CHAPTERSIX
Connell
Connell paced back and forth in his study; his hands clasped behind his back. His cloak swished around his feet as he moved. His hood was down, several strands of hair clinging to his wet forehead. The dim candlelight flickered, making shadows dance over his face. At times like these, he was often reminded of his father. There had been times in his youth when he found the elder Laird MacArthur pacing in his study as he thought of his next action, weighing the outcomes of each and every one of his decisions. He recalled his father’s words,“Every laird must act in their people’s best interest. Even if they themselves do not know of it.”Connell wondered, as he pushed his damp locks away from his face, if those words could be used to persuade his men now.
Before Elsy came into his life, he had idolized his father, wanting to be the man that would make the elder laird proud. Even after going into battle those four years ago, Connell still wished the same, despite the reasoning being slightly different. He still wanted honor, still wanted the elder Laird MacArthur’s pride, but how would his father regard him now in this crumbling castle with brigands at his command?
Connell’s steps paused and he sighed as he reached for the goblet on his desk, swirling the ale inside yet not taking a sip. His nerves kept him on edge. He knew it was only a matter of time before Glenton would storm inside, angry that their original plan wasn’t being carried out. Connell stroked his chin, his face no longer covered. The cloth rested on the desk before him.What excuse could he give them?he wondered, his brow tenting with worry. They probably wouldn’t understand, or they would think him weak, changing everything, all for a woman he once loved.
His gaze lifted and he met Brann’s stare. The younger man watched him from the corner of the study, his shoulders hunched, his fingers picking at themselves while Scott hovered nearby, holding a pitcher of ale.
“Did she like the room?” Connell asked, hating how earnest he sounded and how foolish his question was. What was there to like? She was taken by force and held prisoner in a castle she did not know, with men she feared would bring her harm. Most likely she didn’t care for anything they provided her with.
Brann’s face said it all. He grimaced, his fingers picking rapidly at his nails as he glanced at Scott. His shoulders hunched forward, making Connell feel even worse for bringing her to this dismal place.
“She is safe inside,” Brann said quietly. “Scott brought her water and a cloth to wash herself with.”
Scott nodded vigorously; his eyes bright with intrigue. “Aye, I did. She’s quite bonnie,” he added shyly. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a lady so bonnie.”
Connell downed the contents in his goblet, yet it did nothing to calm the storm raging inside him. “And she has something clean to wear?” he asked while digging into his cloak’s pocket, his insides settling as he found Elsy’s handkerchief inside.
“There should be dresses in the trunk,” Brann said as Connell angled himself away from him, bringing the cloth into view, staring at the E.T. embroidered on its edge. “Nothing fine, but they should be cleaner than her current attire.”
Connell’s fingers stroked the cloth as memories of so long ago reappeared in his mind. He recalled the day she gave him this simple little cloth. His heart fluttered now as it had then. He wanted to ask if she’d had any food since she arrived, but his words were lost to the wind as the door flew open, bounding against the wall. Connell flinched and straightened, turning toward the sound. Brann and Scott huddled together in the corner, allowing the shadows to mask their forms. Connell noticed the way Scott hid behind Brann as the men entered, as if he feared their presence.
Connell’s gaze slid to Glenton, watching him hobble inside, moving quickly for an injured man. Glenton’s glare darkened as he entered, followed by Logan, Donald, Grant, and Ian. The others looked around; their eyes bloodshot with exhaustion. Logan’s face was flushed, his eyes barely focusing. The man clearly had gotten into the ale as soon as they arrived. He could hardly stand and leaned against the wall in order to keep himself upright.
“What’s this I hear about Lady McCormick given rooms to reside in?” Glenton asked, his voice bitter. He glanced at Brann for a moment. The boy flinched but said nothing. “Is she to be treated like the lady she is now? Are we to offer her refuge after all the things her husband has done to us? To Scotland?”
Connell grimaced, his hand tightening around the handkerchief. He knew Glenton was right. They had a duty to do, if not for their own personal vendetta, then for Scotland’s. Giving McCormick’s widow a safe haven was the last thing Connell had ever expected to do, but he couldn’t bring himself to harm her; he couldn’t take her to the dungeons, he couldn’t torture her, no matter how angry he was that she had married such a terrible man. He could still feel the weight of her wedding ring in his cloak, could still see its dark, crimson red stone gleaming in the sunlight. Yet despite her traitorous mistake in marrying McCormick, he couldn’t bring any more harm her way. Elsy had already suffered enough tragedy this day.
“Give me time,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I’m sure there’s another way to get the answers we need from her.”
“Why?” Glenton shouted while raising one hand, the one not gripping his walking stick.
Connell shook his head. “Ye don’t need to--”
“Aye, I need to know, lad.” Glenton took a threatening step toward Connell. “Don’t tell me her bonnie looks have seduced yer heart. Don’t tell me ye don’t care for justice.”
Connell slammed a fist on the desk in front of him, his scowl darkening as he gazed back at Glenton. “Aye, I care. It’s all I wanted these past four years. It’s the only thing that gets me up in the morn, knowing Laird McCormick will suffer for what he has done. That his name will be dragged in the dirt, and all will finally know the truth.” Connell straightened, his hand unclenching. His gaze softened as he stared at Glenton. “How can ye ask me if I nae longer care?”
Glenton sighed, the tension in his hands and shoulders dissipating. The men looked between them, staring in silence with curious looks. “We have the lass,” said Glenton after a long while. “At least there is that. But I must know, Connell. Why not put her in the dungeon? Why not ask her what she knows now? Why drag this out longer than need be?”
Connell sighed. He felt exhausted. The day had been long. Seeing Elsy after all these years had been difficult. Knowing she had married McCormick had been painful. He was still trying to understand why, still trying to harden himself to her.
“I suppose ye must know,” he murmured, moving to sit down in the chair behind his desk. He leaned back, the wood creaking with his weight as he stared at the handkerchief in his hand, remembering another time when he was standing in his father’s study, trying to convince Laird MacArthur to permit him to marry Elsy.
“Ha!” his father scoffed, pacing back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back. “Marry a healer’s daughter? Are ye mad? What has she to offer this family? What men can she provide us with?”Connell grimaced as he recalled his father’s mocking laughter.“I assume she has no dowry to provide.”
Connell’s gaze hardened on the handkerchief, still staring at him, calling to him. He couldn’t meet Glenton’s gaze, knowing the man would see right through him. “I know Lady McCormick from another life,” Connell started. “It was before I was presumed dead at the Battle of Falkirk. She was a humble healer’s daughter. One who helped my family often.” Connell chuckled while stroking his chin. “She even saved my life once.” His gaze lifted, meeting Glenton’s. “I never thought she would be McCormick’s widow. If I had known…” Connell paused, allowing the words to linger in the air.
“Ye would have gone another way,” Glenton finished for him with a curt nod.
Connell sighed and nodded. “Aye, I would have. I would have planned all this differently.” He winced as he thought of the stealing, the gold they used to pay off villagers, the threats. They had done so much, but still, he couldn’t bring himself to harm Elsy. “It’s difficult for me to harm the lass, when I owe her my life.”
“I suppose it would be dishonorable,” Glenton mumbled, leaning against his walking stick while stroking his chin thoughtfully.
Connell rested the handkerchief on the desk. His heart twinged having it so far away, but having it near him was making him weak, making him remember things he should have left in the past. He needed to let go of her. He needed to think of his vengeance, of Scotland. There was no more room in his heart for her. Not now, after everything she and he had been through. She was McCormick’s widow and he, McCormick’s enemy. They were no longer lovers.
