Highlander’s Buried Identity (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance)

by Shona Thompson

  “Oh, I blame ye, aye.” Finlay blamed Seoras more than anyone for his father’s death, but there wasn’t much that he could do about it. “If I could, I would pierce Seoras’ heart with my sword the noo.”

  “Why no’?” Padraig asked, giving Finlay a pause. It was an absurd question in Finlay’s mind. How could he go against Seoras, when he couldn’t even save his own father from the man’s hands?

  “Why are ye asking me that?” Finlay asked. “Is this a trap? Are ye trying tae get me tae Seoras?”

  “I want no such thing. None of us dae,” Padraig assured him. “Seoras is no’ the leader that the Craig clan needs, Finlay. I came to find ye so that we can take him out together. There is unrest in the clan, the people are unhappy. Many are poor, many are sick and starving…I dinnae ken what else tae dae.”

  “Ye were verra happy to help Seoras become the laird,” Finlay reminded him. “So much sae that ye killed yer old laird. Yer own laird, the one to whom ye pledged yer loyalty and allegiance. Yer a snake, Padraig. I have noo reason tae trust ye.”

  “Ye dinnae have a single reason, no,” Padraig agreed. “I was a young lad, much like yerself the noo, and I made a big mistake. I didnae ken any better then, but I ken better now. I thought Seoras would be better for the clan, that he would do everything yer father couldnae do, but I was wrong. I want to right my wrongs, Finlay. I want to see ye as the laird of the Craig clan.”

  Out of everything that Padraig had said that night, that was perhaps the most surprising thing to Finlay. “Me? The laird? Have ye lost yer mind? I cannae be the laird. I cannae be anyone’s laird!”

  “Ye can and ye will.”

  “I willnae.”

  “Aye, ye will. The clansmen are looking for a better leader, and who better than the rightful heir of their true laird?” Padraig said. “Ye must do what is right for yer people.”

  “They’re not my people.” Finlay hadn’t been back home since he was a child, after all, and he was certain that not many others would even recognise him. The only ties he had to that place then were the ones through his father, who was long gone. “They’ll never choose me tae be their laird, and even if they do, I willnae fight Seoras. I cannae fight Seoras. I’m no fighter, Padraig. I spent my days feeding horses hay, not fighting with a sword.”

  “And yet ye were eager to strike us down with it, were ye not?” Padraig pointed out. “I cannae convince ye to do anything ye dinnae want tae do, lad; that much I ken. Ye always were stubborn, even as a bairn. But I’ll tell ye this…if ye dinnae take yer place as the laird, the entire Craig clan will be in ruins before yer own time is over.”

  It was unfair. It was unfair that Finlay had to fight for people that he didn’t even know, for people who had most certainly forsaken him. And yet, something deep inside him told him that it was his duty. Whether he had been away for years or not, those people were his own, and the people of his father, and his father before him. It was his land that he was called to defend, his legacy.

  The problem wasn’t that he didn’t feel connected to those people or his past; no, the problem was that he couldn’t beat Seoras. He wasn’t lying when he told Padraig that he was no fighter. Even as he had drawn his sword, he thought that his days on Earth were over, before he realised that Padraig and his men wouldn’t attack him.

  Rory had taught him many things, including how to fight, and yet Finlay had never been in a real fight, nor a battle. Seoras, on the other hand, was older and more experienced, deft with a sword as he was with a pen.

  That was how he had convinced his clansmen to rebel against their laird, after all.

  “I cannae do it,” Finlay insisted. “Ye do it yerself if ye willnae have Seoras as yer laird! Go on and fight him yerself! Yer the reason for most of this. Ye betrayed my father, so it should be ye who lays his life on Seoras’ sword. Sine, we are leaving.”

  “Wait!” Padraig said. “I must speak tae ye about—”

  “I dinnae care!” Finlay shouted, unable to control his temper. He wanted to hear nothing more from Padraig; he had no desire for more lies. “Sine. Come.”

  “No.” Sine stood still, her arms crossed over her chest as she glared Finlay down. “Padraig has a point, Finlay. Let’s hear what he has tae say.”

  “Have ye gone mad, woman?” Finlay asked, blowing up on Sine in his anger. “He has nothing good to say to us. We are leaving. Now.”

  “Leave then,” Sine said. “I willnae come with ye.”

  Finlay stared Sine down for a few long moments, trying to get her to follow him. When it became clear to him that she had no intention of leaving though, he stormed off, boots stomping on the dead grass and leaves that lay on the ground. He had no desire to even lay eyes upon Padraig for a moment longer, and he couldn’t listen to him talk about yet another rebellion. For all he knew, if Finlay managed to become the laird of the Craig clan, Padraig would turn against him next, since he had a history of betraying his lairds.

  There wasn’t a single loyal bone in that man’s body. Besides, all Finlay wanted was a quiet life, and he had come so close to having it; just him and Sine, the two of them living in a small house somewhere where no one knew them, somewhere where they could both pretend that they were nothing more than simple farmers. Escape was impossible now though; certainly, Padraig would sound the alarm if he and Sine tried to run away.

  Finlay made his way to Mairi’s cottage, the only place where he thought he could go. She had been there his entire life, always supporting him, and so he knew that she would be there for him now too, when he was at his lowest. If there was one person in the world who would understand how he felt, it was Mairi.

  When he reached the cottage, he swung the door open. Mairi was at the other side, stirring something in a big pot, and when she heard the door open abruptly, she swung her ladle like a weapon, splattering stew all over the cottage.

  “It’s only me!” Finlay said, a few drops of stew landing on his face and burning his skin. “It’s only me, Mairi, Finlay!”

  Mairi dropped the ladle when she realised that she was in no danger, and threw herself on a chair, one hand clutching onto her chest. “Are ye mad, lad? Ye gave me such a scare, ye almost killed me!”

  “I’m sorry, I dinnae think ye’d be tha’ scared,” Finlay said, as he took a seat at the table, the same as he always did.

  Mairi pulled the stew away from the fire, before sitting down across from Finlay, waiting patiently for him to speak. It was never a good idea to rush him, after all.

  “Mairi, I…there is something I need tae tell ye.”

  Finlay told Mairi everything—from the time he was a child, living with his parents, to a few minutes prior, when he was arguing with Padraig. It took him a long time to tell her everything, pausing every time a wave of emotion would overtake him, making it impossible to continue, a knot in his throat rendering him speechless. Eventually, he narrated his entire story to her, telling her everything that he had wanted to tell her for years, but had never found the courage.

  When he was done, Mairi was visibly struggling for words. Her mouth opening and closing as though she had no idea what to say.

  “I ken that it sounds like a tale, but tis true,” Finlay promised. “Everything I’ve told ye, tis true.”

  “That’s how ye kent that Laird Craig is a bad man,” Mairi said, Finlay’s words finally completing the puzzle.

  “Aye. But I dinnae want tae talk about it anymore…I cannae talk about it anymore, no’ now.”

  Mairi had a myriad of questions for Finlay, but it was never a good idea to try and force him to talk when he didn’t want to. All she could do was offer him some stew and try to occupy his mind with news from the farm and from the neighbours.

  Finlay listened to Mairi intently, glad that he had some sort of distraction, even though it wouldn’t last for long. Soon, too soon for his liking, he had to head back to the castle, knowing that he would be stirring up gossip by staying out too late, instead of guarding Sine from potent
ial dangers.

  Little did they know that the biggest danger she was facing was right there, in the castle.

  Finlay walked back to the castle in the dark, using his memory as his only guide. He walked by countless clansmen, all of them drunk beyond control, some of them sleeping in the middle of the hallways, while others were keeping the feast alive with song and dance. He passed by them as fast as he could, and once he was in his room, he closed the door and muffled the sounds from outside.

  He rested his head against the door for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, before turning around, only to jump to the ceiling when he found Sine there, perched on the edge of his bed.

  “Have ye been here this whole time?” Finlay asked.

  “Aye,” Sine said. “There is something I must tell ye.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “What is it?” Finlay asked, finally standing up from his bed and rushing to Sine. He pulled her inside the room, closing the door behind them, and made her sit down on the bed to catch her breath.

  “After ye left…Padraig told me something.” Sine took Finlay’s hands in hers, as she tried to find the right words to say. “Yer maither…she’s alive, Finlay. Seoras has been keeping her confined in the castle all these years, but she’s alive.”

  Finlay didn’t even hear the end of Sine’s sentence. His ears were buzzing, as though he was standing next to a beehive, loud and all-encompassing. He tried to swallow, but there was a knot in his throat that he couldn’t move, one that made breathing hard and talking even harder. He didn’t even realise that he was trembling until Sine tried to keep him still, wrapping her arms around him and holding him tightly.

  Finlay didn’t wrap his own arms around her; he couldn’t. His limbs felt as though they were made of lead, and it was impossible to make even the smallest, simplest movement.

  His mother was, somehow, alive. Or perhaps Padraig was lying to get him to fight Seoras. Either way, Padraig would get what he had wanted from the start.

  If there was even a small chance that his mother was still alive, that Padraig was telling the truth, then Finlay would do anything to save her from Seoras.

  Finlay remembered his mother, though not as well as he’d like to. For a few years after he had been chased away by Seoras, he could remember her clear as day, her chestnut hair tickling his cheek every time he hugged her, her voice soft like butter every time she would tell him a story. Now, Finlay could still remember her the way she used to be ten-and-four years ago, but her face was blurry, as though he was looking at her through stained glass. He could no longer remember her voice, though the stories she would tell him still lingered in his memory.

  She would be different now; older and hardened by years of being imprisoned. Finlay feared that perhaps she wouldn’t even recognise him once she saw him, the years having made too much of a difference on him for her to know he was her son.

  “My maither,” Finlay whispered, the word coming out like a prayer, soft and reverent. “Are ye certain, Sine? Are ye certain that’s what he said?”

  “Aye,” Sine assured him. “I was shocked at first too, but he swore on his life that she’s alive. I believe him, Finlay, I do. I think ye believe him too.”

  Finlay couldn’t deny it; he wanted to believe Padraig more than anything, and so he did, but there was something else, something inside of him, that told him his mother was, indeed, alive. He knew that she was still with him in this world, because of that feeling in his gut that told him she wasn’t gone quite yet.

  “What will ye do?” Sine asked. “Will ye fight Seoras?”

  “I dinnae have another choice.” It was either that or lose his mother forever. “I ken that I will likely lose to him, and he’ll have my head, but I have to try.”

  “Why do ye think he’ll have yer head?” Sine asked. She pulled back to look at Finlay, a confused frown on her face. “Are ye saying that ye cannae fight him again? Are ye a fool, Finlay?”

  It was Finlay’s turn to pull back, shooting a glare in Sine’s direction. “I’m no fool, lass, but I ken a strong enemy when I see him. I’m no laird…I’m no’ even a fighter. No one will want me for their laird, and I willnae be their laird. I’ll only free my mother.”

  “Ye are more foolish than I thought, then.” Sine stood up, putting her hands on her hips as she stared down at Finlay. “Dinnae ye ken how much ye have changed? Everyone in Brims Ness loves and respects ye, Finlay, and do ye ken why? Because ye are a good man. Ye try to help those in need. Ye always helped me when I went to the healer to visit the sick. Ye always helped while I cared for them. Everybody in the castle thinks yer the nicest man in these lands; everybody loves ye. Think about how many people greet ye when they see ye now…think about everyone who wants tae be yer friend.”

  Finlay thought back to the past few weeks he had spent at the castle with Sine. He had to admit that she was right; he had changed vastly from when he was living with Mairi, avoiding any human contact. The more he recalled his interactions with other people, the more he realised that they did, in fact, seem to like him and cherish his company.

  Perhaps he had been blind to the way people had begun to treat him: with respect and kindness.

  “Aye…” Finlay could hardly believe that he was now the kind of man that people wanted for a friend, or even for a leader, but with all the evidence laid out in front of him… “Aye, yer right, I’m a fool.”

  Sine laughed softly, leaning in to press a soft kiss on Finlay’s lips. “Does that mean ye’ll fight? Ye’ll fight Seoras to be the laird?”

  “Aye.” Finlay himself hadn’t heard his voice filled with so much conviction before. “Aye, I’ll fight him, and I’ll beat him!”

  “My laird,” Sine hummed, her hands tracing the muscles in Finlay’s stomach, until her hand reached the top of his trews, and she slipped it under the fabric.

  “Ah,” Finlay said, as he grabbed Sine’s wrist and stopped her. “Trust me, I want nothing more than tae lay ye on this bed, but I have to find Rory.”

  “The noo?”

  “Aye.” Finlay brought Sine’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against her palm. “But I promise ye, next time I see ye, I’ll let ye do as ye wish with me.”

  Sine reluctantly pulled away, a pout marring her face. Finlay leaned closer and kissed it away, replacing it with a smile.

  “Go on, then. Go rest, and I’ll see ye tha morrow.”

  Sine kissed Finlay goodbye, and then cracked the door open, just enough to peek outside and see if there was anyone in the hallway. Once she was certain that no one would see her, she left the room. Finlay waited until he heard her own door close, before he went in search of Rory.

  There really only was one place where Finlay knew he could find the man, and he was proven right when he went to the hall and found him there, slumped over a table, snoring so loudly that it was a wonder the men around him hadn’t woken up from their own slumbers.

  “Rory.” Finlay spoke softly, putting a hand on Rory’s shoulder to try and shake him awake. “Rory, wake up. Rory!”

  Rory woke up with a start, gaze flitting around the room as he tried to remember where he was. He wiped the drool off the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, and then squinted up at Finlay, the alcohol in his veins making everything hazy.

  “What?” Rory grumbled. “I was having the most wonderful dream. There was this lass with these huge—”

  “Aye, aye.” Finlay wrapped and arm around Rory’s shoulders and helped him stand, dragging him along outside the castle walls, where it was devoid of clansmen, as they had all gone to bed by then. Rory went easily, though he stumbled after Finlay, the whole time moaning about how the world was spinning.

  Perhaps Finlay should have waited until the next morning.

  Once they were outside, Finlay leaned Rory against the wall, so that the man would at least have some support.

  “Listen to me, Rory.” Finlay put a hand on Rory’s shoulder, making him focus on him. “What I�
��ll tell ye will need yer full attention.”

  Finlay proceeded to tell Rory everything, and by the end of it, Rory was more sober than not, the shock and surprise dulling the effects of the alcohol. Once Finlay finished talking, Rory simply stared at him, mouth agape, unable to speak.

  “Say something, Rory,” Finlay begged him. He feared that Rory didn’t believe him, that he thought he was only trying to overthrow Laird Craig, and that he was lying in order to do so.

  “We’ll do it at the wedding,” Rory said. He grabbed Finlay by the shoulders, pulling him closer, eyes wide and frantic. “Remember what I taught ye, lad. Ye can fight that bastard, and ye can win, and ye ken why? Because I’ve taught ye verra weel. No matter what he throws at ye, ye’ll be ready. So…ye said Padraig and some others support ye, right? So, all of us will ambush Seoras at the wedding, when he and his loyal men will least expect it. We’ll surprise them, and with some luck, ye’ll be the next Laird Craig in no time.”