Finlay could almost taste the saltwater in the air, even though he was deep in the woods. Brims Ness was blustery this time of the year, the howling, merciless winds carrying the sea further into the land. It made Finlay wrap his plaid tighter as goose bumps formed on the skin of his arms, trying to protect himself from the chill.
He had already gathered as much wood as he could carry, and now he only needed to take it back home. Mairi, his mother—or at least the closest thing he had to a mother, for he was an orphan—would surely be waiting for him and for the logs that he had promised to bring her.
His hair was getting long, Finlay thought, falling in his face while he walked, blinding him with a haze of red. It was one of the two characteristics that gave away the lack of a familial bond between himself and Mairi; his ginger hair against her own dark brown locks.
The other was his eyes, the sign of the curse with which he was born, and which followed him ever since. While Mairi had two brilliant, crystal-clear blue eyes, Finlay had one green and one brown. A hated trait of his, he had spent endless nights as a child praying to God that he would wake up one day and be normal. As an adult, he had often thought of gouging one out—though he didn’t know which one he preferred and would rather keep.
Finlay had almost reached the edge of the woods when a scream pierced the air, echoing in the forest. He dropped the logs on the ground immediately, a chill running down his spine. It sounded like a young woman, and that could only mean one thing—one terrible thing that Finlay couldn’t allow to happen to anyone.
He ran. The only thought in his mind was to get to the girl before any harm befell her, so he ran as fast as his legs would carry him. The twigs from the Scots pines tugged at his plaid, and his stockings ripped in his hurry to get to her. He didn’t stop though—not even when a root rising from the ground tripped him and sent him tumbling onto the forest floor, leaves and twigs catching in his hair.
Finlay followed the screams to a small clearing, where the sun managed to shine through the foliage and the grey clouds above—just enough to allow him to take a good look at the scene in front of him.
Just as he had suspected, she was surrounded by three men who were sneering and laughing at her as she tried to escape their grips. Finlay could see that her petticoat was torn and soiled, and there was a scratch on her face that was slowly dripping blood.
He wondered what kind of man would ever hurt a face as beautiful as that.
Finlay ran straight for the man who was holding the girl, unsheathing the small blade that he always carried with him. Usually, he used it to cut herbs or berries. Sometimes, he used it to fight people who did bad deeds.
The man was a good head taller than Finlay, a Goliath of a man, but he didn’t even hear Finlay coming. He was so busy with the girl—his hands gripping her breasts viciously as he laughed at her attempts to escape—that he only realised Finlay was there when he felt the tip of the knife pierce his neck. Finlay knew exactly where to cut him, and the man stumbled back, his hands flying to his neck to stop the bleeding, but it was to no avail. With every beat of his heart, blood rushed out of him like a fountain, staining his clothes and the ground crimson. His skin turned pale, and his eyes became unfocused; his gaze fixed on the sky as he took his final breaths.
He was dead before his fellow men could do anything.
Once the girl was out of the man’s hands, she finally had a fighting chance. Despite being smaller than her captors, dainty wrists and prominent collarbones on display, she did not hesitate for a moment before she attacked one of them—thankfully, the smallest of the two. She scratched at the man’s face, her nails digging into his forehead and the skin around his eye, enough to draw blood. It seeped into his eye and blinded him, making him panic and try to retreat, but the girl was having none of it. She followed him as he backed away, her foot connecting with the man’s groin and forcing a painful yowl out of him.
As the girl took care of that man, Finlay took care of the other. His own attacker was swinging at him, fists flying at his face from every direction. One punch connected, and Finlay could taste iron on his tongue, hot and salty. He spat the blood out before lunging at the man, treating him the same way.
Finlay’s fist found the man’s jaw, and he punched hard enough to hear the bone break under his knuckles. There was a buzzing in his ears, adrenaline making him focus on one thing and one thing only: revenge, even though it wasn’t his to take.
Neither man wanted to stay long enough to end up like their friend. They began to run as fast as they could, leaves crunching under their feet as they rushed through the woods, and Finlay had no intention of following them. His job was done; the girl was safe.
The two of them had ended up back-to-back, both heaving and trying to catch their breath after the fight. Finlay was the first to turn around, taking a peek at the woman that he had just saved.
She was holding her arms against her chest, trying to hide her torn clothes, and Finlay took off his plaid and wrapped it around her shoulders. The girl seemed to have forgotten he was there. She jumped, shying away from his touch until she realised that he was not one of the men who had attacked her.
“Who are ye?” Finlay asked. “What are ye doing here alone?”
The girl didn’t seem to welcome the questions. Her eyes narrowed, and she gazed at Finlay with a look that chilled him to the bone. “Who are ye?”
“I was the first to ask, lass,” Finlay pointed out. Had she not been so aggressive, Finlay would have thought of her as an angel, with her dark hair and blue eyes that reminded him of the sea right down by the shore of Brims Ness. As it was, though, all he could see was a feral animal, ready to claw him simply because he was trying to help. “I will give ye my name, but only after ye give me yers.”
“Ailbe.” The name was uttered with such venom that it almost sounded like an insult. Even with the plaid over her, Ailbe had her arms crossed over her chest—only now it seemed to Finlay that she was being defensive, blaming him for something that he did not understand.
“Finlay,” he said, just as he had promised. “This is no place for a young lass like yourself. Ye cannae walk around all alone in the woods.”
“I was perfectly fine. I could have handled it,” Ailbe informed him with the certainty of a war general who had seen too many battles to be fazed by three men. “I dinnae need any man to help me.”
“It looked like ye did to me.” Finlay’s insistence brought a frown to Ailbe’s face, and she had half a mind to throw the plaid at him and stomp straight out of there. The only thing that kept her there was the fact that she didn’t want to be seen with her petticoat torn.
“And what d’ye ken?” Ailbe thought perhaps she shouldn’t be entertaining this conversation. It was getting late, and she’d been away since that morning. Surely, her father would send people to find her soon, and she didn’t want to be caught in the middle of the woods talking to a strange man.
“I ken a lass in need when I hear one.” Finlay was surprised that no one else had heard the screams, loud and frantic as they were. They were at the edge of the forest, after all, and people walked by there all day. “I dinnae ken who those men were.”
Ailbe gave him a small shrug. She didn’t know either, but judging from the way they were dressed, with their stockings and their ratty plaid, they were most certainly thieves looking for a quick payday or for a night of fun—or both. It was likely that they didn’t even know who she was and had only attacked her because a young woman alone in the woods looked like an easy target.
“What were ye doing here all alone?” Finlay asked. “The woods are dangerous, even for a man like me.”
Ailbe simply pointed to a basket that had been discarded by the tree line, flowers and mushrooms spilling out onto the forest floor. “I like to walk in the woods. I do it all the time, and I never need help or an escort. I thank ye, but I am fine by myself. I could have fought them off if only I could have gotten a hand free.”
Fi
nlay laughed at that; a deep, throaty laugh that rang around the clearing. It was rare even for him to hear his own laugh, as he spent most of the time alone, hiding from people so that they wouldn’t see his curse.
Despite being one of the few to hear Finlay’s laugh, Ailbe didn’t seem to appreciate it. Finlay saw a flush creeping up her cheeks, her face turning red like a cherry as her anger bubbled over.
“I shall take my leave now,” she said, turning around to walk away from Finlay. She gathered her basket, putting her bounty back inside, but before she could leave, Finlay stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“I’ll come with ye,” he said. “I will take ye back home. I must ensure that ye are safe.”
“I thank ye, but no. I can go home by myself.” Besides, how would she explain it to her father if Finlay came with her? She wouldn’t be able to sneak into her chambers as she was planning, and her father would most likely forbid her from ever going back into the woods, even with an escort.
“I insist.” Finlay stood his ground, stepping in front of Ailbe so that she couldn’t walk away from him.
“So, do I,” Ailbe said, fists clenched by her sides as if she was prepared to fight Finlay, too, or anyone that got in her way.
Finlay nodded, and Ailbe took that as a victory, a smile spreading on her lips. Finlay couldn’t help but notice their red colour, as if she had been eating berries that stained them.
Before Ailbe could leave, though, Finlay wrapped his arms around her knees, scooping her up and throwing her over his shoulder. In her surprise, Ailbe dropped her basket, its contents emptying once again on the ground.
“Put me down!” It was a command, not a request. “Put me down now!”
“Tell me where yer home is, and I will take ye there,” Finlay insisted. “Otherwise, I shall walk around the land until I find it.”
“I willnae tell ye anything!” Finlay could only hope that Ailbe’s screams wouldn’t attract any audience, especially since it looked as if he was trying to kidnap her. “Put me down and let me go!”
“Ye’ll no tell me what to do,” Finlay said, his own voice rising dangerously close to a shout. “Those men almost soiled ye! They would kill ye, ye hear?”
“Aye, I hear! But nothing happened. Now put me down!” Ailbe began to punch Finlay’s back with all her force, her fists slamming into him as she tried to escape his grip.
It was only fitting, Finlay thought, that at that exact moment, a team of riders surrounded them. Finlay didn’t know how long they had been there, but they didn’t seem to have witnessed his heroic defence of the woman. In fact, they seemed to think that he was the one trying to hurt her.
“Let me go. Now.” Ailbe wasn’t shouting anymore. Instead, she whispered in Finlay’s ear, and it sounded like a true warning, rather than a demand. Finlay obliged and gingerly placed her down, only letting go once her feet touched the ground.
The men dismounted their horses. Finlay counted six of them, and they were all coming towards him like vultures, their eyes on the prize—Finlay’s neck.
He saw Ailbe raise her hands, trying to placate them, but they didn’t stop. “He was only trying to help. He saved me.”
None of the men listened to her. Of course, they didn’t, Finlay thought. He was a stranger, a man that very few people around Brims Ness knew, even though he’d called it his home for several years, and Ailbe was…Finlay didn’t know exactly who or what she was, but she was certainly important, judging by the six men who’d come to rescue her.
There was no point in fighting. The men were armed, and this time, he wouldn’t have Ailbe’s help; that much Finlay knew. He simply stood there, allowing the men to approach him, and soon his wrists were bound behind his back, the rope burning marks into his skin with every move he made.
The last thing he saw before he was carted away was Ailbe’s eyes. There was an apology there, hidden somewhere among the tears that had begun to well. Above them, her brows were scrunched up together, concern marring her cherubic face, and below them, the corners of her mouth were downturned in a pout.
Finlay thought that his future seemed rather grim, but there was one thing in his mind that he couldn’t forget or escape; Mairi would never get the wood she needed for the fire.
Chapter Two
Being taken to Brims Castle was no surprise. After all, no one would send a search party for a peasant girl. No, Ailbe was someone important, and that meant that he was in a lot of trouble.
The courtyard was full of people all going about their day until they noticed Ailbe and Finlay being dragged to the keep. Finlay’s feet sank in the mud, the rain from the previous few days making the ground malleable and soft, petrichor mixed with wet dung permeating the air. Ailbe had trouble keeping up as the guards manhandled her, the hem of her petticoat soiled and drenched in rainwater.
Finlay could feel a dozen pairs of eyes on him, and he averted his gaze. There was a weight in his chest and a knot in his stomach, burning bile rising to the back of his throat. Those people didn’t know him; all they knew was that he was a boy living with Mairi at the edge of the Duncan territory. That was more than enough for them to form an opinion about him; it wasn’t a favourable one.
The two of them were brought to the hall, where the laird was expecting them, along with his right-hand man, Rory. Seeing Rory brought a small smile to Finlay’s lips, filling him with hope. It was Rory who had found him as a child, starved and wounded, wandering alone in the woods, and it was Rory who had brought him to Mairi; his saving grace. He was like a father to him, teaching him everything he knew, from sword-fighting to complicated political matters—though Finlay had mostly put the former to use.
Surely, if Rory was there, then he would save him from whatever terrible fate the laird wanted to bestow on him, Finlay thought. There was disbelief in Rory’s gaze, and that was all the assurance Finlay needed. Rory could never believe that Finlay would hurt an innocent person.
Before the laird could utter a single word, Ailbe broke free from the guards and approached him. “Father! Tell them tae stand down!”
It took Finlay a few moments to realise that Ailbe had called the laird “father,” but once he did, he cursed Heaven and Hell for getting himself involved in the life of the laird’s daughter. He could see that Laird Duncan’s gaze was fixed on him, and if looks could kill, Finlay would be long dead.
Finlay also realised that Ailbe—or the girl he knew as Ailbe—had been lying to him. Even a man like him, who rarely participated in any sort of public life events in Brims Ness, knew that Laird Duncan only had one daughter, and her name was Sine.
“Sir, we found this man in the woods,” one of the men, tall and bulky, built like a warrior and talking like one, said. “He had Lady Sine over his shoulder, trying to take her.”
“That’s not true!” Sine insisted, shoving the guards that had gathered once again around her away, this time running to her father and kneeling in front of him, taking his hand in hers. “Father, I beg ye, Finlay did nowt wrong. He saved me. He fought off no less than three brigands for me. If ye punish him, ye’ll be in the wrong.”
Laird Duncan glanced over at Rory. Mostly from his name, he recognized Finlay as the child that Rory had found in the woods over a decade ago and had helped raise.
“Is this boy the one ye brought to Brims Ness?” Laird Duncan asked Rory, suspicion still evident in the tone of his voice.
“Found him when he was a wee child, m’lord,” Rory said. “He’s a good lad, Finlay. He would never hurt anyone, never has.”
The laird seemed to consider that for a moment. There was no reason for Sine to defend her abductor, after all, and Laird Duncan had no reason to not believe her.
“Release him,” the laird told his guards, who immediately let Finlay go—though the one who had spoken about finding him did so reluctantly, his grip only loosening once everyone else had let him go. Finlay didn’t know why, but the man seemed to have a grudge against him, one that Finlay didn
’t appreciate one bit.
“Sine…ye cannae leave this castle on yer own,” Laird Duncan continued, much to Sine’s dismay. She let go of his hand and took a few staggering steps back, mouth already set in a thin line. That could only mean one thing, the laird thought; she was ready for an argument, so he dismissed the guards, but not Finlay or Rory.
“Ye cannae keep me here!” Sine shouted words wrapped in shards of glass that cut through the laird’s defences. “I’m no’ yer prisoner. Ye cannae keep me in this castle forever.”
“I do it for yer own good!” The laird was losing his patience, fists clenched and face reddening dangerously. “It’ll be no good if ye go and get killed, or worse…despoiled.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Sine stumbled back as if she’d been slapped, clutching onto Finlay’s plaid that she still had around her shoulders like a lifeline. Finlay, too, was taken aback by the laird’s words, a frown scrunching up his forehead.
Highlander’s Twisted Identity (Highlanders 0f Clan Craig Book 2) Page 15