by Nicole Locke
‘So terrible at it, I did some observing myself and tried to find someone else in my clan with a strong left hand.’
‘There was no one?’
He shook his head.
‘It’s rare.’
He glanced over at his very direct wife, who looked mired in indecision and doubt. ‘What are you not telling me?’
She fingered the straps of her healing pouch.
‘You won’t like what I have to say.’
‘Ailsa, we’re already talking about me not being the legitimate son of Finley, Chief of Lochmore. That I have no political right to marry you.’
‘Now who is blunt?’ She smiled, but it was weak, her gaze softening at every moment.
‘You want more? I married you falsely. I’m not the man you were meant to marry. I’m a liar and a thief, and I’ve known it from the moment my father stared at that blunt sword in my left hand and demanded I change it. You deserve an honest man. Your clan deserves a true leader.’
‘They deserve you.’
‘Did you know I wasn’t Finley’s son when you married me?’
‘I was guessing.’
He was glad he was sitting. ‘You married me anyway. Here all this time... I came here not to find out my name, I came here to see if the records held who my true father was. Do you realise, I’ve been guessing all these years? I wanted you to know my fears.
‘My mother is kind, but I don’t think she knows what to do with me. My father, however, never approved of me. When I was young, I thought it was because of trivial things like using my left hand. As I got older, taller, broader, I began to believe my mother wasn’t faithful. That I wasn’t my father’s son and that is why he never approved of me.
‘Do you know what a relief it is, that you guessed as well? It shows I’m not unfounded in my wonderings. Do you know what that—? You’ve gone pale. Is this too much?’
She shook her head, her eyes pleading with him, and any relief he felt was gone. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’
‘Left-handedness is rare, Rory,’ she said slowly, almost quietly. ‘But I know one person in McCrieff clan with it.’
‘McCrieff clan! You’re saying the man my mother laid with wasn’t a Lochmore?’ The drumming of his fingers wasn’t enough to centre him. Instead, he slapped the table with his entire hand. ‘And so that is why I was named after a McCrieff baby?’
McCrieffs and Lochmores tightly bordered each other. They also reeved and fought and squabbled for years. If he had another father, the likelihood he came from McCrieffs was the most possible. ‘So I’m partially a McCrieff, that might be good fortune. Unless my father is yours?’
‘No.’
Something alarming flooded through him. Ailsa looked ready to flee, fight, or be sick. She’d hadn’t looked like that when he held a sword point to her neck. Her pale expression and the pain in those wide eyes were enough for him to stand before she said the rest.
‘You know who my father is,’ he said. ‘Who my mother laid with that wasn’t Finley, Chief of Lochmore?’
‘Rory, there’s more to this—’
‘Tell me!’
‘It’s Hamish,’ she whispered.
One moment, two, until staying and standing wasn’t an option any more. Before he’d even thought he was halfway up the stairs and out the door.
Chapter Eighteen
How did he get to this point? Rory asked himself. He’d stormed out of the crypt, hatred and betrayal roaring through him, and hadn’t seen his mother until she’d grabbed his arm.
His mother was quiet and reserved, but her fingers had gripped and yanked him out of his thoughts of the past and into the present.
When he’d registered who it was, he’d waited for her to speak. He was more than ready to hear her. Hamish his father, if true, meant he didn’t know this woman at all. Had she lain with him willingly or had he raped her?
But she gave a gentle smile and, once she’d held his attention, released his arm and requested he attend evening meal.
Of all the subjects to talk of, food wasn’t one of them. Shock must have been his response for he’d agreed.
Before another was spoken, she’d left. For one terrible moment, he’d wanted to run after her, to demand answers. But out in the open wasn’t the time.
Food. Evening meal. This was the first night the Lochmores could greet and congratulate him and his wife. For Ailsa’s sake, regardless of what was disclosed and shared in that crypt, he’d be there.
So that’s how he got here, sitting at the High Table, wondering if leeks with rosemary would be served. But there were no leeks and nothing was garnished or flavoured with rosemary. A tiny detail that meant the missives he’d sent to home had been read.
And he sat next to his wife. She’d arrived in the Hall, stunning him with her beauty. Her hair was plaited and intricately bound and she wore a soft green gown, the fabric so fine it shone. To show respect both for Lochmores and McCrieffs she had taken pains with her appearance.
He wished he had done the same, but he hadn’t returned to his rooms. Needing to gain control of his thoughts, he couldn’t go where he would be found. Instead, he’d wandered the village outskirts. A few tenants greeted him, but most stayed away.
Hamish was his father? He was a hated man, who’d decided to poison his own clansmen. Finley had met with him many times and never trusted him.
Did Finley know that Hamish was his father? That would explain why he was so hard on him. It also explained that, no matter how hard he endeavoured, he would never be what Finley wanted.
However, Finley must truly love his mother. For the life of him, and all the secrets kept, he could not see her being unfaithful to Finley. It fit that Hamish would have raped her. At that thought, a blinding rage swept through Rory. He already hated Hamish for what he’d done to Paiden, what he’d attempted to do to Frederick.
Rory wanted to confront him, kill him. He wanted to rail against himself for having Hamish’s tainted blood running through his veins. And yet, Finley acknowledged Rory as his son. Whether she was unfaithful or raped, the babe she carried—him—had been acknowledged as a Lochmore.
Well, somewhat acknowledged. The Lochmore brooches had not been presented at their wedding. But was that because Hamish was his father, or because of Ailsa?
Ailsa, who talked to his clansmen and was kind to the servants who congratulated them on their nuptials. His wife, who gave furtive glances his way to see how he fared.
Another bite of food he didn’t taste, another drink of ale that didn’t quench his thirst.
His wife knew he was Hamish’s son and had married him. How had she known and what had she meant by saying there was more? What more could there be? It had been foolish of him to run out of that room. But he’d been avoiding the past for so long, it’d become habit.
He wasn’t angry at her for not telling him. They barely knew each other and, worse, she’d told him of her guesses before he’d told his. No, he wasn’t angry, but so much more had to be said.
Right now, he couldn’t talk, couldn’t demonstrate his affection and care for her. But he wanted to. Very much. And something of his desire must have shown in his eyes because the worried wariness faded from her expression and she gifted him with a true smile. One he wanted to echo back.
His eyes on Ailsa, and all that she meant to him, Rory caught the glimpse of his mother motioning a servant to gather her chair so she could stand. His father stayed seated. An unnatural quiet fell upon the Hall as it became clear his mother was about to address the clan. Not once in all his history had his mother done so. He didn’t think her soft voice could even carry across the long expanse.
Except it did as she gave her thanks and greetings to the clan. Then, with another nod, a flat clasped box was placed on the table in front of his mother. Rory knew that box, recognised it. Out of all
the revelations today, this box’s appearance might have stunned him the most.
‘I wanted to wait until you arrived to give these to you,’ his mother whispered to him. ‘I want to say so much more and will soon. But for now, I hope this will be a start.’ Turning to the clan, his mother said further words and the clansmen grew quieter to hear every one of them. He grew quiet and he knew Ailsa heard every word as well.
His mother was addressing the clan, but also addressing Ailsa and him. As a married couple. As husband and wife. She hadn’t made it to the wedding and wanted to give them a token of her love and appreciation for their marriage. She even teased that it took him long enough. By doing so, his mother was honouring him in a way that went beyond the vows he and Ailsa shared.
Raped by Hamish, that was the only conclusion he could come to. Did his mother see Hamish every time she looked at him? Was that why she cloistered herself away with needlepoint and flowers?
Whatever had occurred, his mother, in front of family and clan, demonstrated with words and now deed the affection she had for him.
A click of the box clasp and a slow measured opening of the lid. Inside, cushioned by velvet were two silver brooches of two varied sizes with an intricate pattern: A thrift flower surrounded by a solid circle and a pair of swords that crossed over the centre. Eternal. For ever. Scotland’s strength, his clan’s endurance. They were as beautiful and awe inspiring as he remembered.
‘This day we celebrate the joining of Rory to Ailsa.’ His mother took the smaller brooch out of the box and turned to Ailsa, who stood.
Rory stood as well. When he gently clasped Ailsa’s hand, he felt her trembling and knew she was as affected as he was. Her face was part wonder and wistfulness. His mother’s expression was one of tearful joy. Never could he have known that this was waiting for him upon returning home.
‘With this brooch, Clan Lochmore celebrates the joining of Rory and Ailsa. Celebrates the joining of families.’ His mother’s hands were firm and sure as she pinned the brooch on his wife’s gown just above her heart. ‘As a mother, I celebrate and welcome my new daughter.’
When his mother turned to him, his father stood, passed her the second brooch and placed his hand on her shoulder. The significance wasn’t lost on Rory. The brooch was the same that his father had worn on his wedding day and his father before him.
‘With this brooch, your father and I celebrate your marriage. May it endure through the storms ahead and flourish underneath Scotland’s brilliant sunshine.’ The brooch stuck within his thicker tunic and she gave a quick exasperated sigh.
The sound was incongruous for his mother, as was his father’s quick quip. ‘It always did that,’ his father whispered and her mother’s slight frown turned grateful.
‘With this brooch,’ she continued in a louder voice, ‘once I get it pinned, I, as a mother, welcome my son’s wife and my son’s children. Which, if he knows what’s good for him, will be here very soon.’
Laughter ringing in the hall, his heart filling with familial love, Rory could not fully comprehend the fortuitous turn in his life. When the brooch was finally secured, his mother gave a hard pat on the brooch, then she rubbed and patted over his heart...a gesture she’d made since he was a babe.
When he’d opened the box at McCrieff Castle and seen only the necklace and ring, he’d never thought to be honoured with these brooches. Ailsa seemed to understand the significance for she clasped his hand that much tighter. The way he felt, he was one beating heart away from sweeping his wife into his arms and carrying her off to their room, to their future.
For now, he would keep holding his wife’s hand.
Chapter Nineteen
‘Do you want more to drink? There’s wine,’ Finley said.
Rory didn’t want any wine. What he wanted was to spend time with his wife, to ask questions of his mother, but his father had requested a meeting with him. So with a look to his wife and mother who were engaged in conversation, he closed the door to Chief Lochmore’s private chamber.
‘I am full of food and ale and couldn’t possibly imbibe further,’ Rory said. He still couldn’t believe his mother had presented the family brooches in front of the clan. It would be many years, if more than that, where he wouldn’t feel this choking of emotions as she’d pinned it to Ailsa’s gown.
Ailsa. His mother. He wanted to be anywhere else but here in his father’s chambers. No, not his father. The few times Finley had discussed any matters with him had ended in Rory storming away or raising his sword. When he was younger, he’d picked fights with Paiden just to release the anger and frustration. The unending feeling of unworthiness.
Now he knew Finley wasn’t his father. Hamish was. The irony of it all was if Hamish’s blood ran through his veins, he truly was unworthy.
‘Why am I here?’ Rory asked. ‘You have never invited me before.’
Finley walked further into the room, to the table laden with drink and even more food. ‘You’ve changed much in the days you’ve been away.’
‘There was much to change me.’
Finley lifted the flagon, smelled it, set it down. ‘I didn’t expect it, your marrying a McCrieff.’
He didn’t want to talk of his marriage with this man who had always found fault. Ailsa didn’t deserve his scrutiny. ‘I was talking more of the fact that Paiden was poisoned.’
‘Did you ever discover by whom?’
Since he had full expectation that he and Frederick would address the division in McCrieff clan, Rory intended to keep his silence regarding Mary and Hamish. ‘There is still time.’
Finley lifted the other flagon and poured it. ‘I would never have sent you there if I’d known. It caused your mother much worry.’
If Hamish was his father...ah, and that was why his mother questioned Ailsa regarding her height. ‘There was no need for her concern.’
Finley shot him a sharp look. ‘Then why marry? Did they hold a sword to your back? Your missive was without detail.’
‘You’ve met Ailsa and the McCrieff clansmen who travelled with us—do you think them so vile as to force a marriage?’ To various degrees, McCrieff hatred ran through every vein of a true Lochmore. His father, however, had remained diplomatic, despite his hatred of them. He tended to administer justice when necessary or negotiate with King Edward when the opportunity presented itself.
Finley held his goblet in both hands and peered into its depths. ‘I sent you there to secure Lochmore’s claim to the borderlands. You were there to fight, win, subdue.’
His father wasn’t looking at him, and he sounded almost...concerned. ‘What would it matter if I married her instead of raising my sword? In the end, I did secure the lands for the Clan.’
Finley’s head whipped up at that. ‘I wouldn’t want it at the expense of my son.’
Rory took a step back and another. His father had been acting differently all through the evening. Nothing untoward and nothing he could say with certainty, but Finley wasn’t as he had been before Rory had left that fateful day.
Or maybe he was acquiring his wife’s observational skills and this was how his father had always been. A little worn, his shoulders stooping, his face carrying deep grooves and his eyes a little less clear. It wasn’t only his physical appearance, but his mannerisms, too, that were softened.
Flummoxed at these observations, Rory couldn’t make sense of the invitation or his father’s statement. So he listened to the tone of the words; he watched Finley’s almost imploring look. Then he answered the truth. ‘I would not have married her if there wasn’t some possibility of compatibility.’
Finley’s wondering gaze fixed then and he took a swift drink. Rory had seen this expression on his father many times when he faced a merchant, a representative of the King...when clansmen lied at court.
It didn’t affect Rory. He had quaked before his father since he was a child
and, after facing the McCrieffs and almost losing his friend, he was past attempting to gain this man’s approval.
‘There is something you’re not telling me,’ Finley asked.
There was much he wasn’t telling this man, but the tone of Finley’s voice still wasn’t one of command. So he answered another truth. ‘There were no swords, but Ailsa did have shears.’
Finley let out a startled laugh and swept his arm to indicate the laden table behind him. ‘Come now, then, a drink for celebration!’
His mother pinning the brooches, now this. His father never celebrated anything. Not a birth or a death. In turn, he didn’t know how to celebrate with this man. First because of the conflict of the past and now with the discovery of his true parentage.
‘I’ll wait on that drink.’
‘Still?’ Finley said. ‘Even after today spent in the crypt and then in the outer village?’
Long used to people and their gossip regarding the Chief’s son, Rory didn’t question his father’s knowledge of his whereabouts.
Finley took another drink, then lowered the goblet only to become quiet. For once, Rory didn’t say anything to fill that silence. Instead, he merely observed. He might not be this man’s son, but he recognised that he took most of his mannerisms from him, including the quirk to his lips, the tilting of his head. The direct look.
Finley looked away first. ‘I want you to know, I’ve had a good marriage. Arranged, like your own, but out of everything in this life, I never regretted being wedded to your mother.’
Experience told him Finley spoke as a chief, not as a father. ‘If you want to know if I regret marrying Ailsa, I don’t.’
Finley nodded. ‘Your wife is nothing like your mother, though I never suspected you’d end with a gentle soul. I didn’t know one such as she existed for you.’
At the truth of Finley’s words, Rory let out the breath he’d been holding since the door closed. ‘She’s surprising.’
