Elsy slowly shook her head, her hand reaching forward. His eye widened as she tentatively stroked his cheek, her fingers brushing lightly against the cloth hiding his scar. “I don’t want ye to believe I forgot about ye,” she whispered. “I don’t want us to fight like this.” She sniffed, her face contorting in a mixture of pain and sorrow as she stared up at him. “Please, make me understand. I know yer not cruel. I know, deep down, ye would never harm me. So, please, tell me why ye have taken me.”
Connell fought the need to touch her, to lean into her hand. He hated how easily she could get beyond the walls surrounding his cold heart. They had been in a room alone together for a mere moment and already she was making his heart ache. He sighed, stepping away from her and turning his back to her. It would be easier for him if he didn’t have to look at her.
“We were betrayed,” he began, his shoulders slumping as he thought of that day, long ago. “At the Battle of Falkirk. Betrayed by our own countrymen. That is why the English won.”
Connell grimaced as he thought of that day, swallowing the lump of bile as he recalled the stench of blood drowning his senses. He recalled men crying out for help, for their mothers, for their wives, anyone who would hold them as they breathed their final breath. Connell remembered stumbling through the battlefield, tripping over the death, over weapons left discarded. The memories of that day still haunted him, still made bile rise in his throat and his stomach twist with nausea.
“I fought as bravely as I could, and when I awoke my eye was gone. I don’t know how I survived. I was half-dead. In my dreams, I was in Heaven, but when I was awake…” Connell clenched his jaw, recalling the pain that filled his body, making him scream and writhe. He remembered the healers pinning him to his cot, giving him ale to drown out the agony. “I was in Hell,” he breathed. “I was taken in by Robert the Bruce. His men took me from the battlefield, nursed me, and provided for me when I was too ill to provide for myself.” Connell shook his head. He glanced over his shoulder, finding Elsy watching him intently. “But after losing my eye, I lost the will to live.”
“Why?” Elsy breathed as she stepped toward him.
Connell chuckled bitterly. “What father would want a disfigured son?”
“Yer father.”
Connell held her stare, wishing her words to be true, but knowing deep down his father would be disgusted by the man his son had become.
“Ye need to return home, Connell.”
Connell chuckled, turning away from her. He strode toward his desk, dumping his body into his chair and leaning back. Elsy followed him, stopping in front of him, waiting for him to continue with his story.
“The only thing that got me out of that bed,” said Connell as he stared at the handkerchief, “was knowing I could have my revenge.”
“Ye can still make something of yerself, lad,”he recalled Robert saying to him one sunny day as Connell stared out the window, contemplating taking his own life.“Fake yer death. Return to the highlands as a brigand under a new name. Find the laird who betrayed us to the English. Ye don’t need to remain in this room for the rest of yer days. There is still something ye can do.”
“Robert believed in me. He believed I could still do something regardless of being a one-eyed monster. He convinced me to fake my death and spy on the lairds, discover the one who ruined everything.” Connell chuckled as he raised his gaze to Elsy, tilting his head as he regarded her. “But I already knew who the traitor was.”
Elsy stiffened, her hands fisting. She looked at him, knowing exactly the name he was going to give. His smile grew, the hatred in his heart spreading through him as he gazed at her.She knows,Connell thought bitterly. His gaze lowered to the garnet ring resting next to the handkerchief.
“Who?” Elsy asked, her voice shaking.
Connell chuckled as he reached for the ring, sliding it between his fingers. The crimson stone reminded him of the blood on the battlefield. He could still hear the clanging of swords as they clashed together, could still see that dark gaze staring back at him, taunting him.
“Who was the traitor, Connell?”
Connell’s smile widened, his gaze flicking to Elsy’s. “Why, it was Alan McCormick, Elsy.” He held the ring out for her to take. “Yer husband.”
