CHAPTERTHREE
Connell
The clouds hung low in the distance, darkening and threatening rain. The wind whipped past, sweeping Connell’s hood away from his face and pulling at his dark hair. He scowled at the view ahead of him—at the saturated green fields and the trees rustling in the distance—hating the view, hating this day, hating that he still cared for the woman in his arms, despite her betrayal.
At the sound of a faint sob, his gaze dropped to said woman, his scowl softening instantly at the sight of the dark cloth bobbing up and down with the horse’s movements. He hated hearing her whimpers, her tears.She wasn’t supposed to be McCormick’s widow,Connell thought, grinding his teeth against the pain striking him within. She was supposed to be with her father, perhaps married to another with a babe or two to look after. He had imagined this day, replaying it in his mind while awake or in his dreams. It had always been the same.
He had never imagined Elsy being McCormick’s widow. Why did it have to be her? Why did they have to meet after all this time and in this way? Not only that, but he knew the moment he laid his eye upon her that she would recognize his voice instantly. It was frustrating for him to speak in a lower, gruffer tone, difficult to remind himself to do so, but he didn’t want her to know it was him, didn’t want her to think ill of the man she once loved. He felt as if a knife had been wedged deep within his heart. It was difficult to breathe, difficult to touch her, to have her this close to him and know what awaited her once they returned. He hadn’t planned for this. He never thought he would know McCormick’s widow, never thought it would be Elsy.
“Lady McCormick,” he breathed, reminding himself of her title. He tilted his head away from her, his gaze going to the heavens, which only seemed to grow darker, as if conveying the pain writhing within him. Those two words tasted like ash on his lips—the ash of those burnt and killed by the English during the Battle of Falkirk. All of it due to Laird McCormick and his treachery. How could she be with such a man, when she had been so good, so kind, those four years ago?
Elsy jerked away from him, yet given their proximity and the minimal space on his steed, the dark cloth over her head hiding her view, she kept leaning into him. Soon after jerking away from him, her head would find its way back to his chest, nuzzling into his warmth. His arms tightened around her, his cheek leaning into the top of her head. There were many times they had held each other in this manner, whether in the stables or at her father’s cottage. Never in the castle where his father could watch with his prying gaze.
Connell breathed her in, his eye slowly closing as he held her to him. He never imagined he would be holding her like this again. All the simple little things he had taken for granted years ago now made his heart swell and his throat constrict. Elsy’s whimpers, once again, wafted up to him and he stiffened. He leaned away from her, admonishing himself for daring to think of her as anyone other than Lady McCormick.
However, her faint cries kept reaching his ears and melting his cold, frozen heart. She sobbed quietly, the rag in her mouth stifling most of the noise emitting from her lips. He hated being the one causing her pain. She was Elsy. Sweet and beautiful Elsy, who loved humming as she braided flowers into his hair, who loved helping others in their time of need. She still smelled the same, still felt the same in his arms, bringing back memories he wished to forget, and at the same time, memories he cherished with his whole heart.
But she is no longer that lass from four years before,Connell thought darkly, his eye narrowing into a deep scowl, his teeth clenching while his grasp on the reins tightened.She’s the Lady McCormick, he corrected. The truth of her identity was nearly as bad as the pain of losing his eye. Seeing her in that carriage, looking frightened and yet determined at the same time, had left him feeling broken, enraged, and aroused. A bitter smirk came to his lips as he recalled the way she fisted her hand in that carriage, as if she was going to hit him. He remembered teaching her how to hold her hands in a fight if the English ever attacked their village. Connell recalled wanting to ensure Elsy’s safety while he was away. It was important she knew how to defend herself. Connell chuckled, realizing his teachings had been successful. She had definitely been a difficult one to capture.
Connell clenched his jaw, hating the amusement and adoration rising within him as he recalled the way she’d attempted to escape. He shouldn’t care for her at all. She was McCormick’s widow. She was a traitor to Scotland, to the MacArthurs, and to him.Why would she marry such an evil man?he thought angrily, his gaze drifting to her covered, bobbing head once more. The Elsy he remembered was kind. She loved Scotland. She was loyal to Scotland.
And she had loved Connell MacArthur.
Connell swallowed his anger, finding his heart melting as he recalled her green eyes, wide with fear. His heart twinged, hating that he was the reason for her fear. He would never want to harm her, never want to make her feel she couldn’t trust him.But we are no longer courting,he thought. And he had his reasons for instilling fear in her, as she had her reasons for marrying a traitor.
His fingers twitched as his gaze went to her fiery red hair, tied in a plait going down the length of her back. He recalled the feeling of those strands between his fingers, recalled the sweetness of her voice as she hummed a tune. There was a time he had believed he would never see her again, and he had been thankful for it, knowing she would never meet the terrible man he had become.
Connell had never expected this, never thought she would become the type to betray him in this way. He could feel the weight of her ring in his pocket, the ring belonging to the McCormick clan, one that signified her marriage to his enemy. This was no longer the woman he loved.
But that was years ago,Connell reminded himself. Things changed. He changed. Perhaps, she had been forced to marry McCormick. He wished it to be true, but he suspected the reasoning behind her marriage was worse. What if she loved Laird McCormick? What if she loved the man who had taken his eye, his life, his joy? He wanted to ask her what happened in those four years, but to do so, he would have to reveal his identity.
Connell fidgeted, not knowing if now was the time to have such discussions, or if he should reveal himself at all. They were from two different worlds now. She a widow of a traitor, and he a brigand. It was better he kept his distance. As they drew closer to the fortress, he didn’t think he could take her to the dungeon. He glanced around himself, wondering if he could have Brann or Donald guide her there, but the thought of her crying in the dark, alone with the rats to keep her company, made his heart twinge even more.
“What am I going to do with ye?” he murmured to himself.
“Did ye say something?” Brann asked, urging his horse forward and sidling close to Connell.
Connell sighed and shook his head. “The river should be close. We can take a rest there.”
“About time!” Logan shouted from behind, making Connell roll his eyes. “I was beginning to believe my legs had fallen off. They’re so sore from riding.”
Ian scoffed and Connell glanced over his shoulder, watching the man smack Logan’s shoulder. “Do ye ever have anything valuable to say? I swear to the Heavens above yer the most irritable wanker I’ve ever met.”
Logan scowled, leading his horse closer to Ian. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Quiet!” Connell shouted, silencing the both of them.
Connell flicked his reins, pushing his steed to move faster. He struggled to empty his mind, no longer wanting to think about Elsy and what needed to be done. Her shrieks from before echoed in his mind, making his insides stir and his shoulders tense. He didn’t think he could hear that sound again, nor could he hit her. By the time he reached the river, he knew there was no way he could ever harm Elsy, no matter if she was McCormick’s widow or not. She was no longer his Elsy, but she still had a hold over him. One that was not easy to shake.
He dismounted his horse swiftly before grabbing Elsy. She shivered in his arms, her entire body tense as if she was waiting for him to do something vile. Whimpers wafted up to him as he helped her feet touch the ground. Her legs wobbled, like a fawn learning how to walk for the first time. The bag over her head jerked with her movements as she looked around.
“Tie her to the tree, Ian,” Connell ordered as he guided Elsy gently toward the brigand, who took her hesitantly.
“Why me?” Ian asked while looking around at the others. “Logan has done naething this whole time.”
Connell ground his teeth, his gaze darkening on the man, which instantly made him move. He watched Ian grab the rope from the back of his horse before tying her tightly to a low tree branch. “Brann,” Connell said while waving the young giant forward, his attention remaining focused on Elsy. He noted the mud on her hem, the slight tear in her dress from when she struggled against them earlier. The sight made him recall her shrieks once more and his hands fisted as he tried to push those memories away. “With me.”
Brann followed him toward the river. The horses moved on their own, drinking from the passing current, eating grass growing along the river’s edge. Laughter permeated the air and Connell glanced over his shoulder, fearing the men were being cruel to Elsy. He released a sigh of relief when he found them huddled in a group several feet away from her. He frowned at the way her body slumped, as if in defeat. She was probably exhausted, Connell thought as he watched her. His gaze slid to the men. They were tossing a water skin between them, keeping it from Logan’s grasp. Connell shook his head as water splattered over their cloaks. He had never had brothers, but he assumed, with this group of brigands, the connections were similar.
