Page 16 of Echoes of a Forgotten Warrior (A Highland Ruse of Love #2)

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W hen Connor woke up the next morning, Finian was sitting warming his hands at the fire in his bedroom. He had been sleeping deeply after the trek to Strathburn Castle, his home. Something he had not yet come fully to terms with. Connor was surprised to see him in his chamber; something drastic must have happened to bring him here.

Finian turned and looked at his brother, but not with the light-hearted grin he usually wore. Instead, his expression was anxious. “I was just about to wake you up,” he said, in a resigned tone. “You will have to come and see Father with me—you knew it had to happen sometime, Connor. I know we just arrived here, but he has heard of your presence. Well, we knew he would eventually.”

Connor nodded slowly, taking in the news he had been dreading. “How?” he asked as he swung his legs out of bed.

“The usual way,” Finian answered as his irrepressible grin came back. “Servants’ gossip.”

“The most effective means of communication known to mankind,” Connor said drily. It was true: once one of the staff, male or female, heard a juicy bit of gossip, it spread like wildfire, being embroidered along the way with more details, whether true or untrue.

Connor sighed. “There is no use putting it off any longer, then. The sooner I go and see him, the sooner it will be done with.”

He stood up as Finian walked to the door.

“I will meet you in Father’s study after you have breakfast,” Finian said. “I think you will need to eat to give you strength to face what is coming because from what I hear, he is fuming.”

“That does not surprise me one bit,” Connor observed bitterly. “I bet I have always been the only spare in case anything happens to you.”

Finian had heard this same complaint many times before, and was tired of refuting it, so he shook his head and left, leaving Connor to bury his face in his hands.

Blaire had been right to leave; he had come to know that, since it was now certain that they would never marry, but it did not make the memory any less painful.

He sighed, washed quickly, then ate his breakfast and dressed. He had refused the services of a manservant to help him with his clothes, considering it a task that was well within his own abilities to perform. Finian had told him his father had considered this a woeful lack of form, denying some poor man a chance of gainful employment.

Connor laughed at the mere thought of that. Errol Lovatt cared nothing about people he considered inferior, which meant everyone below the rank of Lairds and Ladies, Barons and Baronesses. He never gave a damn about the welfare of common working people, but if it became known that his son did not have a valet, it would be truly shocking to those whose opinion he valued. Connor hated his father’s shallowness, even if he hadn’t gained all his memories back yet.

Strathburn Castle was huge, and it took Connor a while to find where his father’s study was. He stood outside the door for a few moments, taking deep breaths and trying to slow down his racing heartbeat, then he squared his shoulders and turned the handle.

As soon as Errol Lovatt heard the door open, he looked up and met Connor’s gaze with his own ice-blue eyes, which were identical to his son’s. The expression in them was as cold as their colour, and as the two men stared each other out, a tangible current of hostility passed between them.

The Laird made no move to stand up as Connor entered. He merely nodded and gestured to a seat. “So you finally show up, Connor.”

“Yes, I’m back,” he answered.

He had not expected an enthusiastic welcome from his father, certainly no hugs or declarations of paternal love, but surely, there had to be more concern than this? His son had been missing for months, after all.

Finian was sitting next to Connor, and his expression was thunderous as he glared at his father. Connor was afraid that he was about to do something rash, so he put his hand on his brother’s knee and gave him an almost imperceptible shake of the head as a signal to stop him. Then he faced Errol Lovatt again. The Laird stood up, moved around the desk, then looked down at Connor. He was a tall man, not as tall as either of his sons, but he had the advantage now that Connor was sitting down.

Suddenly, Laird Lovatt swung his arm back and struck Connor with a flat-handed blow across the face, using all the force he could muster.

“You piece of scum!” he yelled. “You have disgraced my name and that of your family, and you have started a war that we cannot stop. How many more men have to die before it all ends? I ought to give you to Sutherland and tell him to do his worst.”

“If you do that, I will kill you where you stand.” Finian’s voice came from behind him, dangerously quiet and loaded with menace. Then Finian, knowing he had said the wrong thing, sighed and shook his head. “I am sorry, Father, I spoke in the heat of the moment. But you are his father and protector, and much as it hurts me to have to beg you, I ask you to please shelter my brother now, and come to terms with Laird Sutherland, for I am sure he does not want this war any more than you do.”

The Laird shook his head and pointed to Connor. “You are to blame, and you will take your punishment like a man.”

“No!” Finian yelled. “You”—he pointed to the Laird—“are the reason this conflict started and is still raging! If you had not insisted on a wedding between Katrina and me, she would still be alive now! My brother would never hurt anyone, except in self-defence, and if he struck you now, Father, I would do nothing to interfere!”

Connor was covering his painfully stinging cheek with his hand. His father’s blow had been hard, but it had certainly not rendered him helpless. What hurt the most was his father’s obvious hatred for him—how could the Laird threaten to offer his own son to his sworn enemies? It was monstrous, and Connor could only hope that those had been empty words designed to intimidate him. However, staring at the expression on Laird Lovatt’s face, he was not so sure. Connor tried to remember if his father had ever been gentle and loving towards him, but he could only ever remember a stern disciplinarian.

Between them, he and Finian could have overpowered their father in a matter of seconds and put an end to him without much effort. However, all three of them knew that Finian’s threat had been an empty one. No matter how much he disliked Errol Lovatt at that moment, he would never harm him because loyalty to his clan and family was ingrained in him.

Laird Lovatt was staring at Finian, his ice blue eyes dark with rage. He drew back his arm to slap Finian, but Connor had seen what was about to happen and leapt to Finian’s defence. He caught his father’s wrist just as he was about to strike and pushed himself in between them.

“Thank you, Connor,” Finian said gratefully, smiling at him, then he turned to his father and glared at him. “My brother and I will always protect each other,” he told the Laird, who was shuffling backwards behind his desk. “And make no mistake, Father, if we wanted to, we could kill our way out of here without even breaking into a sweat.”

For a moment, Laird Lovatt looked terrified, then he squared his shoulders and assumed an expression of bravado. “You would never leave this castle alive,” he said, his voice dripping with scorn. “My guards would capture you before you reach the stables!”

Unfortunately, this was true. Even though many of the guards despised their employer, they had wives and families to feed, and depended on him for their livelihood.

Connor stepped forward and helped himself to a glass of wine from the carafe that always stood on the Laird’s desk—the movement almost automatic, familiar in an odd way. Catching his father’s outraged expression, he said, “Hear me out before you begrudge me this glass of wine, Father , because I am about to do something that will please you very much.”

James took a sip, then turned and looked the Laird in the eye. “I will hand myself over to the Sutherlands,” he said firmly. “In the interest of peace.”

“No!” Finian yelled. “Connor, no! You are innocent! Whatever happened, you were not to blame. It was likely an accident, but it is in the Sutherlands’ best interest to frame you as a murderer. There were no witnesses, and you have no memory of it. This whole thing has been arranged to set you up, and I will not stand by and let you do this because he”—he flung out an arm and pointed at the Laird—“wishes it. If you had any conscience, Father, you would be ashamed of yourself. But of course, I forgot; you are not capable of shame.”

The Laird’s face flushed crimson with rage, and he opened his mouth to yell again, but Finian raised his voice and said loudly, “Let us speak to Blaire. She will help you, she loves you, Connor. She can explain what might have happened and defend you. She is very well respected by the Sutherlands. You must not go to them, Connor. You are my brother, and I need you. Please stay here, where you will be sheltered and protected.”

“I will not drag Blaire into this mess,” Connor answered. “She helped me when I was most vulnerable, and I owe her too much, so I will not compromise her safety. Anyway, I do not trust that the Sutherlands will take her argument as valid. Why should they? Leave Blaire out of this.”

Finian was not ready to give up, however. “Do you not think she would do anything to help you, Connor?” he asked desperately. “From what you tell me, she is the love of your life, and you are hers.”

Suddenly, the Laird let out an evil howl of laughter. “My god! Listen to yourselves.” he said scornfully. “You two would turn your world upside down just to keep a woman happy. You are both mad.” He stepped up to Connor. “I heard of that petty healer you like. You had better cast that creature aside!”

Connor took two steps towards his father, his hands clenched into fists, his expression thunderous, but Finian stepped between them.

“Well, we can see that you practise what you preach, Father,” he said through gritted teeth. “Mother left you because she could not stand to be around you any longer, and quite frankly, I do not blame her. I also heard rumours of an affair that you had, but we always change the subject when that comes up in conversation, do we not?”

Laird Lovatt shook a finger at his son. “As soon as is humanly possible,” he said firmly, glaring furiously at him, “you will be married to the woman of my choosing whether you like it or not. Love will not come into it.”

“It certainly didn’t in your case, did it? Pfft!” Finian’s voice was derisive as he flapped his hand at Laird Lovatt. “Play another tune, Father. I am so tired of hearing that one.” He turned to Connor. “Do not give yourself up to the Sutherlands, Connor,” he begged. “For my sake, if for no one else’s.”

Connor felt wretched as he looked at Finian’s distraught face. “If it brings peace, then I must, Finian,” he answered. “Otherwise, I will never forgive myself. I may be a killer, or I may not, but what if I am? What if I do it again?”

“You are not a killer,” Finian insisted. He went up to Connor and put a hand on each of his shoulders, then looked into his eyes. He loved his brother and his heart was aching. “Please do not throw your life away, Connor.”

Connor said nothing, merely took another sip of wine, but doubt showed in his face for the first time. Finian took advantage of it and hugged him. “Sleep on it,” he begged.

Connor nodded. “I will,” he answered, “but if my answer is still the same, you must accept it.”

Finian nodded slowly, then both of them left the room. At the door, Finian paused and looked round, then met his father’s eyes and gave him a venomous look.

“Take care, Father,” he said menacingly.

T HE NEXT DAY, a messenger from one of the encampments on the border between the Sutherland and Lovatt lands arrived to tell them that a delegation of the Sutherland army was coming to take Connor away. Finian was devastated. Up to that moment, there had been hope. Connor was determined to sacrifice himself for the family, but perhaps when he saw the Sutherlands the reality of what he was about to do would hit him, and he would change his mind. However, now that the decision had been taken out of his hands, there was no such possibility.

“Who told them you were here?” Finian asked Connor. “Could it have been Blaire?”

He knew he had said the wrong thing when Connor rounded on him, his face a mask of fury. “Blaire would never betray me,” he snapped. “It could have been anyone. Leave her name out of it!”

Finian nodded slowly. He did not wish to argue with Connor at a time like this. It might be the last time he would see his brother alive. The thought almost made him feel sick, and he wanted to drop to his knees and beg Connor to stay with him, but he doubted that he would change his mind even if he did. Once he had made it up, he rarely changed it.

Connor slipped an arm around Finian’s shoulders. Despite his show of bravado, he was terrified of what was going to happen to him. He knew that his chances of being allowed to live were slim, but his biggest regret was never being able to see Blaire again. If only he could go back in time and relive those few precious months they had been together! If only, if only, if only… But there was no time for regrets now. Soon he would have to go and meet his fate.

He could only imagine what would happen now if he did not surrender himself. The Sutherlands were quite capable of attacking or besieging Strathburn Castle, although he thought that they would stop short of killing everyone inside it. They were only interested in him.

At least there would be no debating any more; the die was cast, and Connor’s fate was sealed. In a peculiar way, it was a relief after not knowing who he was and what life had in store for him for so long.

Connor bathed, shaved, and dressed with care. He might be going to his doom, he thought, but at least he would not be going dressed like a tramp.

Finian entered his bedchamber at that moment, a sullen expression souring his handsome features. He stood at the door as if afraid to move any closer, then he said, “It’s time, Connor.”

Connor found himself unable to speak, and the two brothers were silent as they walked side by side to the stables and mounted their horses. A dozen guards fell in behind them. They exchanged glances and smiled at each other sadly, then they began their journey to Rosskern Castle.

When they were halfway there, a delegation from Laird Sutherland’s garrison came to meet them with a wagon bearing what could only be described as a cage on it. It had thick iron bars, a metal roof and floor, and a stout lock at the back. It had obviously been designed for the maximum humiliation of the prisoner, and the Sutherland guards grinned as they saw Connor’s stricken expression.

Finian was appalled when he saw it. “No!” he cried. “They cannot do this to you, Connor.” He rode up to one of the guards, who unsheathed his sword and held it up threateningly. “I beg of you, please let him go into the village on horseback.”

The guard shook his head. “Laird’s orders.” Then he turned to his fellows, who surrounded Connor as soon as he dismounted and pushed him into the cage so that he stumbled and fell on its unyielding metal floor.

He scrambled to his feet and reached out his hand through the bars. The guards allowed the brothers to say a silent but loving goodbye to each other, then the wagon jolted away.

Finian tried to follow, but a line of Sutherland mounted guards blocked his path, and he had to sit silently and watch while Connor was taken away from him.

He was sure he would never see his brother again.