Finlay’s Duty: The Victorian Highlanders Book 2

by St. Clair, Ellie

  Finlay’s heart seemed to stop, and he forced himself to swallow the huge lump that had formed in his throat.

  “Can— can she hear me if I speak to her?”

  “Mayhap. I dinna completely know.”

  On that somber note, he left the room. Finlay heard him tell Roderick on his way out of the castle to summon him if there was any change.

  Finlay said nothing else, just walked around the room in circles, unable to stop as he felt completely and utterly useless.

  * * *

  Finlay paced, then stopped and looked at Kyla. Nothing—no change. He paced again. Stopped. Looked at her. The same. Over and over, he did this, round and round the room. One of these times, he told himself, he would stop, and she would be staring at him, laughing at his ridiculousness. But every time it was the same. Eyes closed. No change.

  Finlay didn’t know how long it had been, until he was eventually seized by his brothers, one on each side of him.

  He tried to fight them off, but Adam and Roderick forced him across the room and into a chair—one that hadn’t been there before but someone must have moved in.

  “Sit,” said Roderick forcefully. “You’re not going to help her any by wearing treads in the floor with your boots.”

  Finlay looked down at the floor and took a deep breath. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

  “What do I do?” he muttered, before sitting up and looking first at one of his brothers and then the other.

  “What do I do?” he repeated.

  Roderick and Adam shared a worried look. Finlay knew they likely had no idea what to do with him. It wasn’t like him to show much emotion, besides when he gave in to anger from time to time. Otherwise, he remained fairly stoic, a fact he prided himself upon.

  “It’s not like you to ask us what to do, Fin,” Roderick said, trouble in his eyes.

  Adam shot him a look before returning to Finlay.

  “I dinna think there’s much you can do,” said Adam, kindness in his voice, and for a moment Finlay nearly allowed anger to rise—anger that his brother was so pitying him. But he had no emotion left for it. “Why don’t we get Mother?”

  He left the room, Roderick close behind him. Finlay barely noticed they were gone, until he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m here, darling.”

  He turned, seeing her, and rose. For the first time in nearly twenty years, he put his head on his mother’s shoulder and let her comfort him. Her soft yet strong hands patted his back as though he were still a child, and he couldn’t remember a time he had been more grateful for her presence.

  “I dinna know what I’m to do,” he finally said into her shoulder.

  She leaned back and set a cool hand upon his face as she looked up at him.

  “Sometimes, Finlay, there is nothing you can do but say a prayer and trust in the Lord,” she said with quiet resolve. “Kyla is a strong woman. She’ll fight this and come back to you. Now you must be strong for her.”

  He nodded, not quite agreeing but understanding. His mother led him to the bed and sat him down beside Kyla’s prostrate form.

  “All you can do is be here so that when she wakes, she sees you,” his mother said, holding his hand as she sat with him and the woman he loved.

  The woman he loved—yet he had never told her. He had been too much of a coward. Instead, he had thought it was enough to try to show her that he loved her, when he made love to her gently, softly as he had in the forest. He had given more of himself to her than he had ever given anyone, yet he had never found the words to tell her how he truly felt. He was too proud. He knew she didn’t love him. She had made it clear when they married that he wasn’t the type of man she could ever love. She had come to want him, yes, that much was apparent. But that was quite different than loving someone.

  Did it matter, though? Could his love be enough for the both of them?

  Hours later, he had finally fallen into a fitful sleep, lying beside her on the bed. He was startled awake by an insistent knocking on the door. Groggy, he rolled off the bed and opened it.

  When he came face to face with Niall and Rory on the other side, he slammed the door back in their faces. They knocked again, more insistently this time.

  “Open this door up, right now, Finlay McDougall!” the roar came from the other side. He continued to stand immobile, stubborn, arms crossed over the chest as he glared at the door.

  “Give me one good reason why,” he ground out.

  “Because we are her family!”

  “I am her family now.”

  “She may be a McDougall in name, but she shall always be a MacTavish!”

  After a few more minutes of listening to Niall bellow away in the hallway, Finlay finally emitted a heavy sigh and let them in, realizing they weren’t going to go away and all they were accomplishing was likely aggravating his family.

  They entered the room without a glance toward him and stood beside the bed, gazing down at Kyla. He wanted to question them and the actions that had led to this, though he knew in this moment he should leave them be, as they were hurting as well, though he didn’t see how it could be possible for anyone else to be suffering as he currently was. He hoped they felt the pain. They were the cause of this, why this had happened in the first place.

  Finally, they turned and looked at him, asking what could be done.

  “The doctor said to pray,” he replied quietly. “Can we step outside to talk further?”

  He ushered them out the door, but didn’t go any further than down the hallway, as he wanted to stay close by in case Kyla woke and needed him.

  “What were you thinking?” he said angrily, allowing all his pent-up frustrations to rush out. “Inciting your people and then both of you leaving like that? What did you expect was going to happen in your absence?”

  “It was not planned,” said Niall dryly with a glance toward his son. Rory looked sheepish, staring at the floor.

  “Circumstances arose in Glasgow—” he mumbled.

  “Circumstances?” Finlay cut in. He felt like he was lecturing a child, despite the fact that Rory was only a few years younger than he was. “The only circumstance was your stupidity, gambling and carousing south while you were needed here at home.” He looked to Niall. “You should have left him in the Glasgow prison he was being kept in.”

  “Now Finlay, that’s a bit harsh,” said Rory, holding up a finger. “It’s not like I thought anything would ever happen to Kyla because of it.”

  “When you act as you do, bad things happen, whether you plan them or not,” said Finlay, advancing toward him, but he was stopped by Niall, who stepped between them.

  “Enough of this,” said the older MacTavish. “What do we do now?”

  “Now,” said Finlay, “We wait.”

  * * *

  For two days, Finlay stayed by her side. Adam moved an old mattress into the room so that Finlay could sleep on the floor, though usually he would move into the bed next to her. With Jane’s help, he would try to lift her head and trickle some water down her throat, but he wasn’t very successful.

  Finlay had always attended mass on Sunday, but had never been as devout as he should have been. Now, however, he prayed as he never had before. He would do anything, he told God, to save Kyla and provide her with the life she deserved.

  He was sitting next to her one morning, lightly dozing off, when he saw her flinch. He instantly came alert, leaning over her and watching for any other signs. Her eyelids fluttered, and he grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.

  “Kyla,” he said, hearing the desperation in his voice as he willed her to open her eyes. “Kyla, come back to me, love. Open your eyes now.”

  He could have sworn he felt her hand move in his, but minutes ticked by and she showed no other response to his words.

  “Kyla,” he continued to plead. “You have to fight to come back. Fight for me, and come through this to the other side. You ha
ve a life to live here, and I don’t know what I should do if you don’t return. Open your eyes, show me you’re still there. I love you, lass, as I’ve never loved before, and I need you.”

  A tear fell from his eye as he leaned his head over her, resting his forehead on her arm.

  He stayed like that for an indiscriminate amount of time—he didn’t know if it was minutes or hours. Finally, there was a knock on the door.

  “Finlay,” it was his mother. “Come eat supper, love. Rory’s here. He wants to sit with Kyla for a minute.”

  Finlay reluctantly let go of Kyla’s hand and followed his mother out the doorway. It was like he was a child again, letting his mother care for him and all of his needs, but he couldn’t be bothered by anything except Kyla’s condition.

  He nodded at Rory as they passed one another in the doorway. He was still angry, but he could see how much Rory was also hurting, and resolved not to confront him about any of this again until Kyla was awake. For she would wake. She had to. There was no other option.

  He was mindlessly shoving chalky potatoes into his mouth, his mother and Peggy watching him worriedly, when Niall stepped into the dining room. “Finlay,” he greeted him with a nod. “Is Rory with her?”

  “He is.”

  “I have news.”

  “Oh?” He didn’t much care to hear any news besides that Kyla had awoken.

  “I’ve been told who the man is—the man who did this to her.”

  Finlay’s head snapped up at that. Perhaps there was other news he had wanted to hear. He may not be able to do anything about Kyla’s condition, but he could certainly do something about the man who caused it.

  “Who? And where is he?” he demanded.

  “Fin—” his mother began.

  “I don’t want to hear it.” He was shaking his head.

  “Finlay, you will listen to me,” she said, more insistent that usual. “Kyla wouldn’t want you doing anything about this. She was there to make peace, and by seeking retribution you will only be making everything worse. Do you want more violence between the clans? Between the chieftains and the people? This one man was no more at fault than any others, and you are not going to take out every MacTavish clansman.”

  “I will if I have to,” he growled.

  “You are not thinking clearly.”

  Finlay looked at his mother with a glower. She typically wasn’t so vocal with her opinions, but allowed her sons and her husband to do as they thought best.

  “Why are you arguing with me on this?” he asked her.

  “Because Kyla is not here to voice her opinion herself.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Without another word, Finlay pushed himself back from the table and climbed the stairs to find Rory. A lot could be said about the man, but one thing was certain—he loved his sister.

  When Finlay told him what Niall had come to share with them, Rory gave a nod and rose from the chair, prepared to do whatever Finlay determined was necessary.

  The two of them mounted their horses and began the trek to the home of the crofters who lived near Darfield Keep. They didn’t speak—there was not much to be said between them. Finlay blamed Rory, true, but Rory seemed to blame himself in equal measure.

  Their arrival at the small cottage was anti-climactic. Nothing greeted them but the icy chill that surrounded the cottage, the smell of peat emanating from inside. Rory, knowing the MacTavish crofters better than Finlay, led him up the path.

  “He lives here,” he said gruffly, standing in front of the door and gesturing.

  They knocked but did not allow any time for a response as they opened the door and entered the house. Finlay stopped short at the scene in front of him. There sat one of the men who he subconsciously remembered from the scene in the MacTavish courtyard. It was what was next to him that startled Finlay. Seated on the loom close by was a short, plump woman who Finlay assumed was his wife, and two small children looked up from their play on the floor and took them in, wide-eyed.

  When Finlay and Rory entered the room, the man started trembling noticeably. Clearly, he knew what he had done and what they were here for.

  “My lairds,” he said, rising, his hands in front of him in surrender. “Pray forgive me. I was not thinking clearly.”

  “No,” said Rory coldly. “You were not, and now my sister lies close to death as you sit here with your family.”

  Rory’s look was deadly, his countenance unchanged by the children or the woman.

  “Perhaps we can take this outside,” said Finlay uncomfortably. He felt no different than Rory, but this was not a conversation to be had in front of children. The man nodded, kissed his wife and his children, running a hand over their hair before exiting with the two of them. He cast one last glance at his family before shutting the door firmly behind him.

  Rory turned to him. “Do you have anything else to say for yourself?”

  “Simply that I… I’m sorry. I did something rash that I am truly sorry for.”

  “My sister could die.”

  “I have heard.”

  “And yet you didna come forward and confess?”

  “What was I to do?”

  Rory pulled a knife out of his belt. “Do you wish to settle this like a real man now? Or would you like me to run as you throw rocks at me?”

  The man’s shaking was in earnest now. “I have a family, Rory—”

  “I’m to be your leader. Show me respect.”

  As Finlay watched the play between them, the world slowed down. His mother’s words came back to him and he began thinking about Kyla. He thought of her light and life, the energy she saw the world in, and the peace she craved among all of the people of the clan and her family. Her father and brother had never been easy to get along with, yet she had managed to be the loving force in their lives for years. His mother was right. Kyla would not want this. She would want forgiveness.

  “Stop.”

  “What?” Rory asked, turning to him in astonishment.

  “I said stop. This is doing nothing.”

  “But Finlay—”

  “Let the man go. Come. We must return.”

  Rory looked at him reluctantly. Finlay spoke with conviction, and apparently his urgency finally got through to Rory. The MacTavish man took advantage of the opportunity and quickly retreated back into the cottage, bowing with thanks.

  Something was pulling at Finlay to return. He didn’t know how he knew or what had changed, but he needed to get back home, and to Kyla. And he needed to do so now.

  20

  Finlay raced back to Galbury Castle as if it was on fire and only he could put it out.

  “Finlay! What is your hurry?” huffed Rory as he struggled to keep up to him.

  It was dark now, and branches slapped at them as they raced through the trees. Finlay could barely make out the breath of his horse in the cool night air as the quarter moon hung above them.

  “We must return as soon as possible.”

  “How do you know? Did you receive a message?”

  “No. I just know.”

  Rory was silent then as he followed Finlay through the trees and back to the McDougall home. As they entered the courtyard, Peggy came running out of the front door to meet them at the stable.

  “Fin! She’s awake! Kyla woke up!”

  Finlay’s head snapped up at her words. Thank God. He hadn’t known if the urgency that sent him racing home was a good sign or not, and he was nearly overcome at his sister’s news.

  “How is she?” He managed. “Is she well?”

  “She seems fine. Disoriented, thirsty. But I think she’ll be all right. Father has sent for the physician to return.”

  As Rory shouted in triumph, Finlay simply nodded. A lump rose in throat, and he nearly doubled over in relief. He didn’t know how to react. He hadn’t known such a feeling could rise up in a person. In the same moment, he felt gratefulness, surrender, and complete and utter joy. The tears began to fall down his cheeks. He turned b
efore Rory or Peggy could notice, and began leading his horse into the stable.

  He wanted nothing more than to go in and to be with Kyla, but she couldn’t see him in his current condition. Finlay had never shown such emotion before, and he didn’t know how to allow it to surface. He could barely let it out alone, never mind in front of his family and the love of his life.

  He followed Hurley into the stall and shut the door, sitting down with his back against the wall, and finally let everything release, his body shaking. All that had been welling up inside him for days now came pouring out. The man who had never cried since he was a young child sat in the straw with his head on his knees and sobbed.

  * * *

  Kyla’s eyes opened, taking in the room around her. It was her room at the McDougalls’. She had been sleeping in Finlay’s chamber for so many nights now, it took her a moment to realize where she was. In fact, everything seemed slightly fuzzy in front of her eyes.

  She tried to move her head around the room, but the slightest motion made it pound, and it felt like a brick was weighing it down at the back.

  Suddenly she felt a cool hand smoothing back the hair from her forehead. She groaned.

  “Shush, love, no need to speak,” came a quiet, comforting voice. Jane, Finlay’s mother.

  Kyla tried to ask what was happening, but all that came out was a croak from her throat, which was so dry she could hardly swallow.

  Jane left her side for a moment, then returned with a glass of water in her hand. She put a gentle hand on the back of Kyla’s head, helping her tip it forward so she could swallow. Kyla only managed a couple of difficult sips, but after that felt much better.

  She cleared her throat a couple of times before looking into Jane’s eyes.

  “Finlay?” she asked.

  “He’s—he’s coming, dear,” Jane said, her eyes not meeting Kyla’s.