Page 21 of The Mad Highlander

21

C ayden had never shied away from anything in his life, but as he got out of the water, he thought about backtracking. It was foolish to bring up anything when he was leaving so soon. He wanted to get back in the water and kiss her properly—give her the kiss she deserved.

Cayden climbed onto the bank and reached back to help Iris out. He pulled her up onto the grass and wrapped his arms around her to warm her body. Iris’ cream dress was soaked through, and it highlighted her silhouette. He should be thinking of that instead of his past.

He was thinking of her, but the past weighed heavier on his mind. He had too much respect for her not to give her the truth, no matter what that would do to them. She had changed him since she had arrived at the castle, and that gave him the strength to be honest with her.

Cayden rubbed her back, longing to rub her front, too. He could not remember a situation where his mind had trumped his desires.

“Come, sit with me and have some food. Some wine will warm ye, too.”

“Aye,” Iris agreed.

“I did tell ye it would be refreshin’,” Cayden said, delaying what he really needed to say.

“It was,” Iris agreed.

She followed him over to the panic basket, and when she sat on the grass, she brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them. Cayden took care of unpacking the basket.

There was a small woolen blanket on top of the basket, not big enough to sit on but big enough to place the food on. He took out the wooden bowls and plates next, setting them down before unwrapping the paper and cloth parcels.

Oatcakes and bannocks were placed on the first plate. Fresh fruit was added to one of the bowls—raspberries, apples, blackcurrants, and plums. The meat and cheese Robyn mentioned were arranged on a wooden plate, along with some salted fish. A flagon of ale was packed for the Laird, but he left it in the basket for now, opting for the wine. He poured two cups and handed one to Iris.

He rubbed her back again with his free hand. “Drink up some of that to get yer blood flowin’.”

“Thank ye,” she replied.

He drank as she did, and he felt it warm his throat and stomach. He had not put his shirt back on yet, preferring to stay bare-chested beneath the afternoon sun. He could feel the moisture drying from his skin—it would take longer for his and Iris’ clothing to dry.

“Feel better?” he asked.

Iris nodded. “Aye.”

“Take some food as well. Have yer fill.”

Iris did as she was told, but there was a nervousness in her actions. He had worried her with his talk of telling her who he really was. In truth, he was worried, too. He would care if it was someone else, and they could run for the hills after for all he cared, but he didn’t want to drive Iris away, not when he had growing feelings for her.

I should just get it over with and tell her.

“So, ye want to ken why they call me the mad laird?” he asked.

Iris looked down at her plate of food. “I dinnae ken if I do, but I think ye need to tell me.”

“Aye, I think I do.” He took a deep breath. “They call me the mad laird because I killed me faither and everyone within the clan who was loyal to him. I slaughtered dozens of men.”

Cayden was expecting a gasp or look of shock, but he didn’t get one. He did not know if that was a good sign or not. He hesitated in telling her more.

“What were the reasons?” Iris asked. The question was calm and emotionless.

“He killed me older brother,” Cayden managed.

The anger came flooding back, and he could feel his blood boil. It was not the act or the sight of the sword in his brother’s chest but the way his brother had looked at him for the final time. His brother’s features had not been grotesque, twisted, or pained. He looked at peace. He had a look that said to Cayden: I am fine, and so will ye be. Don’t react to this. The time will come.

“Take yer time,” Iris said. She took a small sip of her wine and then chewed on a morsel of salted fish.

“When I was growin’ up, me faither ruled with an iron fist. He kept the clan safe, and he was respected for it, but his stern nature did not stop at our enemies. He kept the clan in line with wicked punishments, and most people were happy with that. If someone stole, they should be punished. If ye kept out of trouble, ye were fine. Only the minority were affected, so the majority didnae care.” Cayden took a breath and then a large mouthful of his wine, almost draining the cup. “He acted the same with his family.”

Iris still looked down at her plate as the Laird told his story. She had a mix of worry and compassion on her face.

“He was abusive toward me maither. I didnae ken anythin’ about it until me older brother informed me. He was abusive to him, too, and the only reason he was not abusive toward me was because of me brother. He acted as a shield from me faither. Faither had expectations toward both of us boys. Me brother would become Laird when me faither passed, and he would rule with an iron fist, too. I was a spare—nothin’ more than an extra heir should me brother die. That’s all I meant to him.”

Iris looked up from her plate and finally stared at the Laird. She looked more horrified by that than anything he had said so far, but she still did not speak.

Cayden finished the last of the wine in his cup. He didn’t refill it. He would not get through the story without draining the cup again if it were filled.

“There were a lot of battles when we were growin’ up with the Murdoch clan being the one we fought against all the time. Me faither and Laird Murdoch hated each other. I wouldnae be surprised if me faither still hates him from beyond the grave. I grew up quicker than I would have liked and found meself trainin’ from a young age, me faither pushin’ me to be on the battlefield as soon as possible. I was only the spare, after all.

“Me brother was by me side the entire time, and I think he was the one who kept me off the battlefield. When me brother became old enough, he planned a mutiny. I didnae ken at the time. I dsinnae think he wanted me to ken until he was successful. Me faither found out about it. I remember that day like it was yesterday. He called me to the great hall, and I found me brother there, bloody and beaten. Maybe the tales of blood on the stone of the great hall are not so outlandish.”

The plate in Iris’ hand trembled a little, and a nugget of cheese rolled off. She stared at the Laird, transfixed, and a single tear ran down her cheek and dropped to the grass below. Cayden reached out and wiped the wet streak from her cheek.

“I had to watch him stab me brother through the chest with a sword. I watched the light leave me brother’s eyes that day, and me faither nodded his head when it was done as if it were somethin’ to tick off his list. Me brother only wanted to toss me faither in the dungeons, and in return, me faither killed him. It was all because he had a spare: me.”

Cayden felt his throat go dry, and he couldn’t clear it. He poured out a small amount of the ale and used it to wet his whistle. He cleared his throat successfully after that. He didn’t look at Iris again. He didn’t want to see her weep for him.

“I bided me time,” Cayden continued. “I had a rage in me that could not be sated. Me faither killed me brother, and there was naythin’ I could do to stop it. Me brother protected me all those years, and I couldnae protect him. I grew stronger, always trainin’ for battle, but me fight was nae against our enemies. It was against me faither. I kenned many didnae like what he did, but they wouldnae dare say anythin’. I waited and waited and waited, and finally, the day came. I took all the rage and hurt and pain I had inside me, and I used it to avenge me brother. I killed me faither, and anyone who was still loyal to him. There werenae all that many when it came to it.

“The folk of me clan were glad to have him gone, but word soon got out, and it was the other clans that donned the mad laird moniker. Still, it brought about peace for a while. Me faither had many enemies, but I didnae. And not many wanted to fight with the man who had killed his own faither and slaughtered some of his clan. I couldnae save me brother, but I could protect me maither and Robyn from him. That’s why I am like I am. That’s why I am the mad laird.”

Cayden breathed heavily through his nose as he looked out at the loch—the water had stilled again and reflected the trees. He watched the birds fly through the water, a reflection of the sky. He was glad he had told her everything but was terrified of what came next.

“That’s horrible,” Iris muttered.

“Aye, it is,” the Laird admitted. “That’s who I am.”

“Nay, nae ye,” Iris clarified. “What ye had to go through. I cannae believe ye had to go through that as a young lad. Nay one should have to live through that, and most who do would have crumbled under the weight of it. I dinnae condone killin’ anyone, but yer faither deserved it. What he did to yer brother was unforgivable. It was justice for him to die.”

“Ye think?”

“I ken,” Iris confirmed. “And it couldnae have been easy to do it, either. Ye had to grieve yer brother and ken yer faither killed him, and then ye had to kill yer faither. It is nae only the trauma of yer brother dyin’, but the trauma of killin’ yer own faither. That’s a lot for a young lad to carry around, let alone a man. Ye are certainly nae mad for what ye did.”

“Ye dinnae think so?” He finally turned to her. He had been expecting shock and horror from Iris, not understanding.

“I ken for sure ye are nae mad,” she stated. Iris placed her hand on the Laird’s cheek. “Ye are a good man, and ye did what needed to be done. That’s all I ken.”

“I have ne’er thought that.”

“Well, ye should.” Iris’ cheeks were starting to redden as she became more passionate about him understanding what she said. “Yer faither would have either killed ye or made ye just like him, and I dinnae ken which would have been worse. Ye are nothin’ like him, and ye should be glad of that every day. I ken yer brother will be lookin’ down on ye, and he would be proud of what ye have accomplished.”

Cayden had to look away. The last time he had cried was when his brother had been killed. There was not only his brother’s blood on the stone floor of the great hall but Cayden’s tears. His father had smacked him across the face for shedding tears before sending him away.

The Laird wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before looking back at Iris. “That’s me story. That is everythin’ ye need to ken.”

“And I am glad ye told me all of it,” she replied. “Now that we have cleared the air, we can properly enjoy our picnic.”

Cayden felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders—a weight he had been carrying for many years.