Page 11 of McKenna’s Honor (The Clan MacDougall #4)

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P hillip Lindsay knew that most people did not like him. That fact did not bother him in the least. Truthfully, he had never been fond of most people. He preferred solitude to being surrounded by fawning feckless fools.

Fate had put him in what many would consider a most undesirable position. Phillip considered it a blessing. Born the second son of Carlich Lindsay, he had been left to his own devices most of his life. Second sons were of no real importance, for it was the first son who inherited everything. Therefore, all attention was paid to the first-born son, in this case, Seamus Lindsay.

Phillip hadn’t been ignored so much as left alone. His mother -- mayhap in seeing how her husband fawned over Seamus, preparing him for his eventual succession as clan chief -- had tried to make up for her husband’s lack of interest in their younger son. And being kindred spirits, she spent more time with Phillip.

As a young boy, Phillip had possessed a vivid, creative imagination. He had learned early on however, that if he were to talk openly about the magical worlds he created, where men could fly and animals could speak, it not only earned him wary glances, but occasionally a swift smack to the back of his head. People thought him daft and fanciful, mayhap even a bit tetched.

His beautiful mum, however, had encouraged his creative pursuits, albeit with the caveat that such creative pursuits had to be done quietly and behind closed doors. It would not serve anyone well if people believed that Carlich Lindsay’s son was tetched. Most people would not appreciate his vivid and colorful imagination.

He could remember his mother telling him, “ People do no’ understand those who are different .”

Labeled different since the age of four, Phillip Lindsay had also learned to keep his thoughts and feelings hidden, deep down inside. His father taught him that boys and men do not cry, not even when someone they love dies. Even if that someone was your mother or your wife.

So when his dear mum passed away when he was eight years old, he did not cry. At least not openly, not in front of everyone. Nay, he stood bravely during her burial service, stoic and as quiet as a mouse in church, mimicking his father and his older brother.

But at the end of the day, he did cry. Hidden away in his room, his face buried in his pillow, he cried until he threw up.

As time went on, he withdrew even further into his own little world, where men flew, animals spoke, and little boys’ beautiful mums never died. He stayed out of sight and out of the way, happily content with the solitude.

Over the years, Phillip had also learned to listen . Not just to the words that people spoke, but how they spoke them. He became very good at reading people’s faces, their countenance, their little idiosyncrasies. Many times he would write down little things that he heard or witnessed so that he could refer to them later.

In an old trunk tucked away in a storage room, Phillip kept countless journals and scraps of parchments. He wrote fanciful tales and drew wild illustrations depicting what he saw in his mind’s eye. He also kept very detailed logs of those who visited their keep.

Somehow, he took comfort in it, pretending that his mum wasn’t really dead, but was instead traveling the world. Convinced he was that if and when she returned, she would want to know about all the things that happened in her absence. As he grew older and time passed, he realized his mother was never coming back. But old habits die hard and he continued to keep detailed journals and records.

As he grew older, the label of different was gradually replaced with labels of pompous and arrogant. People simply did not understand him. He was far from pompous. He knew his own strengths and weaknesses. He knew he would never be the warrior that his brother, Seamus, had turned out to be. And he would never be the man his father so desperately wanted him to be.

After the three men had left him, Phillip paced around his study. He knew much more about the accusations against Angus than he led the men to believe. Phillip admired their steadfastness and their loyalty as it pertained to Angus McKenna. Not many people in this world deserved such fealty. It was a shame that the fool had thrown it all away.

Lost in his thoughts, he did not hear his lovely wife, Helena enter the room. He hadn’t known she was there until he turned and nearly stumbled over her.

“God’s teeth, woman!” he said with a start. “How many times have I told ye no’ to sneak up on me like that?”

Helena’s face lit up with a smile. Most people did not understand how someone as beautiful as Helena could love a man like Phillip Lindsay. She was a tiny, bonny thing, with hair the color of ginger and eyes as blue as the ocean. There were many times when Phillip asked himself what she saw in him .

The young beautiful woman loved him unconditionally and with ferocity that others might not be able to understand. Outward appearances were often deceiving. Helena too, had been labeled different at a very young age. She had been born with a slight deformity. Her left leg was a bit shorter than her right. It gave her an awkward gait and because of it she was constantly tormented by other children. The vicious taunting from uncaring fools continued, even when she grew older.

Her lot in life was made even more difficult by the fact that she had gone nearly fifteen years without uttering a single word. There had been no physical or medical reason for her muteness. Nay, it had been brought on by the traumatic way in which her parents had died when she was ten summers old. A man consumed with evil and malevolence had forced Helena and her father to watch as he raped her mum then slit her throat. Moments later, with the terrified Helena still watching, he killed her father.

Helena had never learned why the man had done what he had done or why he had allowed her to live. As she grew older, she supposed he had done it simply because he could. Until she met Phillip a few short years ago, she had lived her life in silence -- taunted and ridiculed by those who never took the time to understand her pain or her suffering.

Phillip Lindsay had fallen in love with her almost instantly.

Never known for acts of bravery or physical strength, somehow on that fateful day, Phillip found a part of him he did not know he owned.

Helena was being tormented by a group of young men. They had cornered her in an alley in Stirling. Mocking her, calling her names, they were doing their best to lift her skirts. Had Phillip not arrived, Lord only knows what they would have done to her.

In an act of bravery, Phillip stepped in, with broadsword drawn, and fended off the three young men. One was left dead and another without his right arm, while the third had taken flight never to be seen or heard from again.

Perhaps Phillip had picked up a few things from all the years of watching his brother and father on the training fields. It was even possible that there was some latent talent for fighting that had remained dormant until it was needed. Whatever the cause of his sudden show of strength, he had been glad for it.

Phillip tucked an errant length of ginger hair behind his wife’s ear with one hand while he caressed her swollen belly with the other. Helena stood on her tiptoes and gave him a peck on his cheek. “Are ye hungry, husband?” she asked him.

Cooking and baking was something his wife was very good at, as evidenced by all the weight he had gained since marrying her. He had always been on the thin side, until Helena came into his life. She had learned to cook and bake as a way of dealing with pain and heartache. Now, she had explained to him time and time again, she cooked and baked as a way of showing her love and gratitude for the man who saved her life.

“Wife, am I no’ fat enough for ye now?” Phillip asked as he patted his large belly .

Helena looked him up and down with feigned scrutiny. “Aye, I suppose ye’ll do.”

Phillip rolled his eyes and drew her into a warm embrace. Her head barely reached his shoulders, a fact that he thoroughly enjoyed for he loved the way her hair smelled. Like lilacs and fresh bread.

Helena returned his hug and snuggled her head into his chest, turning slightly to the side for her stomach had grown so big over the past fortnight. “I ken ye be worried over Angus McKenna, husband. Is there naught I can do?”

There were many times over the past few years when Phillip was convinced his wife could read his mind. This was one of those moments. The events leading up to Angus’ imprisonment weighed heavily on his conscience.

“Nay, lass, there is no’ anything we can do now,” he whispered into her hair. He did not like to keep secrets from his wife. But in this he would not yield to the temptation of sharing with her. The less she knew, the safer she and their babe would be.

The events of the past three years had led up to this moment in time. Phillip knew he was just as much a pawn in this game as Angus was. There were too many unknown players, unknown factors and that was a point he did not enjoy in the least. In just three days, if things played out as he worried they might, Angus McKenna would hang, alongside his son-in-law. Angus McKenna was a proverbial scapegoat in this melodrama.

Everything that I do, I do for Helena and my child , Phillip thought as he hugged his wife more tightly. Helena and their babe were his entire world. There was nothing he would not do to insure their safety and futures.

There was no room for feeling guilty. Angus was where he was because of the choices he had made. The only man Angus could blame was himself.

If Phillip Lindsay hoped to live long enough to see his first child born, there was not anything he could do to stop it.