Finlay could hardly believe that Rory had come up with such a plan in minutes, while being drunk off his mind. Though he supposed that was why he was Laird Duncan’s right-hand man; his skills in strategy were unparalleled.
“I cannae thank ye enough, Rory,” Finlay said.
“No need to thank me, lad,” Rory assured him. “Now, let’s go and find Padraig and those men that he claims to have. I need to see with my own eyes that they’ll be on yer side when the time comes. I have no intention to find myself killed by Laird Craig.”
The disgust with which Rory uttered the laird’s name made Finlay laugh, and the two of them began to walk around the castle grounds in search of Padraig and his men. It took them a long time to find them—mainly because of Rory’s inebriated stumbling and the fact that he couldn’t take two steps without losing his balance. Eventually, they found them in the kitchen, where some of the men were trying to eat their drunkenness away.
When Padraig spotted them, he stood up and approached the two men, giving Rory a good look from head to toe.
“Ye reek of wine,” Padraig said, scrunching his nose in displeasure.
“And ye reek of deceit,” Rory pointed out, effectively quieting the other man. “Now tell me…will yer men fight for this lad like ye promised?”
Padraig lifted a finger, signing at Rory to wait.
“Lads!” Padraig shouted. “Yer attention, if ye may. This is Finlay. Do ye see, noo?”
Padraig grabbed Finlay and pushed his hair back and away from his eyes, making it easier for his men to see the difference in the colour.
“Have ye ever seen another lad with these eyes?” he asked. “One brown and one green, one from his father and one from his mother. Dinnae ye see his red hair? His face? He looks just like our former laird.”
There was a moment of silence, but it was followed by a chorus of ‘aye’s from the older men in the crowd, those who were old enough to recognise Finlay. One of them, a man who was sitting in the back, raised his cup in a toast, and the rest followed, toasting in Finlay’s name.
“Will ye fight for him?” Padraig asked. “Will ye fight for Finlay, our rightful laird, to take his place in our clan? The place that belongs tae him by birth right?”
There was another chorus of agreement, and Finlay could feel a warmth spread in his chest. He could have never imagined that there would be so many men ready to support him, fight for him, and even die for him if the moment came.
For a moment, he almost crumbled under the weight of such responsibility. He was nothing but a young man, with some knowledge in leading a clan, but no real experience. Whatever Rory had taught him was valuable, but was it really enough to allow him to lead all those people?
He then remembered Sine’s words, and he thought that, perhaps, it didn’t matter that he had no experience. She had shown him that he was the kind of man that other men would follow, the kind of man who could be a good and kind laird. Perhaps that was all that it took for him to begin with, and eventually he would have the experience that he needed too.
“There,” Padraig said, pointing at the small group of men that were under his command. “All of them will fight for tha lad.”
“And how do I ken that ye willnae betray him first chance ye get?” Rory asked. “Ye betrayed his father, and ye had sworn yer loyalty to him.”
Padraig gave a small shrug, along with a sigh. “Ye cannae ken. I can promise ye that I will not make that mistake again, but ye have no reason to believe me. Seoras is the second laird that I betray, and for that I deserve yer suspicion. I can only tell ye this…I want what is best for the clan. Back when I was a lad, I thought that Seoras was the right man for this kind of duty, but now I ken tha’ I was wrong. I shouldnae betray Seoras, but I cannae let him rule anymore. He is killing our clan, gathering all the wealth and forcing the poor people to pay him unreasonable taxes. We need someone who can lead justly. We need tha rightful heir of the clan.”
Rory listened to Padraig carefully. By the time the man had finished speaking, he still didn’t believe him, not entirely, at least. He did believe, though, that they both wanted to see Finlay as the laird of the Craig clan.
“Aye,” Rory said. “Then I’ll tell ye my plan.”
Finlay listened to Rory detail his plan for a second time, having all the attention of Padraig and his men on him. Everyone agreed that they should strike on the day of the wedding, and by the time they had finished going over their plan, the sun had begun to rise in the east, bathing the kitchen in a soft blue light.
Even though he had already heard Rory’s plan, Finlay still listened intently to him, mesmerised by the man’s natural charisma. Finlay was reminded once again why Rory was the laird’s right-hand man, and he made sure to pay close attention, listening to every new detail that sprung up as the clansmen spoke.
Once the plan was laid out, Rory walked over to Finlay, putting a hand on his shoulder. He looked as though he had neither spent the night drinking nor stayed awake until dawn, while everyone else, Finlay included, looked as though their bodies were about to give out.
“Go rest, lad,” Rory said. “Ye’ll need all the strength ye can muster in a few days.”
Chapter Fifteen
The eve of Sine’s wedding day came just as she was about to lose her mind, the waiting driving her insane with anxiety. Finlay had told her all about Rory’s plan, and how he, Rory, Padraig, and several other men were planning to confront Seoras at the wedding, and so Sine couldn’t wait for that to happen.
She knew, of course, that there were several risks. Finlay had told her that Seoras was skilled with a sword, but she had faith in Finlay, as well as in Rory. She had grown up around the latter, and she knew that he was a good fighter. He had taught Finlay everything he knew, so Sine was certain Finlay was skilled as well, much more than he thought.
She was preparing to retire when the door opened, almost silently, save for the creak of the hinges that alerted her of the man that came in the room. It was Finlay, his hair cut shorter than it had been earlier that day, when she had last seen him. Sine could see his eyes better now, as they were no longer obstructed by his curls.
“Yer eyes,” she said. “I can see them now.”
“Aye.”
“So can everyone else.”
“Aye.”
There was so much pride, so much courage in that one simple word, that Sine couldn’t help but smile. Finlay had truly transformed into a different man; or rather, he had allowed his true self to shine.
“What are ye doing here?” Sine teased, clutching her bed-garment tightly as if to cover her chest. “Dinnae ye ken that I’ll be married tomorrow?”
“I came tae fulfil the promise I made ye,” Finlay said. “I promised ye I’d come back and let ye have yer way with me. Weel, here I am…I’m all yers.”
Sine gestured at Finlay to join her in her bed, and Finlay did as she asked. He placed a hand on her stomach, pressing her down on the mattress, and then he ran both hands up her ribs, pulling the thin fabric of her garment along.
Sine shivered as the chilly air in the room hit her bare thighs, but the chill was soon replaced by warmth when Finlay scooted lower and began to scatter kisses right over her knees. He made his way up her thighs, his day-old stubble scratching the sensitive skin, and she moaned, her legs falling apart.
She knew that the next morning, while she would be preparing to marry Seoras, all she would be able to think about every time her thighs brushed against each other would be Finlay’s head between her legs.
“Lachlan told me about this,” Finlay said.
Sine propped herself up on her elbows to look at Finlay, frowning at him in confusion. She didn’t have time to ask what he meant though, before she felt a wet heat against her that made her collapse back onto the bed.
“What…what are ye—”
The rest of her sentence turned into a moan as Finlay began to swirl his tongue. Sine felt his breath against her, cool over the heat
of his tongue, and her hands gripped the sheets tightly, fists clenching around the fabric.
She could have never imagined anything of the sort. Her thoughts fragmented, collapsing in her mind with every assault of Finlay’s mouth, until all that was left was him, enveloping her entire being with his scent, his touch, with every sensation that he offered her.
Sine’s pleasure—a slow, aching burn at first—was quickly turning into an unbearable, urgent need. One of her hands found its way to Finlay’s hair, and she tugged at his curls, using them as something to hold onto as Finlay forced her towards her climax with a quivering sigh.
Sine didn’t even notice that Finlay had moved, and that he was once again on top of her, until he kissed her, long and slow. She was still throbbing with pleasure, pulsing flesh making her breath hitch.
Finlay did quick work of his clothes, and soon, he was back on the bed. Sine grabbed him, her hands gripping his buttocks until her nails dug into his skin, and guided him inside her, Finlay parting her still sensitive cleft in exquisite torture.
For a moment, the two of them simply looked at each other, foreheads touching. Sine could feel the drop of sweat rolling down from Finlay’s face onto hers, leaving a tacky sheen behind. Then, Finlay moved, burying himself deep inside her.
Finlay’s hands found their way to Sine’s breasts, fingers spreading as he cupped them, squeezing hard. It was at the point between pain and pleasure, and so were the continuous thrusts of Finlay’s hips, bruising her thighs with every move.
It didn’t take long for Sine to reach her second crescendo, and she pulled Finlay along with her, her spasms bringing him to the edge.
Finlay rolled on his back, and Sine followed, laying her head on his shoulder. They two of them stayed quiet, panting in the dark chill of the room, as Finlay caressed her back, drawing shapes on her skin with his fingers.
“I dinnae want tae leave ye, but I must,” Finlay said. “It’ll do no good to fall asleep here with ye and have yer maid find me in yer bed tha morrow.”
Sine had to agree, but she was reluctant to let him go just yet.
“Kiss me again,” she demanded, and Finlay did so, taking the little breath that she had away, before pulling back and jumping off the bed.
“After tomorrow, we’ll sleep together every night,” Finlay reminded her. “Be patient, mo chridhe.”
With that, Finlay gathered his discarded clothes and left Sine’s room. Still, even after he was gone, Sine couldn’t fall asleep no matter how much she tried, the stress of the oncoming day too much to bear.
The next morning came too soon, and while Sine was preparing for a wedding that was never meant to be, donning the finest garments in a shade of baby blue that complimented her fair skin, Finlay was preparing for battle.
There were only a handful of men who knew about his plan, and how they would execute it. His allies were few, but he had to have faith; he had prayed again and again to find his mother alive and well, and in order to do so, he would have to beat Seoras first.
Besides, he would never allow him to marry Sine, not even over his own dead body.
The entire clan was attending the wedding, naturally, and so were the clansmen that Seoras had brought with him. Seoras, the man of the hour, was also dressed in his finest. He was even clean-shaven, something that Finlay had never seen from him, even as a boy.
When Sine appeared, approaching Seoras in that dress, it was Finlay who shed a tear. Seoras looked like a hungry wolf, eager to devour his soon-to-be wife, and Finlay could have stricken him down right then and there, had it not been for Rory, who held him back.
No one looked happier than Laird Duncan, though. The man reminded Finlay of a child that had been given sweets, full of glee and anticipation.
Seoras had managed to fool many people in his life; that was how he had become a laird, after all. Still, Finlay couldn’t believe that Laird Duncan would be so careless as to give his only daughter, his only child and heir, to a man like Seoras. Laird Duncan seemed to know nothing about Seoras, though—otherwise Finlay doubted he would be so happy to give his daughter away to him.
Even with that scowl on her face, Sine was the most beautiful woman Finlay had ever seen. Her wedding day was blessed with a warm, soft sun, and her skin glowed under its warmth, her cheeks slightly flushed and her eyes glinting in the light –though not with happiness, but rather hatred for the man who was waiting to marry her.
No sooner had Sine reached Seoras than Rory grabbed her and pulled her aside, pushing her to the back of the crowd. There was a wave of murmurs around them, everyone wondering what Rory was doing and why he was interrupting the ceremony, though it was Laird Duncan who voiced those questions first.
“Rory! Have ye lost yer mind?” Laird Duncan asked, as he rushed to Sine. “What are ye doing?”
“My mind’s all there, laird,” Rory said, as he squared up his shoulders, blocking Laird Duncan’s way to his daughter. “There’s something ye’ll want tae hear.”
Finlay watched as his supporters walked to the middle, approaching and surrounding Seoras. He followed them with slow steps, until he was across from the man who was the source of all his pain and suffering, facing him directly.
“Laird Craig has been fooling us all!” Rory said. “This lad, Finlay, and these men…they ken tha truth.”
Laird Duncan moved closer to Rory, whispering to him through gritted teeth, “What do ye think yer doing? Ye’ll ruin everything.”
“Rory is right, m’laird.” Padraig finally made his way to the circle that his men had formed, as well, spitting at Seoras’ feet. “This man is a murderer. I ken that, because I helped him murder his brother!”
There was a chorus of gasps from the clansmen, but Padraig continued, talking over the whispers.
“Seoras told me to kill the bairn, too…Finlay,” he said. “But I didnae have the heart to kill a bairn, so I let him go in the woods. Rory found him and a woman raised him, but he’s of Craig blood. He’s the rightful laird, not Seoras, who took the title with deceit and blood.”
“What nonsense is this?” Seoras asked. “I widnae kill my own brother! And this man is not his son. His son died with him.”
Finlay took a few steps towards Seoras, slow and deliberate, and then he looked up at him, eyes wide as the light of the sun hit them—making the difference between the colours even more pronounced.
“Look me in the eyes and tell me that I’m not who I say I am.”
There was that moment of recognition in Seoras’ gaze, the moment when he realised that it could be no one else but Finlay Craig, his brother’s son. It was then that Seoras drew his sword, and Finlay followed, swinging the blade once to test his grip.
Finlay could hear the sound of swords exiting their sheaths all around him, which could only mean one thing; when he and Seoras had drawn their swords, so had the clansmen of the two sides. He didn’t look to confirm his suspicions but, instead, kept his gaze firmly pinned on Seoras.
“Padraig was a fool for letting ye live,” Seoras spat. “And now he wants ye tae be the laird…ha! Finlay Craig, the laird of the Craig clan. Ye’ll be no good, lad. Ye’ll be just like yer father. Weak and useless.”
“Dinnae talk about my father!” Finlay shouted, his anger bubbling over when he heard Seoras. “My father was a good man! A kind man! Ye killed him in cold blood, and for what? Because ye wanted to be the laird? Because ye wanted the glory and the money?”
“Aye, I killed him,” Seoras admitted. “He begged me tae spare his life, ye ken. Fell on his knees and begged me as though I were his god, with tears in his eyes. Even in death, he was weak, yer father. Never had any dignity in him, never had any real strength. Yer father was no man…he wasnae fit tae be the laird.”
Finlay could have attacked him then, could have ran to him and swung his sword recklessly until one of them was killed, but he took a deep breath and calmed himself down. There was no use dying if he couldn’t take Seoras with him.
“It
’s ye who doesnae have any real strength,” Finlay said. “Ye had to plot yer schemes behind my father’s back. Ye had to kill him in secret, because yer a coward. Ye kent weel that not many men would turn against him, and so ye gathered those who would and overpowered him and a wee lad. Does that seem right to ye?”
Seoras didn’t reply, though Finlay doubted it was from remorse. Perhaps he simply didn’t know what to say. The two of them walked in a circle, keeping their distance from each other. Rory had taught Finlay to never be the first to strike, to wait for his opponent and analyse his movements first, and so he waited patiently, watching Seoras’ every move like a hawk.
Seoras did the same, though he did not have as much patience as Finlay did, always rushing into a fight with everything he had. He did so then, too, charging at Finlay and swinging his sword wildly at him, like a madman with nothing to lose.
Highlander’s Buried Identity (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance) Page 12
