Page 12 of Echoes of a Forgotten Warrior (A Highland Ruse of Love #2)

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B laire stood watching helplessly as James was hustled away, and almost wept when she saw him looking back at her until he was completely out of her sight. His eyes had held such sadness and anger that she wanted to run after the guards and beg them to let James go, but she did not have the power to do so. She had no influence over anyone here; in fact, she was in terrible danger if anyone found out her name was Sutherland. However, that was not likely, since she had never used it.

Now, she was not quite sure what to do with herself. She thought of trying to flee from the castle, but she had no idea of how to do it or where she would go. But did she have to fear Finian Lovatt? She thought her position as a healer was enough of a reason to keep her safe, since she was always needed, especially in times of war, but he could still hold her captive.

But if Finian had wanted to kill her, she reasoned, he had had plenty of chances to do so. Would he not have done it by now? As the thought passed through her mind, she felt more settled and secure, but she was still not sure what would happen next.

At that moment, she felt a hand on her shoulder, and as she turned to look into Finian’s grey eyes, she saw a look of profound sadness in them. Blaire was puzzled, since he was obviously deeply disturbed about James’s arrest—but why?

“Come with me,” he said gently. “I need to talk to you, Blaire, in private.”

“Of course,” she replied.

“Thank you,” Finian said gratefully. His shoulders were slumped, and his whole attitude was one of complete dejection. This was not the powerful, commanding man she had met only a few hours ago, but a shadow of that man. Something had obviously wounded Finian Lovatt very badly.

Blaire followed him along a lengthy corridor then up a flight of stairs to another long passageway at the end of which a door faced them. As Finian unlocked it, she looked back the way they had come, and her heart began to pound with fear. If Finian decided to overpower her here, she would be utterly helpless; not only was he much stronger, but she would have to outrun him, and that was clearly impossible.

She almost panicked, wondering exactly why Finian had brought her to this isolated part of the castle, but she managed by some miracle to stay calm. Somehow she felt that he was not an evil man, and whatever fighting he was doing was being undertaken for the sake of his family, and that was a worthy motive.

When Blaire stepped into the room, she was surprised to find that it was not the kind of overwhelmingly masculine space she had expected, but a light and airy chamber, not feminine or frilly either, but cheerful, alight with contrasts of bright and muted colours that gave it a lively look. The furniture was made of pale oak, but the chairs were upholstered in deep red velvet, and the curtains at the windows were the same colour.

The big bed, unlike so many others, was not intricately carved, but perfectly plain, except for the bedspread, which was made of brightly coloured patches of different materials. The pictures on the walls, all depictions of local scenes, had been painted in lively colours, and Blaire loved them.

“This is Connor’s room.” Finian’s voice was infinitely sad, and Blaire felt pity for him welling up inside her, but she pushed the feeling away, since she had a job to do. “He designed it himself.”

Blaire looked around the chamber, and an impression formed slowly in her mind. Connor Lovatt was not a person who liked frills and ornamentation; he had very simple tastes, and she admired that, since she was of the same mind. She had the feeling that he was not a materialistic person at all, but one who valued everything he had and did not feel the need to show off.

Looking at the patchwork quilt again, Blaire ran her hand along its colourful surface and noted its fine quality, recognising it as the work of a skilled seamstress. “This is beautiful,” she said in wonder. “Who made it?”

“My mother made it.” Again, his voice was sad. “Before she left us.”

“Oh, I am so sorry for your loss,” Blaire said gently, cursing herself for bringing up a bad memory.

“Oh, she is not dead,” Finian said hastily. “She and my father simply grew apart, then one day they had a dreadful argument and she left. She took my sister with her and lives in Aberdeen now, but Connor and I visit as often as we can. It affected him very badly, and me too, of course, but he is much more sensitive than I am. He was inconsolable for months, and I think he has still not come to terms with it.”

He sat down in a chair and looked at the fireplace. The room was chilly, and the fire had been made up but not lit, so he quickly set light to it and stood over it, holding his hands out while it warmed up.

“I know it’s early in the morning, Blaire,” he said wearily, “but I really need something a bit stronger than ale today. Would you like some whisky?”

“No, thank you,” Blaire answered promptly. She was not partial to strong spirits, having seen the damage it did. “But please go ahead and take what you need.”

Finian nodded, then pulled a bell to summon a maidservant, and soon he was nursing a glass of fine whisky in his hands and staring into the fire, apparently lost in thought.

“What are you thinking about?” Blaire asked softly. “You can confide in me if you wish, Finian, but if you would rather not, I understand completely.”

Finian took a sip of his whisky before he answered, and when he did, he surprised Blaire by smiling. “I was thinking about the time I gave Connor a big surprise on his tenth birthday,” he answered.

“He had always admired the guards’ uniforms, and my father had a wooden sword made for him with all the same carving on the handle, but it was not enough for him. He wanted to be a real soldier, so I asked our blacksmith and our leathersmith to fashion him a miniature set. I will never forget the look on his face!”

Finian paused for a moment, his eyes dreamy as he looked back into the past with a fond smile on his face. He took a sip of his whisky, then laughed as he described his brother’s expression of delight and incredulity. “I am three years older than Connor, and at that age I was quite a lot taller and stronger. Now he is stronger than I am! I put a blindfold on him, and he tried to struggle while I was doing it, then I pushed him all the way from this bedchamber to the blacksmith’s forge.” He chuckled. “He was kicking and screaming all the way, but I held his hands behind his back till we arrived, then I took the blindfold off.”

“What happened?” Blaire asked eagerly.

“The blacksmith was holding up the uniform in front of him,” Finian answered. “As you know, it is mostly leather, with a helmet, a breastplate, and a few other metal pieces. Connor went over to knock all the metal pieces with his knuckles to make sure they were actually made of iron! He told me later he thought I might be playing tricks on him and had them made of painted wood.”

Again he paused, and Blaire saw the glitter of unshed tears in his eyes before he went on. “He turned and looked at me and a great joyous smile spread across his face, the likes of which I had never seen before. He rushed over to me and hugged me so hard I thought my ribs might break, but I didn’t care. I was so glad that I had made him happy.”

“That is wonderful,” Blaire said, and smiled, even though she felt somewhat envious that she had never had a brother who did such kind things for her. “Did it fit?”

“Perfectly,” Finian replied. “Of course he grew a bit every year, and it was enlarged until he had stopped growing, and he could wear a real one. He had a soldier’s mind from the time he could walk.” He laughed. “I think he had his first toy sword at the age of three, and I remember having to fight him and pretend to have fallen in battle every time. Those were such happy days.”

Finian’s voice had become husky, and he dashed away his tears impatiently with the heels of his hands.

Blaire looked around the room and her eyes fell on the patchwork quilt again. “That is a skill I would very much like to learn,” she said enviously. “Did Conor and your mother have a close bond?”

“Yes,” Finian replied, nodding. “I cannot say for certain that he was her favourite, but we all suspected that he was, yet none of us was jealous because we knew she loved us all, and I have no doubt she still does. I should probably not say this, but she was a much better parent than my father ever was. He only ever wanted sons, and was not at all concerned when our sister left with Mother.”

“Does she know about Connor’s disappearance?” Blaire’s voice was gentle as she saw the pained expression on Finian’s face.

“We thought it best not to tell her,” Finian answered sadly.

“And your father?” Blaire asked, “Did he favour any one of you?”

“My father is rather a distant figure in our lives,” Finian replied with a sigh. “He never shows much emotion except anger—I think it might be one of the reasons my mother left him.”

Suddenly, Finian downed his whisky then looked at Blaire with a piercing gaze. “That man, James Smith, do you think his mind is unbalanced?”

Blaire looked down at her hands, avoiding Finian’s eyes for a moment to give herself a chance to think. If Finian thought James was mentally unstable, would he release him, or would he think that he was too dangerous? Would he lock him up—or worse? She had to be very careful with her words.

For a moment, Blaire’s mind swung from one possibility to the other, then she looked up into Finian’s grey eyes and said, “I am not an expert on disabilities of the mind, but I think his problems stem from an encounter he had with some bandits almost a year ago. He was found injured and brought to me for healing. It was about the same time that Katrina Sutherland died. This is only my opinion, but sometimes such experiences are so traumatic that the mind doesn’t want to remember them, and simply blacks them out.”

She took a deep breath. “And his name is not really James Smith. That was an invention of mine because he could not remember his own.”

“He cannot remember his own name?” Finian asked. His whole body was trembling, and his eyes were wide, with unshed tears glittering in the corners. “So the name he uses is false?”

“Yes. He had to call himself something, and the first name I could think of was James,” she answered. “He went to work for the blacksmith, so he became known as Smithy, which was shortened to Smith.”

Finian suddenly gave a long groan and leaned over to bury his head between his knees and rest his hands on the back of his head. He was still shaking all over, and the tears that had been shining in his eyes now began to run down his cheeks as he sat up and faced her.

“He looks like me, does he not?” he asked her.

“Indeed he does,” Blaire agreed, nodding. “There is a startling resemblance.” As she stared at him, Blaire suddenly knew what Finian was going to say next, so it did not come as a surprise.

“James Smith is Connor Lovatt,” he told her. “He is the boy I grew up with, the brother I love and would protect with my life.”

Blaire was speechless for a moment, and her heart began to race with fright. She suddenly had to face the fact that if James was indeed Connor Lovatt, he was her sister’s murderer. “But he was the man who was alleged to have killed Katrina Sutherland, was he not?” she asked. While she was speaking, her mind was trying to absorb what Finian had just said.

She had had her suspicions, but to have them confirmed was extremely difficult for her to take in, but there could be no mistake about James’s identity. Connor had grown up beside Finian, and it would be impossible for him to mistake his own sibling. Now she realised why he had behaved so strangely when he had first laid eyes on James.

Yet, she had to be sure, knowing that neither of them would be in a good place mentally at this moment. She looked squarely into his eyes. “Are you absolutely certain?” she asked firmly.

Finian looked at Blaire with anger blazing in his eyes. “Do you not think I would know my own brother?” he demanded, then he calmed down. “But I can tell you one definite way to identify him. He has a very distinctive mole on his right shoulder, which is shaped like a heart. He hated it, and was always going to the healer to try to get rid of it, but there was never anything he could do. I do not need anything more to prove his identity, but it might be useful to you if you still have doubts. Now, I want to see him.”

He jumped to his feet, but Blaire ducked around him and stood between him and the door. “Remember he may not be in a good mental state, Finian,” she said. “He will likely still not recognise you.”

Finian hesitated. “What do you suggest I do?” he asked. “He is very hostile to me. I think he’s jealous because he thinks I am trying to take you away from him. Are you two a couple?”

“Yes,” Blaire replied, “and we have been for quite a while. He has suffered a lot, Finian, so we must be very gentle with him. Let me speak to him first, then we will take it from there.” Then she looked around the room quickly, frowning. “I have an idea,” she said thoughtfully. “I want to bring him up here.”

Finian thought for a moment, then nodded. “Good idea,” he agreed.

“You will have to wait here,” Blaire told him. “I think he will stay calmer that way.”

At first, Finian looked as if he might refuse, then he sat down on his chair again and sighed. “Go ahead, and I hope you are right,” he said.

As she left the room, Blaire saw him pouring another glass of whisky.

T HANKFULLY, James had not been taken to the dungeons, but was sitting with the guards, who were reluctant to imprison him. As soon as he saw her, James’s face broke into a huge beaming smile.

The guards let Blaire come closer, and released James. Blaire hid in his embrace for a moment, then put him away a little to look into his eyes. “It looks as though you are lucky,” she said, smiling.

“Yes, and I have no idea why,” James said, shrugging.

Blaire took his hand, kissed it, then said, “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

James looked puzzled when the guards did not make a move to stop him. He walked alongside her while a guard simply followed them. Blaire tried to see the expression on his face as he studied his surroundings, but his face was blank; he obviously recognised nothing.

Presently, they came to the door of his chamber, and Blaire knocked, the door. “Enter!” came a voice from the other side. Blaire took a deep breath and opened the door.

James came face to face with Finian, and the two men stared at each other for a moment before Finian stepped forward and drew him further into the room. The two brothers’ eyes never left each other as Finian indicated to James that he should sit down.

James looked at Blaire as if seeking permission, but she smiled and nodded, then said, “You are among friends, James, and never doubt that I love you.”

James looked around the room, and something stirred in his mind, a faint flash of remembrance as he looked at the quilt that covered the bed. He had seen it before, but the more he tried to remember where, the more elusive the memory became.

He growled in frustration, and Blaire put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. Then she began to massage his shoulders, and in doing so, let the fabric of his shirt slip a little.

There, under her fingers, was a patch of rough skin, darker than the rest, that was roughly shaped like a heart. Blaire looked up at Finian and nodded.