“It was never home.”
Her words rang in his head, making him even more confused.What did she mean?he wondered, his teeth clenching at the anger brimming within him. Her words didn’t answer his question, they only made him more confused. They only made him think the worst.
Connell pushed away from the door and stalked down the hall toward the entrance leading into the courtyard. The rain drizzled lightly. The sun peeked from behind the clouds, casting the stones in pastel colors. He stalked toward the stable, trying desperately to push Elsy out of his head. Their time together was done, he told himself. There was no way they could return to what they had before. He was no longer the man she fell in love with. He was a brigand, a spy, a killer, a monster. He was many things, but a lover he was not. She deserved better than him, better than McCormick, better than these brigands surrounding her, waiting to demand answers from her.
“She can’t stay here,” he murmured, his hands fisting as he thought of Glenton pestering him. Should I help her escape to the McKades?he wondered, his heart twisting with worry, knowing she couldn’t remain here, in this dark and shadowed fortress with him.
Connell frowned as he entered the stables, finding his steed staring at him, but no sight of Scott. The boy was usually cleaning the stalls if he wasn’t in the halls or trailing behind Brann.
“Scotty!” he called while stepping past his horse and looking around.
Only the mares and the stallions stared back at him, their big eyes curiously following him as he moved. Connell’s frown deepened. The stables were not that big. There were only eight pens, four on each side of the stable. There were seven horses, one for each rider as well as hay in a pile in the back. There weren’t that many places to hide, not like the boy often did. Scott was usually quite attentive, helping Connell and Brann with whatever they might need.
So why can I not find him now?
Connell paused, hearing a groan wafting to his ears. It was coming from the empty stall in the back. His hands pushed the wooden gate open, his heart plummeting as he found Scott, lying in a pile of hay, his face the color of ash, his hands holding his belly.
“Scotty,” Connell breathed harshly, rushing toward the young boy.
He gently placed a hand on Scott’s head, frowning at the heat and the sweat sticking to his palm. Scott pushed his hand away, groaning while his head lulled from side to side. “Nae,” he murmured. “Nae.”
“Scotty, we need to get ye inside,” Connell said calmly, his voice gentle as his hand carefully cupped the boy’s head.
“Not me,” Scott murmured, squirming away from Connell’s touch. “Not me. I do not want to go. Don’t make me go.”
Connell shook his head, not understanding what the boy was going on about. “But I must take ye inside,” he said softly. “Ye cannot remain here. Don’t ye want yer bed?”
Scott’s eyes met Connell’s, yet they were glossy and unfocused, as if the boy was looking at something else, imagining someone else by his side. “Don’t make me go,” Scott whispered, tears dripping down his face. “I don’t want to go. I’m scared.”
Connell grabbed the boy’s shoulders, pulling him close and cradling his head to him. Scott sobbed into his chest, his arms circling around Connell’s neck. “I know yer scared,” Connell said while patting the boy’s back. “Let me help ye inside. I will get a healer for ye.”
“I don’t want to die,” Scott sobbed.
While cradling Scott’s head with one hand, he grabbed the boy’s legs with the other before slowly and carefully rising. “Ye won’t die,” Connell whispered while carrying Scott inside. He stepped lightly, focusing on ensuring he wouldn’t trip over an upturned cobblestone. “I promise ye, ye will live. I know a healer. She’s a good one. Just hold on.”
Connell shoved the door open with his shoulder. He could hear laughter wafting toward him. The men were still breaking their fast in the hall. “Brann!” he shouted while continuing through the corridor toward Scott’s room. “Brann!”
The door to the hall flew open and Brann’s face peaked out, his eyes widening on Scott’s limp form in Connell’s arms. “What happened?” he asked while rushing into the corridor, his hands reaching for Scott, but pausing midair.
“Get Elsy,” Connell said gruffly, struggling to keep his desperation contained.
Brann frowned. “But, Glenton--”
“I don’t care what Glenton has to say!” Connell shouted. “Get Elsy. Now!”
“Aye,” Brann said, running toward the staircase.
“Bring her to Scott’s rooms!” Connell called after him before turning on his heel and continuing down the hall. “Don’t worry,” he whispered to Scott. “Ye will be alright.”
Scott didn’t say anything. His head moved limply from side to side. His breath was faint. Connell swallowed the lump forming in his throat, ignoring the pain stabbing through him. He didn’t want to admit it, but Scott was like the little brother he never had. The boy couldn’t die. Connell wouldn’t allow for it.
As soon as he came upon Scott’s rooms, he shoved the door open with his shoulder and immediately put him in his cot. The room was small, barely big enough for a small bed and a trunk. The boy didn’t need much, only a roof over his head and a place to sleep at night. Connell grabbed the measly blanket and gently laid it over Scott, yet it hardly did anything to stop the boy’s shivering.
“Ye will be alright,” Connell whispered, not knowing if he was soothing the boy or himself. He grabbed Scott’s hand, gripping it tight while he watched him writhe back and forth, his face contorted in pain. “Ye will be alright.”
Connell didn’t know how long he sat at Scott’s side, waiting for Brann to bring Elsy. It felt as if time had stopped as he watched Scott, not knowing what to do. Breathing was difficult. The worry made his mind go to dark places, wondering if a scout had found them and poisoned Scott in the early morn.
Who would poison a child?Connell wondered angrily.
