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Douglas was perched on the end of the bed, his back hunched forward. He clutched the bottle of whiskey in one hand and took intermittent gulps from it before offering it to Lyndsay. She hated the taste of it, but she kept taking small sips just for the sake of quenching her thirst and then wincing every time she did so.

She looked at him with pity as he confessed his self-loathing. While he was a proud warrior, he knew that life had taken its toll on him, and he was not as refined or handsome as he might otherwise have been. The scar on his face told its own story, and he wasn’t convinced that he would be seen as a worthyleaderif the people of the Highlands saw him. It wasn’t surprising that Fergus had come to this room as well, and Douglas now suspected that Fergus had carried the ax for an entirely different purpose than chopping wood. No doubt Fergus suspected that something was amiss, and if he found out, then Fergus would waste no haste in taking advantage. Douglas needed to figure out what to do with Lyndsay, but so far, the decision was not presenting itself to him.

It was pleasant enough to speak with her, though, and he found himself slipping into conversation with her easily. The rhythm was lulling, and the words flowed back and forth, but he was surprised by how much she was willing to talk with him.

“Let me ask ye something, lass. Dae ye hate me?” he asked.

The question took Lyndsay by surprise as she blinked and chewed the inside of her lip, considering the matter with great importance.

“I wouldn’t say I hate you as such. I’m angry with you for what you’ve done. I’m confused at how you can live with yourself after causing so much pain and misery, but I don’t think I hate you.”

“Why nae?”

“Because I find it difficult to hate anyone. Life is too short for that. It doesn’t do anyone any good.”

Douglas looked baffled at this, for he had held hatred in his heart ever since he was a young boy. “Who taught ye tae live like this?”

“My mother,” Lyndsay said. “When she fell ill, I was angry at the world for letting this happen. I didn’t understand how she could fall ill out of nowhere, and we simply had to cope with it. I couldn’t accept that there was nothing we could have done to stop it from happening and that there was no way to save her. I hated everyone because none of them could do anything. I even hated my mother for a time for falling ill in the first place. It was so difficult to not have anyone to blame, so I started lashing out at everyone else.”

“But she taught ye otherwise?”

Lyndsay nodded and brushed a few errant strands of hair away from her face. “She saw how angry I was, and she said that it wasn’t how she wanted to remember me. She told me that it didn’t matter whether I was angry or not; it wasn’t going to change the fact that she was ill and that she was going to die, so I might as well accept the truth and try and enjoy the time we had left together.”

“And did ye?”

“Yes, I believe I did. I spent as much time with her as I could, and I learned that being angry never leads to anyone enjoying the world. She had more right to be angry than anyone I have ever known, yet she did not succumb to that emotion. Instead, she carried herself with grace and made the most of every day she had left, and when she died, she did so with a smile on her face.”

Lyndsay looked away. The light in the room was dim, but even so, Douglas could still see that she wiped away tears from her eyes, even though she tried her best to conceal the gesture.

“It seems we hae both lost a lot,” Douglas said.

“Yes, but only one of us is willing to kill to try and make themselves feel better. When do you think this is going to end, Douglas? When do you think you’ll be happy? Is it when every Englishman is dead? Is it when you sit on this throne you covet?”

The questions burst toward him thick and fast, and he found himself furrowing his brow.

“What is it you want out of life, Douglas? Because if you just want to kill…well…I couldn’t imagine there being an emptier life at all. Don’t you want to do something worthwhile with your time? Don’t you want to create something or produce something of great worth?”

He took another swig of whiskey, and this helped unclench a tight knot in his chest.

“I want tae hae a family,” he confessed.

Lyndsay stared at him, evidently not expecting to hear such a thing coming from a man like him.

“Ye dinnae hae tae look sae shocked,” Douglas said with a low chuckle. “I may be a brute of a man, but that doesnae mean I dinnae want the same things as anyone normal does.”

“A family?” she mouthed back at him.

“Aye.” He let his head drop, and his tone turned more serious, the laughter nothing more than an echo now. “I was never given much of a chance tae be a part of a family. My real father didn’t know my existence and the parents who raised me were taken from me tae soon for me tae know what it truly meant tae be a part of something bigger than myself. My uncle did the best he could, but he was always more focused on making the clan strong than raising a family. I want tae hae wee bairns of my own, tae teach them the lessons I hae learned and protect them from the world. It’s all well and good being a warrior in a clan, but I would like tae hae some land of my own one day, and I thought that being leader would make it easier tae find a wife.”

“It certainly would. You could be like an English baron and have some poor girl shepherded toward you against her will.”

“I would nae want a wife who doesnae want tae be with me,” Douglas said softly. “And I know there are few who would want such a thing considering the way I look.”

“Do you mean your scar?” Lyndsay asked.

Douglas nodded.