Chapter Eight
Finnan MacKinnon watched the young man leave and poured himself another half-cup of the potent spirit before sitting down. He’d seen many things in his life, many injuries in battle and accidents, but nothing compared to the damage wrought on this man.
Like he’d survived Hell’s fires on earth was how his men said the brothers had described his condition when they’d found him. Burned over half of his body, the back of his head and the side of his face and neck. From his own inspection just now, Finnan couldn’t imagine the amount of pain and suffering the man had endured to survive.
Yet, he had. Not only had he survived but he was recovering and regaining his strength. The training bout with him, Breac and the others demonstrated that this man made it this far back into living by sheer force of will. He drank another mouthful and thought on the other information his men had brought back.
Finnan had asked him if he lived for revenge. ‘Twas a powerful emotion, nay a need, and one that could give purpose and focus when everything seemed hopeless. And this man had lived in the constant torment of his injuries for months. So only something as powerful as vengeance could drive him back from the edge of death.
Or …
The brothers had also told his men something else. That this man’s dreaming and waking hours were filled with visions of a woman. He’d spoken to her in his delirium, called out to her for help and declared his love for her countless times. He screamed for her in the worst of his pain so much that the brothers feared he’d damaged his already-burned throat and voice.
He’d never spoken and said he didn’t know her name or her identity. Iain, as they called him, could describe every single feature of the woman, some of it shocking in its intimacy and, yet, couldn’t recall her name.
Long, flowing, blonde hair that reached below her hips.
Deep, emerald-green eyes surrounded by long lashes.
Full lips, creamy skin and a lithe figure.
In other words, Finnan’s own daughter, Ailis.
He tossed back the rest of theuisge beathaand was tempted to fill his cup again. That report had forced his hand. He took the distasteful action of making the man undress before him.
He needed to discover if he recognized this man. Had he some connection to their clan? Finnan needed to know what the injuries did to him. He needed to know … if this man knew his Ailis.
But what bothered Finnan most were the bits of other details he was now remembering that might be linked to this man.
Though Ailis might not believe it, he had and still grieved the loss of Elisabet. The last year since her passing had been a jumble of loss and grief and life moving on. If it wasn’t something critical to his rule of Clan MacKinnon, Finnan would admit that he paid little heed in the confusion of the times.
His precipitous marriage to Davina had seemed harsh and unfeeling to his daughter, but he’d had his reasons for doing so. Good reasons, too, in his mind, for the lass’ father had a much different fate in mind for her. The only way Finnan could stop it was by offering marriage. That it had brought the intelligent, kind and passionate woman into his bed and his heart and given him a son were results he wouldn’t argue about. Best of all, she was safe … and she was his.
He’d watched as Ailis sank into the clutches of grief and almost madness after her own injuries that left her marred. Now, considering the timing of this man’s injuries and his daughter’s, Finnan wondered if they were linked. Had there been a fire in a place where they’d both been?
Something struck him, a memory of word coming from the MacLeans in the south. A son. Lost in a fire. When had it happened? Could Ailis have been involved?
Could this man truly be a MacLean? Could he be the MacLean son his family believed had perished in that fire? It would explain the man’s skills with the sword, ease on horseback and other small details that had shown in his behavior.
Since his daughter had not a civil word for him, Finnan knew there was only one person he could ask such things. One person who would know if his daughter had been injured with the MacLean son.Involvedwith the MacLean son.
And she would return to this chamber after seeing to their son’s needs in a short while.
Davina knew more about Ailis than anyone, living or dead. She’d been closer to his daughter than even Elisabet had been. Though he had poked and prodded, his wife had never spoken of his daughter except in general terms. She’d offered her opinion and advice, made suggestions about how to deal with Ailis, but had never revealed anything of their time spent as friends.
It had frustrated him. It angered him sometimes when trying to manage her. But Davina wouldn’t speak against her friend no matter what he asked of her.
Would she speak now? Would she tell him the truth of Ailis and any involvement with this man?
Remembering the day of Ailis’ injury, Finnan realized there had been no actual explanation of the burns. Just a lot of crying and tears and calling the healer from the village. Once she’d been seen to and as she healed, Finnan had brushed the incident aside. He paid heed more to his then-pregnant wife than his stubborn, strong-willed daughter who refused his wishes at every turn.
And now?
The possibilities of the truth shocked him as he connected seemingly unrelated events.
Well, no matter what his wife would tell him or not, on the morrow, whether a MacLean or from some other clan, Iain would be on the road away from Dun Ara. When Iain was gone, Finnan would think on whether he should send word to The MacLean to speak to the man. After all, if Kennan had been in a situation such as this, he would sell his soul for word of his survival. Enemies or not, The MacLean deserved that consideration.
Since, by the end of the day, Ailis would be married to Duncan and his responsibility to bear, ‘twould do no harm.
