Page 28 of Accidental Irish Daddy

“I know,” she replies, walking away from the archway to get the cups from the other cabinet. “But, um, I had to drop Bridget off early today, so I figured I might as well come in and get an early start. You don’t mind, do you?” She looks over her shoulder at me for a response and I shake my head. As she turns away, her hair shifts slightly and I see one side of her cheek is bright red.

I walk over to her, taking her by the arm and turning to her face me. She flinches, moving away from me as if I’m going to hurt her.

“Aisling,” I say gently, bellying the brewing tension and anger within me. “What happened to your face?”

“Hmm?” she mutters, still refusing to look me in the face. She fusses with her hair, using it as a shield to hide the bruise.

This time, I slowly approach her again like one would a wounded bird and reach toward her face.

Aisling stumbles back, her shoulders jerking.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I say.

Finally, Aisling looks at me, emerald eyes as dark as pond water. I gently push her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. I clench my teeth at the sight of the large purplish-red bruise across her face.

“Who did this to you?” I ask,

She doesn’t say anything. She just looks away, down at the teacups. I lean into her, catching her eye. “Aisling? Answer me.”

Her eyes start to water, and she replies, “It’s nothing, Mr. Duncan. I just…I just slipped and fell, that’s all.”

I exhale, more to try and quell this anger brewing in my chest. “If you’re going to lie about it, you should try coming up with something that’s not in the domestic abuse handbook.”

She rolls her eyes and walks away from me, going to the fridge for cream.

“Was it your boyfriend? He put his hands on you?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Mr. Duncan.”

“Then who did that to you? Aisling, I demand you answer me right this second.” My voice rises in frustration, but I immediately regret it when Aisling frowns and cringes away from me. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.” I add in a much calmer tone.

She stares at me, a bottle of cream in her hands. Her face hardens as she regards me. “It’s handled. I don’t need your help.”

“It doesn’t look like it from where I’m standing,” I state.

She swallows and her brow starts to wrinkle as she struggles not to cry. “My uncle did this to me last night.”

Instant flames of rage burst in my chest. I grip the counter to keep my cool. If I yell again, she might not tell me anything.

“He was drunk,” she goes on. “He gets drunk a lot and sometimes he gets belligerent. Last night, things escalated and…and he did this.”

A million murderous thoughts skip around in my head, but I rein them in along with my anger. I look her over with concern as I ask, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Sadness clouds her face. “Nothing but bruises and a damaged pride.”

“You’re not going back there,” I state, my voice is firm and final.

“You’re right,” she says, a bitter smile crossing her lips. “I’m staying at a friend’s flat. Sleeping on her couch. So, as you can see, it’s handled. Like I said.”

She turns back to making tea, grabbing the tea kettle from the stove. She walks it over to the sink to fill it up.

“What about Bridget? Is she staying with you?” I ask her.

“Of course.”

I nod silently. “And there’s enough room at your friend’s flat?”

“It’s a little cramped,” she replies as she turns off the water and walks the kettle over to the stove, “But it’s fine. We’ll manage.”

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