Page 57 of Taming the Highland Misfits

“I was hoping you would stay with me for a few days,” Isla said, and the expression in her eyes was pleading.

“An’ how would that look, Isla?” he asked. “A fine young gentlewoman like yourself sleepin’ under the same roof as a blacksmith? You would lose the respect o’ your staff as well as damagin’ your chances o’ a good marriage. No, Isla. It is better that I go. Look after yourself, hen.” He gave her a quick smile, then wheeled Duff around and cantered away.

Everything he had told her was true, and he had said it for her benefit, he thought. Isla was everything he was not; well-off, clean-living, without grievous sins to repent, without a stain on her reputation.

Isla reasoned that in Finley’s mind, she would marry a decent man who would look after her, whereas he, who had nothing to offer her, would likely be alone forever. And he would reason that she could never be happy with him. In fact, the opposite was true; she could never be happy with anyone but Finley.

Isla watched Finley and Duff disappear into the distance, her heart breaking. She knew she would see him again; after all, Inverleith was not such a big place and their paths would cross occasionally. She just did not know how she could bear the thought that he would never be hers.

24

Finley went to Angus’s house and begged for some supper, promising some help in the forge the next day in return. He informed his old friend of all that had gone on in the past day, and his horrible past. It took some time, and when he was finished, Angus sat back, stunned. He finished the ale he was drinking, then gazed at the younger man. Before, he had always seen Finley almost as a son, but now he was looking at him with new eyes.

Yet, he reasoned, he had never seen any sign of wickedness in the youth he had known in the past, and he did not see it now. Finley had admitted these things to him of his own free will; if he had kept them hidden Angus would have been none the wiser. Surely that was a good thing? Perhaps he needed to ponder it a bit more.

Finley could see Angus’s expression changing as he thought through what he had just told him. Eventually, reasoning that the blacksmith had made up his mind and decided that Finley would be too dangerous to employ again, he stood up and reached for his cloak.

“I am sorry, Angus,” he said sadly, “I never should have bothered ye. I wish ye well.” He began to turn away, but Angus said: “wait, son. I would like tae talk tae ye.”

Finley turned back, but his expression was bleak. Angus was a kind man, and he was being kind now; he was no doubt letting Finley down gently before dismissing him.

“Sit down, son.” Angus’s voice was firm, but gentle. “Look at me, Finley.”

Finley looked up into Angus’s grey eyes. “Ye know, I was married once, but I never told ye, did I? Her name was Marion, an’ her hair was the same colour as yours. Her eyes were blue too, although a bit darker than yours. Bonny wee thing.” He smiled, looking back into the past.

“She died o’ measles an’ I was shattered, but time heals, I recovered in the end, an’ I married again, an’ now I am happy. What I mean tae say is that terrible things can happen, but ye can put them behind ye an’ move on.”

“Angus, I dinnae think that bein’ a robber an’ losin’ your wife are the same thing,” Finley said gently. “One is a tragedy, but the other was a crime, an’ a crime carried out many times.”

“But it was a crime that led tae ye doin’ those things,” Angus reminded him, shaking his head. Then he patted Finley’s hand. “It was the murder o’ your mother that set ye on the wrong road, otherwise I know ye would have walked a straight an’ narrow path. Look at me, Finley.” His tone was insistent.

Finley looked up, feeling small and ashamed. “Angus, I shouldnae have come here,” he said regretfully. “Let me go or I will bring disgrace on you an’ your business.”

“How many people know o’ your sins?” Angus asked.

“You, Isla, the Laird, Alec an’ Iain Crawford an’ the other bandits,” he answered.

“An’ it sounds as though the Laird will be gettin’ hold o’ the other robbers soon,” Angus pointed out. “They cannae tell the Laird anythin’ ye havenae told him already, an’ they willnae be speakin’ tae anybody else anytime soon. I willnae say anythin’, ye know that. Calm yoursel’, son.”

“Thank ye, Angus,” Finley sighed with relief, smiling at his old friend. “Ye have set my mind at rest. I needed a good friend, but I must go home now; the animals need seein’ tae.”

“Where is the lovely lassie ye came here wi’ the other day?” Angus asked curiously.

“She went home.” Finley tried to keep the sadness out of his voice.

“She is a good lass, that,” Angus told him. “Ye could dae much worse than settle for her, Finley.”

“She is far too good for the likes o’ me, Angus,” Finley said sadly as he swung himself up and into the saddle. “She needs a good man—a man without a wicked past—somebody wi’ somethin’ tae offer her. Cheerio!”

Then he was gone, leaving Angus to stand and watch him. He was still shocked at what he had heard of Finley’s past, of course, but he knew that he would not repeat his mistakes. However, he was right about one thing; he would never be able to climb high enough up the social ladder to reach Isla Thomson. She would be forever out of his reach.

* * *

When Finley opened his eyes the next morning he wondered for a moment where he was. The last few days had been such a tumultuous mixture of events and emotions that he was still disoriented and confused, but foremost amongst his feelings was sadness. He would never be with Isla, because he did not deserve to be, but he had memories now; dozens of memories of holding and kissing her, memories of her laughing at him and teasing him. No one could take them away from him.

He rose from bed and poured some ale for himself, then went about his morning routine of fetching water, feeding the animals and weeding the vegetable garden.

He cooked himself some eggs, washed, then looked around and wondered what to do with himself. The day stretched ahead of him, bleak and empty, but he had to find some way of feeding himself; he needed to find work. Angus had an apprentice, so there was nothing for him there, but he knew that many people needed labourers, and he was a strong man; perhaps someone would employ him in that capacity.