In truth, he really had nothing to lose; he could either kill Finlay, he could die on Finlay’s sword, or he could surrender and wait to be hanged. Naturally, he considered only the first option.
Around them, Finlay could hear the clashing sounds of other swords, iron against iron. He knew that his men were fighting Seoras’ supporters, a mirror of his own, personal battle. He could also hear the screams and rushed footsteps of the wedding guests, all of them trying to get as far away as possible from the fight that had birthed all this chaos.
There were grunts and groans filling the air around them, and the thuds of men’s bodies hitting the ground. Finlay could smell the blood in the air mixed with earth and sweat, sour and metallic in his nose. His heart beat fast and hard, more out of fear than adrenaline; he hoped that none of his own men were the ones who were bleeding out around them.
Finlay parried every single swing of Seoras’ sword, and when the time came where he couldn’t, he flung himself to the side, avoiding his blade. Seoras was good, but his age made him slow, and his strikes were predictable. It was just like Rory had taught him. Finlay was surprised by his own skill as he parried one swing and then dealt his first and final blow.
Finlay’s sword pierced Seoras’ gut, drawing a soft, surprised sound out of the man. Finlay pushed his sword even further, making Seoras’ breath hitch, and his hands move to his stomach, where he tried to stop the bleeding.
It was to no avail. The moment Finlay pulled the sword out of his body, Seoras’ blood flowed out of him like a fountain, painting the ground crimson.
Even as Seoras lay on the ground, dying, the two groups of clansmen were still fighting. Now that Finlay wasn’t in the middle of a battle, his adrenaline high slowly fading, he could hear the deafening sounds of the swords and the pained yowls and the screams of the terrified women who had gotten more than they had bargained for at the wedding.
As the new laird, it was up to him to put a stop to it. He stepped between his men and Seoras’ own.
“There shall be no more bloodshed here today!” Finlay said. “Seoras is dead, and the clansmen have chosen me as their laird. Anyone who has a problem with that can step up and fight me, but ye saw what happened to Seoras. Think verra weel before challenging me.”
Finlay couldn’t believe his own ears. He didn’t know where all his confidence had come from –perhaps from defeating his one and only enemy—but he could see that it worked. The men dropped their swords to the ground one by one, none of them daring to challenge the new laird.
Sine ran to Finlay, throwing herself at him and wrapping her arms around his neck before she gave him a heated kiss right in front of the two clans. Finlay kissed her back with just as much passion and urgency, the thrill of the fight and the rush that came with surviving it making him feel as though he was drunk.
“Sine!” Laird Duncan’s voice came from the crowd, and he pushed his way through, prying the two of them apart once he reached them. “Has everyone here lost their mind? What do ye think yer doing, Sine? This man…has he taken yer virtue, Sine? I’ll kill him myself if—”
“Father…” Sine put a hand on Laird Duncan’s shoulder to calm him down, as she stepped between the two men. “Didnae ye hear? Finlay is now the laird of the Craig clan. If ye allow me to marry him, then ye’ll have exactly what ye wanted from the start. What does it matter if I marry another Craig than the one ye intended for me? I love Finlay, and he is the rightful laird, so I can marry him if I so wish.”
“If ye so wish, m’laird,” Finlay corrected Sine, thinking that perhaps Laird Duncan would be more open to the idea of the two of them marrying if it sounded as though they were asking for his permission.
Laird Duncan stared at his daughter and Finlay for a few long moments, mouth hanging open in a way that was not very dignified for a laird. Still, hearing Sine proclaim that she was determined to marry Finlay had left him gobsmacked.
“He’s nothing but a farm boy!” the laird exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. “What does he ken about leading a clan? All he kens is how tae milk a cow and how tae tame a horse.”
Finlay was about to disagree—to explain to the laird that he did, in fact, know more than that—but before he could say anything, Rory jumped to his defence.
“Finlay is a good lad,” Rory said. “And he kens how to lead. I taught him myself, ever since he was a bairn. He learnt strategy, and fighting, and leading, and he learnt it all from me. Wouldnae ye say that I am the best teacher the lad could have, my lord?”
The laird faltered at that. “Of…of course! But he has nae experience, Rory. He wasnae raised tae be a laird. How will he lead the Craig clan?”
“With my help…and Padraig’s,” Rory said. “I ken Finlay, my laird, and I ask ye to trust me now, as ye always do. I’d never tell ye to do anything that would hurt yer daughter. If I thought that Finlay wouldnae be a good laird or a good husband, I’d never advise ye to allow them to marry.”
Laird Duncan seemed to consider that for a moment, rubbing his chin with his hand. Eventually, he smiled at them, giving Finlay a pat on the back.
“Aye…a Craig’s a Craig. I trust ye, Rory, and I hope that yer right, otherwise it’ll be us fighting next,” Laird Duncan said. “It’s settled, then! Sine, ye’ll marry Finlay. Now I need some wine.”
Finlay couldn’t blame the man. If anything, he needed some wine too.
He had something much better than wine, though; he had Sine, right there in his arms, his soon-to-be wife.
“I cannae believe this is real,” Finlay whispered, holding onto Sine as though he feared she would evaporate from his arms at any moment. “I cannae believe yer mine.”
“I am,” Sine assured him, her hands coming to rest on Finlay’s chest. “And ye belong to me, Laird Craig.”
“Aye,” Finlay assured her. “I love ye, mo chridhe. I cannae wait to make ye my wife…my life.”
Epilogue
Castle Craig was just as Finlay remembered it. He had been worried that a lot would have changed in all those years, but everything he remembered was there, from the large oak that stood tall near the tower to the scorched patch of earth from an accident over two decades prior that had never truly recovered.
The moment the castle appeared in the horizon, Finlay reached over and tugged Sine’s sleeve to get her attention as they were riding side to side.
“That’s it…my home,” Finlay said. “Our home.”
Sine couldn’t help but smile at the words, and she took Finlay’s hand in hers, lacing their fingers together, though it was uncomfortable since they were riding on different horses. The two of them had slowed down, moving slower than the rest of their entourage, which included Padraig and Rory. The two men were at the front of the group, engaged in some heated discussion, as they always seemed to be these days, a pair of unlikely not-quite-friends.
“If ye move that slow, it’ll take us all day to get there!” Rory shouted at them, prompting Finlay and Sine to ride faster and catch up with the group.
Once they arrived at the castle, every memory that Finlay had as a kid came rushing back to him. The head housekeeper, Mrs. Baran, came rushing to them once she spotted them, stopping dead in her tracks once she laid eyes upon Finlay.
“Oh, my laddie! I cannae believe ‘tis ye!” Mrs. Baran said. “Padraig sent a letter and said ye’d be coming, but I couldnae believe it. I told the others, Finlay Craig is dead, has been dead since he was a bairn, but there is no mistaking ye! Ye look just like yer father! And those eyes…aye, ye cannae be anyone but wee Finlay!”
Mrs. Baran pulled Finlay into a tight hug, one that threatened to crush his bones, even though he wasn’t wee Finlay anymore.
Finlay remembered her, the plump, kind woman with the bright blue eyes, like clear ocean waters; although the woman he remembered was neither plump nor the head housekeeper. At least that was something that had changed since he had left Cromarty Firth.
“Mrs. Baran, this is
my wife, Sine,” Finlay said, once the woman allowed him to escape her vice grip.
Mrs. Baran gave Sine the same treatment, hugging her tightly as though she had helped raise her too. “What a bonnie lass ye are! Yer face is bright like the sun.”
“I thank ye, Mrs Baran, ye’re verra kind,” Sine said.
“Mrs. Baran…my mother, is she here?” It was a question that Finlay couldn’t wait to ask, though now that he had, he was afraid of the answer.
“Aye, come! I’ll take ye to her.”
Mrs. Baran guided Finlay and Sine inside the castle, through rooms and corridors, promising them that she would give them the tour of the building herself later. In the end, she stopped in front of a closed bedroom door, hesitating.
“Yer mother is fine, but she is resting,” Mrs. Baran said. “She has been resting verra much lately, but now that ye two are here, I am sure she’ll be fine.”
With that, Mrs. Baran opened the door, letting Finlay and Sine inside. Finlay took a small step, so small that Sine ended up bumping into him and sending him tumbling further into the room.
There she was, his mother, lying in bed. It took a moment for her to notice them, but once she did, her eyes grew wide, like a pair of teacup saucers, and she sat up, though she did so with great difficulty, as though her very bones were aching from the movement.
“My son! Finlay! Is that really ye?” she asked, tears already streaming down her cheeks.
“Aye.” It was all Finlay could manage, and even that one word came out strangled, as though he couldn’t speak.
Sine took him by the hand and led him closer to the bed, and even she couldn’t hold back the tears that spilled out of her eyes. Finlay sat gingerly on the bed, and his mother scooted closer to him, cupping his face in her hands.
“My boy…I prayed and prayed for ye, and here ye are,” she said. “Padraig explained everything in his letter, the one that ordered to free me. I never thought I’d see ye again, my heart. I cannae believe yer here.”
“I’m here,” Finlay assured her. “And this…this is Sine. She’s my wife.”
Sine gave Finlay’s mother a small curtsy, but the woman beckoned her to join her and Finlay on the bed. Sine did so, letting her take her hand in hers, as she gazed at her face.
“Ye make a bonnie couple, the two of ye,” his mother said. “Welcome, Sine. This is yer home, as much as tis mine.”
“Thank ye,” Sine said sincerely, her hand squeezing the other’s gratefully. “I should let ye talk. Finlay, I’ll ask Mrs. Baran to show me the castle. Ye stay and speak tae yer maither.”
Once Sine was gone, Finlay turned to look at his mother once again.
“Forgive me.”
“What are ye asking forgiveness for?” his mother asked. “Ye did nothing wrong.”
“I couldnae save ye…I couldnae save Father,” Finlay said. “I should have done more to save him, and then ye wouldnae have been Seoras’ prisoner for all these years. Had I only been braver, I could have saved him.”
“Finlay, listen to me. Ye were a wee bairn. There was nothing ye could have done to save him or to stop Seoras from keeping me prisoner. I didnae care about myself, ever. All I cared about was my little boy, and I prayed that ye were still alive. I’d give my life for ye, I’d do anything for ye, my lad. Seoras was a terrible man, and everything that happened to our family was his fault, not yers.”
It was reassuring, hearing those words from his own mother. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer, rocking him gently like she did when he was still a child, and he couldn’t sleep.
Finlay spent most of the day in that room, talking to his mother, telling her everything about his life those past fourteen years. He told her about Rory, who had taught him everything he knew, and about Mairi, who had raised him like a mother would, assuring her that he had received the love that every child should have, even though it wasn’t from her. She listened to him carefully the entire time, drinking in everything that he told her.
Once it had begun to get dark, Finlay sought out Sine, and he found her in the laird’s quarters, their new home. She was gazing out of the window, the risen moon bathing her in a soft light.
When she noticed him, she walked to him without saying a word. What was there to say, after all? Somehow, they had made it. They were together, and nothing could ever change that.
Sine perched herself on the edge of their new bed and Finlay stood in front of her. She ran her hands up his thighs and under his kilt, and though she knew that he wore nothing under it, she was still surprised to find only him there, seemingly ready after the slightest touch.
Finlay had figured out by then how to make quick work of the several tiny buttons and the laces that held Sine’s clothes together. Soon, they were both naked on the bed. Sine had her back against Finlay’s chest, a hand snaked around to grab and pull at his hair.
Finlay had his hand on Sine’s thigh, holding her still. She heard him let out that soft moan that he always did when he entered her, and she answered with one of her own, rocking her hips back to take him deeper inside her.
“Yer mine,” Finlay whispered in Sine’s ear. “Only mine, mo chridhe. God, every time I take ye, it feels like the first time. I cannae stop thinking about ye, about us, like this, ye letting me inside ye, taking yer pleasure from me. Take it, Sine…show me.”
Sine could only answer with a moan, meeting every thrust that Finlay gave her. She could feel him deep inside her, stirring something wild and primal, and she turned her head towards the pillow, muffling her scream as Finlay brought her to completion.
They stayed like that after, Finlay cradling her against his chest, the two of them uncaring about the mess that they had made of the sheets and the sweat that they shared between them.
Finlay ran a finger over the swell of Sine’s breast, over her nipple, and then back, over and over again, as though he was trying to memorize the shape of her. She fell asleep like that, and eventually so did Finlay, the two of them too lazy to move and clean themselves up.
The next morning, one of the younger servants found them like that, and she quickly closed the door again after seeing them naked. Her voice came through the door though, urging them to wake up and prepare for the day’s feast, where Finlay would be announced officially as the laird.
Finlay still wasn’t a big fan of feasts, especially when they were all about him, but he did what he had to do as the new laird. He rose, cleaned himself up, and got dressed, preparing himself for the day that awaited him.
The feast was as grand as Mrs. Baran had promised them, with an abundance of food and drink for all the clansmen. There were songs and dances, the entire clan enjoying themselves in what was, according to Padraig, the first big feast in a long time. Seoras had been generous with his money, but only when it came to himself and other nobles that he was trying to impress, after all.
Finlay spent most of the night accepting good wishes and gifts from his people, who came to his table one by one to greet him. He made sure to greet each and every one of them and tried to remember their names as well as he could.
He wouldn’t be like Seoras, and he needed his people to know that.
“To our laird!” Padraig said, as he raised his cup in a toast. “Long may he reign, and may he bring this clan to greatness!”
There was a thunder of stomping and clapping, the clansmen celebrating their new laird along with Padraig. Finlay raised his own cup as a toast to them, and together they drank to each other’s health.
By the end of the night, Finlay was exhausted, his eyes falling closed even as he tried to keep himself awake. He had to admit that he had enjoyed the feast, and he had enjoyed getting to know his people, but all he wanted to do in that moment was retire to his chambers and sleep with Sine in his arms.
Before he could slip away from the feast though, Rory pulled him aside.
“Ye did well, Finlay,” he said. “These people…they dinnae ken ye yet, but they already like ye. Y
e have plenty of allies here; ye have men who will lay down their lives for ye. Ye are the one who is supposed tae be leading them, and they ken that. Now ye must treat them with the same respect that they show ye.”
“I will,” Finlay promised. “I willnae disappoint ye, Rory. I willnae disappoint them. They are my family.”
“Aye.” Rory gave Finlay a pat on the back. “Now off with ye, go and make yer wife happy. Give her a bairn.”
With a roll of his eyes, Finlay took Sine’s hand and led her away from the hall and towards their bedroom. “What say ye? Shall we do as Rory commands and give ye a wee bairn? Maybe a boy, an heir for his father? Or do ye want a girl?”
Highlander’s Buried Identity (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance) Page 13
