Highlander’s Twisted Identity (Highlanders 0f Clan Craig Book 2)

by Shona Thompson

  It was something that Sine didn’t seem to understand. It was one thing for her to put herself in danger, and another to put Finlay in danger. Her actions had consequences that she didn’t seem to fully grasp, and it was enough to drive Finlay mad.

  “Keep up next time, then.” It was all that Sine had to offer. She didn’t want Finlay to be punished for losing track of her, but she also didn’t want to be followed around all the time. “Finlay, this is Elspet. Eslpet, this is my new…guard.”

  There was so much venom in the way that Sine uttered the words that Finlay thought he would need an antidote. It didn’t help that she was introducing him to a stranger. It always seemed to be so easy for Sine to talk to other people, always running around and chatting with the locals, like a butterfly jumping from flower to flower. Finlay was nothing like that though, and he didn’t want to become like that.

  “Verra nice to meet ye, Finlay,” Elspet said, as she composed herself, always glad to make a new acquaintance. “Are ye from around here? I haven’t seen ye before in Brims Ness.”

  “Aye, I’m from around here.” It was all that Finlay said, not even meeting Elspet’s gaze. Most people thought he was rude, and he didn’t try to correct them. If Elspet thought the same, then she would just become one more person in the long list of people who disliked him.

  Elspet frowned a little, thinking that Finlay was a little odd, but then again, so were a lot of people. She thought she was a little odd herself. “Weel, hope I’ll be seeing ye again, lad.”

  It was Finlay’s turn to frown in confusion, wondering why Elspet wasn’t spitting out vitriol like the rest of the people who didn’t know him. He said nothing about it though, instead turning to Sine and nodding towards the castle.

  “We must go,” he said. “Yer father will be wondering where ye are.”

  Sine rolled her eyes like a petulant child, but she knew better than to argue. Finlay had been given the right to just sling her over his shoulder and carry her back to the castle whenever she was misbehaving, and she would much rather walk instead; it was much more dignified.

  With a final goodbye to Elspet, Sine followed Finlay back to the castle, back to her personal prison and hell. She decided to enjoy the last minutes of freedom, breathing in deeply and enjoying the crisp, fresh air, but Finlay seemed to have other plans. As soon as they were away from the market and from prying eyes, he pulled her aside, eyes narrow and face red with fury.

  “Ye’ll listen to me from the noo, ye hear?” he asked, as he backed Sine up against a tree, her eagerness to get away from him trapping her between his body and the tree trunk. “I’ll no risk my head for any little lass, not even the laird’s daughter. Ye want tae get yerself killed? Then tell yer father to relieve me of my duty. Ye can do anything ye wish, as long as I dinnae have to keep ye safe.”

  Sine held onto the tree trunk, nails digging into the wood with such force that she drew blood. Despite her heart racing in her chest, and all of her senses telling her to either fight or flee, she tried to put on her most indignant face in the hopes that it would get Finlay to back away.

  “I didnae do anything!” Sine protested. “I stayed in the market. I was right there. Ah’m in no danger other than the one yer putting me in right noo! What will ye do, hmm? Ye’ll hit me? Or ye’ll stab me? Or will ye just talk tae me until I die of boredom?”

  Finlay didn’t appreciate the way Sine spoke to him, but he wasn’t expecting anything else from a girl like her. He stayed there for a few more moments, so close to her that their noses were almost touching, and he could feel the warmth that radiated from her like the sun. He could see a bead of sweat on her chest, the aftermath of his cornering her and scaring her, and he followed it with his gaze until it disappeared between her breasts.

  Sine watched Finlay as he went silent, their closeness almost stifling, his breath on her skin making her shiver. She closed her eyes, her chest heaving with short, shallow breaths.

  Too soon, Finlay was gone, and Sine could feel the chill of the breeze on her skin once more. When she opened her eyes, Finlay was pacing back and forth in front of her like a caged animal.

  “Ye cannae leave my sight. I dinnae ken what ye want, but as long as I am responsible for ye, ye’ll do as I say.” With that, Finlay reached out a hand, offering it to Sine.

  Sine didn’t say anything; there was no use arguing, after all. She would simply continue to do what she wanted, and Finlay would continue to reprimand her for it.

  With a frustrated huff, Sine began to walk back to the castle, completely ignoring the hand offered to her. She wanted to be as far away from Finlay as possible—which wasn’t that far at all.

  Chapter Four

  It had been days since the incident at the market, and yet Finlay couldn’t stop thinking about it. He was pacing back and forth by the entrance of the castle, Rory watching him wearily as he leaned against the castle wall.

  Finlay had always been one to stress over small things, Rory knew, but it was quickly becoming absurd. “Stop pacing, lad. Ye’ll dig a hole in the grass.”

  Finlay stopped pacing, but only to glare at Rory, who simply raised his hands as if in surrender. “I dinnae want to do this anymore, Rory. Ye ken the lady…she is nothing but trouble, and she’ll bring that trouble onto me.”

  Rory couldn’t argue with that; Sine had always been a spirited young woman, with too many opinions and too many words coming out of her mouth, but she was also the laird’s daughter, and whatever Laird Duncan said was the law.

  “I’ve known her since she was a bairn. I ken ‘tisnae an easy task to look after her,” Rory agreed. He placed a hand on Finlay’s shoulder, fatherly and comforting. “But it’s yer duty now. Ye must do it.”

  “Are ye certain ye cannae tell the laird to find another man?” Finlay was desperate to be relieved of his duty and go back to the farm where he belonged. Just the thought of being included in another one of Sine’s little adventures made his head hurt, the idea of meeting more people sitting worse in his stomach than Rory’s admittedly almost lethal homebrewed alcohol.

  “Aye,” Rory said, though if he were honest, he could most likely find someone else to do the job. It was Finlay’s, though, and not only did he have to see it through, but Rory also knew it would do him a lot of good to be outside every now and then. “The laird wants ye to watch over his daughter, and so it’ll be. We have no say in this, lad.”

  Finlay could hardly stop the pout that dragged the corners of his mouth downward, more disappointed than angry. He stayed silent though, knowing that complaining any further would do nothing to change his situation.

  “Promise me ye’ll take this seriously,” Rory continued. “I dinnae want to see either of the two of ye dead or harmed.”

  Finlay sighed, running a hand through his fiery red locks. It was getting long, he noticed, the curls often falling into his eyes. “Aye…I promise.”

  “Good lad.” Rory had to admit that it was a relief, knowing that Finlay would keep an eye on Sine. She had a disconcerting ability to constantly draw trouble upon herself.

  While Finlay agonized over his own duties as Sine’s guard, Sine was at the other side of the castle, in her room, thinking about what had happened between her and Finlay after the market. She recalled the words that they exchanged that day, her tongue sharp as shards of glass, uttering words that she didn’t mean, not really. She was worried more than anything that she had offended Finlay, and it was the last thing that she wanted to do.

  Despite everything, despite her own insistence to be left alone and her own issues with being treated like a prized pig, she had begun to grow fond of Finlay. He was a good man, and he seemed to truly care about her, not just because he was tasked with keeping her safe; after all, he had saved her before he even knew who she was, back when she had been attacked in the woods.

  It didn’t hurt that Finlay’s gaze made her skin burn and tingle wherever it fell. The gaze that came from those mismatched eyes, Sine found charming
and intriguing—even though she knew that Finlay himself hated them—and often accompanied her thoughts at night, when she was alone in her bed. So did images of the glimpses Sine had caught of Finlay’s body, hardened muscles flexing under his shirt with his every move, and hands roughened by daily hard work guiding her as they walked.

  She would imagine those hands on her, unlacing her corset, caressing her hair, gripping her thighs as he slid between them. It was only a fantasy, of course, something that could never possibly happen, but she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about it, thinking about Finlay’s lips against hers and his body pressing her down on the mattress…

  Those were thoughts reserved for her nights, though, and now it was daytime. The clouds had parted enough to allow some sunlight to fall over Brims Ness like a veil of gold. Sine basked in it, an unstoppable need to go out in the town taking over her.

  She had decided that she would try to include Finlay in everything that she did. Then perhaps he wouldn’t complain about her running away, and perhaps he would even end up enjoying himself—though Sine doubted the man could enjoy anything.

  Sine found him right outside the castle walls, standing in the shadows as usual, next to Rory. She didn’t hesitate to grab Finlay’s arm, making him jump a little at the sudden contact. “Come on, then. We’re going.”

  Finlay didn’t have to do much to resist Sine’s incessant tugging, simply standing there and not allowing her to move him. “Where are we going?”

  “To the town,” Sine said, quickly running out of breath as she tried to pull Finlay along. The man was like a boulder, unmovable. “Rory, will ye please tell Finlay that he has to come with me?”

  “Finlay, ye have to go with her, lad,” Rory said. It wasn’t in his best interest to get in the middle of that.

  “Fine! Stop pulling me!” Finlay yanked his arm away from Sine, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she gave him a big smile, one that he hadn’t seen directed at him before; a smile that made her cherry-red lips stretch far and wide, and wrinkled her nose in the adorable way that it did when she was truly happy.

  Finlay couldn’t help but give her his own little smile, no more than a twitch of his lips, but the soft look that Sine gave him meant that she knew its importance.

  He followed her into the town, reluctantly as always. The streets were filled with people, all of them going on about their days and not paying much attention to him, but all he could see was prying eyes and people who wanted to know what was wrong with him. It was a constant, unmoving weight in his stomach. Though he tried to ignore it, he could never bring himself to keep his head up and look at people in the eyes. He simply trailed after Sine, his gaze fixed on the ground as they walked.

  Finlay didn’t know where Sine was taking him, but Sine had a very specific destination in mind. She hadn’t had the chance to visit that place in a while—what with her father forbidding her to do anything that could put her in danger—but she had never once forgotten about the people that were there.

  It was the healer’s croft, Finlay realised once they were there. They weren’t even in the town anymore, not really, but just outside of it.

  Sine often visited the healer, Mysie Barrach, to see if there was any way that she could help. She was no healer herself, knowing only the few things she had picked up from Mrs. Crannach every time she’d tended to her as a child. Even as an adult, but even lending a hand could mean the difference between life and death for the sick.

  Mysie was tending to a child, a small, frail-looking girl paler than snow. Sine could see her collarbones protruding from her skin, twig-like and prominent, an unfocused gaze meeting her own.

  She could have cried, but she didn’t. She had her health, and the only thing she could do was to try and help that child.

  “Lady Sine,” Mysie said, as she rushed to her, excited to see her. “We didnae think ye’d be coming back.”

  “I told ye I would,” Sine reminded her. “This is Finlay, he can also help ye today. Finlay, ye’ll do us a favour and help, willn’t ye?”

  Finlay couldn’t deny even if he wanted to, partly because he was put on the spot and partly because he seemed to be having a hard time saying no to Sine when it wasn’t a life-or-death situation. “Aye, I’ll help.”

  With that, Mysie put the two of them to work, tending to the simpler cases, grinding herbs and mixing up medicinal concoctions. Neither Sine nor Finlay knew what they were doing, simply following the healer’s instructions, but Mysie seemed grateful for the help regardless.

  The last thing Finlay saw was Sine spoon-feeding one of Mysie’s concoctions to the sick girl—before Sine ran out of the room. Finlay followed her, abandoning his half-ground herbs in the mortar, worried that something had happened to Sine. If she were to become ill, he didn’t know what he would do.

  “Are ye alright?” he asked once he joined Sine outside. She was heaving and clutching onto the wall, as if she feared her legs would give out at any moment. Finlay could feel the panic seep into his veins with every passing moment that she didn’t reply to him.

  “I’m fine.” Sine spoke through gritted teeth, and Finlay knew that she wasn’t fine, not at all. “I’ll be back inside in a moment, I promise. Ye don’t have to stay out here in the cold.”

  “I cannae leave ye all alone now, can I?” Finlay said. Though he knew that Sine would take it as him doing his job and following her around, Finlay was genuinely worried about her. He could hardly leave her there all alone, with no one to make sure that she was alright.

  Sine took a few deep breaths, her eyes firmly shut as she tried to compose herself. She felt as though an arrow had pierced her heart, the image of that tiny little girl dying imprinted itself in her mind. There was nothing she could do for her but pray, and that imbued her with a sense of helplessness and worthlessness. What good was it being the laird’s daughter, having so much money at her disposal, if she could do nothing to save that child?

  “That little bairn…her name is Eilidh. She is only of six years, ye ken,” Sine said. “Six years, and she is deathly sick. It’s no’ fair.”

  Finlay had to admit that he was taken aback by Sine’s concern over the child. Certainly, she must have seen other children die before, he thought. After all, it was part of life.

  Yet Sine was shaken, her hands trembling as she slid down the wall and sat on the ground, head laid on her knees. She looked small like that, Finlay thought, much smaller than even her usual dainty self. There was a pang in Finlay’s chest at the sight of her curled up into herself, and he wished he could tell her something that would comfort her. There was nothing to say, though, nothing that could change the fact that there was a sickly, dying kid in there that was, most likely, not going to make it.

  Instead, Finlay laid a warm hand on her shoulder. He did so with hesitation, fearing that Sine would loathe such an interaction, a commoner’s touch unwelcome on her. She surprised him by leaning into it though, just enough to let him know that it was okay.

  “I’m sorry.” It was all Finlay could say, hoping that it was enough. “Why come here? Why come here when ye ken ye’ll be saddened by what ye see?”

  She could very easily avoid the sight of the sick and the poor by choosing to spend her days in the castle, away from anyone beneath her station—and yet here she was, taking care of sick children and talking to poor merchants. It was a side of Sine that Finlay didn’t even think existed, and he realised in that moment that he had misjudged her character. He had only thought of her as a spoilt noble girl, whose every whim was met immediately by her servants, but she was out there, amongst sickness and death, doing her best to help her people with no regard for her personal safety.

  Sine laughed a hollow laugh, shaking her head at Finlay. “Because they are my people. If I don’t help them, then who will?”

  “Yer father.” After all, Laird Duncan had many more resources than Sine could ever hope to get her hands on.

  There it was, that hollow laugh again, b
itter and resentful, twisting Sine’s mouth as it came out. “My father…weel, I dinnae mean tae insult my father, but he never comes out here, never meets the people in his care who need him the most. He spares some of his wealth, but what of it? It’s not enough to heal the sick or feed the poor. He thinks everyone lives like he does, because he never cared to learn the truth.”

  Finlay had never heard anyone talk about the laird in such a way, but then again, he didn’t talk to many people. The way Sine talked about him, though, made Finlay think that there was more that she wasn’t sharing with him. But he didn’t have to ask; she told him readily.

  “My father is a selfish man,” Sine continued. “People remember the laird as he was before my mother’s death, before he…changed. That’s all they know, because my father never leaves the castle now. I’ve heard the stories of the kind laird who cared for everyone in his clan’s land, but I’ve ne’er met that man.”