at YaYa’s knee, helping stitch up clothes and carving new handles for tools, listening as her grandmother warned of the dangers that come with deserted settlements. Aila used to believe they were true.

Vincent bows his head toward the trio as they exit the station. “Very good to see you well, sir. Miss Aila.”

“Thanks. Oh!” Aila squeezes her grandmother’s hand. “This is my YaYa, Celine. YaYa, this is Vincent. He lets me listen to the good music.”

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” murmurs Vincent with a subtle dip of his chin. “Sir, your parents have arrived and are awaiting your return home.”

Aila frowns—had Niall known his mother and father were coming? She knows it’s his birthday tomorrow, but... Oh. Of course Maura and Bobby would come. They’d want to celebrate another year of their son being alive.

His last birthday before the wedding. The wedding Aila hasn’t yet begun to plan.

She doesn’t know who to speak to most on the drive back to the manor. So she settles for topics both Celine and Niall can participate in: Music and books. To her surprise, her fiancé and her grandmother have very similar tastes in reading material, not so many in listening pleasure. They get along, though, and it’s all Aila could have asked for.

Celine allows Vincent to help her from the car once they finally arrive, but she grabs her own bag before Robert can. “I’m old, not dead. So if you’ll allow me, I think I’ll carry my belongings myself.”

“As you wish, madam,” Robert concedes with a slight bow. “Mister Niall, your father wishes to speak to you and Miss Aila in the parlour.”

Aila kisses Niall’s cheek then gestures toward the door. “I’ll take YaYa to the guest room. Don’t keep your dad waiting.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Of course. I love you,” she whispers with another kiss, this time to his lips.

She helps Celine get settled in the guest room—the one Aila stayed in that first night so long ago—then gives her grandmother a tour of the manor. Celine promises they will have tea in the solarium—“Nothing like a nice cup of tea and biscuits under the sunshine. Or in a rainstorm.” Their trek through the corridors is interrupted after a few minutes, before Aila has even shown Celine the pool. Mera bows in respect before turning to Aila.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but you and your grandmother are being summoned to the parlour.”

Aila laces her fingers with her grandmother’s, and they follow after Mera without word. Celine’s steps are even more shuffling than back in Tarris. Aila wonders if she should just show her grandmother to bed and tell Bobby to fuck off and let Celine sleep.

Niall sits in an armchair in front of the fireplace, his father across from him. Their conversation ceases as the door creaks open. Celine straightens her spine once she steps into the room.

“I should have known you were the boy’s father, Horan. He has your devilish tongue.”

You’ve no idea how devilish Niall’s tongue really is, Aila thinks before scolding herself. Laughing right now is ill-advised.

Bobby raises a brow, appraises Celine with cold eyes. A blank mask on his face. “Celine.”

“You two know each other?” Niall asks the question Aila hasn’t the presence of mind to ask. She’s too gobsmacked at the very idea of her sweet, loving grandmother knowing someone as cruel as Bobby Horan. Her mind bounces between thoughts of Niall and the scene currently in front of her.

“Yes.” At the succinct response from Celine, Aila turns to the older woman. Her grandmother sighs. “Your Papa and I lived in Primden before we moved to Tarris when your mother was a small one. Felix was Bobby’s bookie, for lack of better terms.”

“He was the best damn bookie for being so new,” laughs Bobby. “Come, sit. Let’s catch up.”

Aila pauses, gripping Celine’s hand. “Wait. Papa...”

“Died of natural causes, I assure you.”

“I had no hand in his death, Miss Greene, I promise. I quite liked Felix and was terribly sad to see him leave. Would you care for a drink, Celine?”

“Only if you have single-malt.”

“The finest.”

Celine pats Aila’s cheek with a murmured “Spend time with your love, my sweet butterfly” before moving off to take Niall’s place by the fire. Robert hands her a glass full of amber liquid. Aila gapes as her grandmother sips at it, swallows a mouthful without a wince. She’s never once seen her grandmother drink more than diluted homemade wine.

“D’you feel like we’ve stepped into an alternate universe, too?” Niall whispers as he stands at her side.

“The fuck is happening?”

“I’ve no idea.” He nudges her, and she glances at him in time to see him biting back a smile. “Seems you aren’t the only one Robert’s gone soft for.”

And he’s right. Robert is watching Celine closely with a dazed gleam to his eyes that certainly isn’t professional. Thankfully, Bobby doesn’t seem to notice, too busy talking to the woman about the last thirty years. Aila shakes her head and slips from the room. She can’t handle anything more to stir up her world.

Maura beams from the table in the billiards room, lays down her cards, and everyone groans and tosses their own to the tabletop. Aila knows a winning hand when she sees one, despite her complete lack of knowledge of poker. Maura rakes the chips toward her pile then excuses herself from the game.

“Niall, pet, take my place. I want to speak to my daughter-in-law.” Her hand grips his arm tightly before he can walk away. “Don’t lose me money, lad.”

“I won’t, Ma.”

“There’s a good boy.” She relinquishes his arm and turns to Aila. “It’s lovely to see you, dear. Let’s go somewhere private to talk.”

‘Somewhere private’ ends up being the terrace outside Niall’s bedroom. Neda waits until the two women are sat on the loungers and asks if the women need anything. Maura exchanges a look with Aila then commands the attendant to fetch some tea.

“And whisky, if you can take it from Mister Horan’s iron grip.” She grins when Aila’s head snaps toward her as Neda disappears. “Don’t worry. Neda knows to tell him it’s for me. Bobby knows not to argue. I can ruin his world just as surely as you could ruin Niall’s, should you want to.”

“I don’t. It’s—it’s my world now, too, right?”

“Yes, it is, pet. And you will do very well in it.”

“What are you thinking?” Aila asks when Maura doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

“Niall... He told me what happened. That disgusting man putting his hands on you.”

“I—I don’t want to talk about this, please.”

Maura grips her hand tightly, tugging Aila closer. “I don’t, either, but you must. Do you know of any information Niall might have gotten from him?”

“No. I, uh, I don’t know anything. All I know is Niall sent me to bed with Mera. When I woke up, the man was already here. Niall might have said something, but I was in too much shock.”

“I understand.” Maura’s grip loosens, and Aila breathes a sigh of relief. The woman can cling tightly, painfully so, when she wants to. “He also told me what you said.”

Aila freezes. That was a confession meant only for Niall’s ears. No one else was to ever know she had murder on her mind. No one was to know that the man came against her, either. Mera had told Niall. Aila told Niall she’d wanted to kill the man herself. And now Maura knows.

She’s terrified of the changes happening within her. Maybe Tania was right—maybe there is no going back to the Aila she used to be, the one who saw the good in everyone, the one who was content in Primden without knowing its secrets. The one who never dreamt of one day hoping to have taken someone’s life.

Still, Aila can’t see reason to not let the changes happen. Staying the Aila from before is out of the question if she wants to fit in. She aches to belong, and she can’t if she clings to her old self.

“I’m scared,” she whispers, staring out over the balustrade. The city shines on beyond the horizon; a hazy orange glow breaks up the night sky, but overhead is nothingness speckled with tiny pinpricks of light. “I used to know who I was. I... I don’t anymore. I haven’t even seen my friends in, fuck, over a month? Everything is changing, and I’m struggling to keep up.”

Maura embraces Aila, pulls her close. “It may seem absolutely petrifying right now, pet, but I promise you. Marrying Niall is the best thing you could do. And not even just for the protection he offers. I can see how happy he makes you. You and him, you belong together. Two pieces of the same heart.”

“You think we’re soulmates,” Aila mutters against Maura’s shoulder, and the woman chuckles.

“It was fate, lovey, that you found his wallet. Out of all the people who walk the streets, especially in Irwin’s territory, and you’re the one who found and returned it. It was always meant to be you.”

“What do I do?”

“About what?”

“If I have to kill someone.”

“Then, pet... You just do it.”

Aila shudders at the matter-of-fact manner in which Maura speaks. The words are delivered as if talking about nothing more than gardening, not murdering someone in cold blood. Aila clings to Maura and cries for everything she was and all she will become.

The changes have to be worth it, she thinks, if she ever wants to be with Niall like her heart wants so desperately.