Highlander’s Buried Identity (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance)

by Shona Thompson

  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.

  “Ye’d rather I get killed?” Sine asked. Hot tears began to roll down her cheeks, despite her best efforts to blink them away, and she averted her gaze. She couldn’t even look at her father, rejection clawing at her like a wild beast.

  “Ye’ll be married to a good man one day. Ye cannae lose yer honour, ye hear? Ye ken yer marriage will ensure the clan’s future.” Laird Duncan stood up, walking the short distance to his daughter and placing his hands on her shoulders, warm and comforting. “Forgive me, a bhobain. I worry about ye, running around the land all alone. What if something happens to ye? I have nae other heirs.”

  It was something that Sine was often reminded of, the lack of a male heir in the family. Her father made sure to remind her every now and then that she was the only survivor from her birth, her twin brother and her mother both gone from the difficult labour. Somehow, it always seemed to her like surviving was punishment enough. Despite the twenty years that stood between her birth and the present, Laird Duncan had not once allowed her to forget that—had she not shared her mother’s womb with her brother—perhaps the other two would still be alive, and the Duncan name would live on.

  “Sir, if I may,” Rory interrupted, standing up to get the laird’s attention, “perhaps Finlay can watch over her…like a personal guard. I would trust the lad with my life. He’ll keep yer daughter safe.”

  Neither Finlay nor Sine were fond of that idea, but what they detested even more was the sudden gleam in the laird’s eyes, and the smile that followed it.

  “Excellent!” the laird proclaimed, giving Sine’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Ye can go anywhere ye wish in the clan’s land, as long as Finlay is with ye. Free to roam as much as yer heart desires.”

  “I dinnae need a guard!” Sine protested, yanking herself away from her father’s hands. “I can take care of myself. I could’ve fought those brigands on my own, as I already told Finlay. I was just fine!”

  Behind her, Finlay shook his head when Laird Duncan looked at him for confirmation. Even though he didn’t want to be Sine’s guard, he couldn’t lie to her father when it came to her safety.

  “Ye have good men, m’lord,” Finlay pointed out. “Any of them can be her guard.”

  It was true, Laird Duncan had plenty of good, capable men. The only problem was that whenever he appointed one of them as Sine’s personal guard, they only lasted a week under her constant torture. She would always run away, hiding from them in the most unlikely of places, and none of them wanted to face the laird’s wrath after Sine was gone yet again. Finlay had already lasted through more than half of his own men.

  “I want ye to be her guard,” Laird Duncan insisted. “Ye’ll be compensated kindly, of course, and all ye’ll have to do is keep her from harm.”

  Easier said than done, Finlay thought. He was confident in his fighting skills, having been taught by one of the most glorious fighters that Brims Ness had ever seen, but he also knew that Sine was slippery as an eel, and he would have a hard time catching up with her.

  The only problem was that Finlay couldn’t refuse the position.

  “Yes, sir,” Finlay said, defeated and exhausted from the ordeal. He didn’t fail to notice the betrayed look that Sine gave him—as if this entire situation wasn’t her fault in the first place. Had she only kept herself out of trouble, neither of them would have to deal with each other.

  Sine stomped out of the hall without another word, her footsteps echoing down the hallway as she ran to her chambers. Belatedly, Finlay realised that she still had his plaid, and something told him that he wouldn’t see it again for a long time, if ever.

  Laird Duncan sighed as his daughter left, turning to look at Finlay. “Forgive my daughter. She can be a difficult lass.”

  It was the understatement of the century, Finlay thought, but instead, he simply bowed his head in silence. The laird excused himself and exited th
e hall as well, though in a much calmer manner than his daughter had.

  Rory and Finlay were left alone in the hall. Finlay finally had a chance to look around the room, the grey stones glistening under the incandescence of the fire that burned bright in the large fireplace. Though large, the windows barely let in any light, though Finlay knew that was due to the looming clouds in the sky. The room was illuminated by the fire and by the large chandelier that hung from the ceiling.

  “Finlay . . .” Rory started, but then his voice trailed off. He could see that Finlay was upset, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth downwards as when he was nothing more than a child, but Rory couldn’t tell what had upset him so much.

  “Why did ye offer me to the laird?” Finlay asked. “I wasnae in trouble. Could’ve gone back home if ye hadn’t meddled in my affairs.”

  “I dinnae ken what’s wrong with ye,” Rory said with a long-suffering sigh. He walked towards Finlay, dragging his feet on the wooden floor and looking older than he ever had before. For a moment, Finlay wondered if Rory was older than he had originally thought, if perhaps dealing with his and Sine’s antics was too much for him, but he knew better than that. Rory was just being dramatic, trying to get Finlay to pity him so he would do his bidding.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Finlay said. “I simply dinnae want to follow a spoilt lass around, trying to keep her from getting herself killed. What if something happens to her? What am I to do then?”

  “Nothing will happen to her,” Rory assured him. “She is smarter than she looks, and ye will keep her safe if she needs ye to. It’ll do ye good to be out here, with people around ye…with me. Ye can live a good life here, lad. Ye heard the laird…ye’ll have anything ye could ever need and then some. I can teach ye the ways of the castle. Maybe one day ye’ll be in my place.”

  Finlay couldn’t hold back a scoff, shaking his head as he thought about having to mingle with other people in the castle. It was a nightmare come true. People would take one good look at him—perhaps under the sunlight, where his curse was most visible—and they would make up their minds. Finlay, the son of a witch, they would call him, a child born of magic.

  If he were born of magic, Finlay was quite certain his life would be a little more spectacular.

  “I never asked for this.” If anything, Finlay had tried to keep away from crowds as much as he could. “I dinnae want to be like ye. I want a simple life; I was fine where I was.”

  If only Finlay gave people a chance, Rory thought, he would see that he was missing out on so much, on life itself. Being a strong young man, as capable with a sword as with a pen, He could have everything he wanted. He could have a nice wife, a family, a second plaid to throw over his shoulder—especially if he was going to keep giving his to damsels in distress.

  “Well…yer in it now; no escaping it,” Rory said. Finlay would just have to learn to like it, or at least tolerate it. “Tis yer duty now.”

  With that, Rory turned to leave, but then he stopped mid-stride, turning to look at Finlay once again. “Ye cannae stay alone yer whole life, lad.”

  Finlay watched Rory leave. There was no point in fighting it, not when he had already agreed that he would be Sine’s guard. How could anyone say no to Laird Duncan and live to tell the tale?

  Finlay told himself that it wouldn’t be a hard job. He had been Mairi’s protector ever since he could swing a sword, after all, and he could best anyone in battle, even Rory himself. And if he had to be strict with Sine, well…then that was simply a perk of the job.

  Mrs. Crannach, the head housekeeper, showed Finlay to his new quarters: a small room next to Sine’s own. Though it was small, it was better than what he had back at the cottage, with its tiny bed and complete lack of privacy from Mairi. His dear Mairi would be happy to know that her boy now had a better life than the one at the farm, despite how much Finlay himself would rather be amongst the animals than the people of the castle. His room overlooked the courtyard, and there was a big, comfortable bed in the middle, covered in crisp linens that he was sure to enjoy—but not before cleaning the filth off him, Mrs. Crannach informed him.

  Finlay only managed to enjoy the bed once Mrs. Crannach was satisfied that he was clean enough and that he had eaten for two, his grumbling stomach prompting her to watch over him until he had finished his entire second serving. Once he was finally under the linens, eyes closed and body relaxing on the soft bed, he could finally let his mind relax as well.

  There was only one problem; his traitorous mind would only provide him with images of Sine, her dark hair like grass in the storm, wind-tossed and wild, and her eyes burning so bright that Finlay knew even a simple touch would scorch him.

  Chapter Three

  Sine adored being outside. It didn’t matter where she was, or if she even had a destination; she simply liked to spend her hours away from the castle, away from the four walls and the overbearing presences that made her feel like a prisoner. She would often go to the markets, to the woods, down by the creek, or even down to the cliffs that surrounded Brims Ness and looked out over the ocean.

  Of course, that meant that Finlay had to visit the same places too, as it was his duty to accompany her everywhere and keep a watchful eye on her. The more time he spent outside, surrounded by hordes of people, the more he missed his life at the farm, where he could spend days without any human contact, save for Mairi. Being around animals was comforting; he never had to explain the appearance of his eyes.

  That day, Sine had decided that she wanted to visit the market, and Finlay trailed around behind her like a puppy—or perhaps a guard dog. She was radiant, hair glistening in the rays of sun that managed to pierce the clouds and reach down to the earth, her smile dripping honey as she talked to the vendors. Her dress—dark green with a hint of white peeking from under her sleeves—fit her like a glove, hugging her waist in the same way that Finlay’s hands seemed to itch to touch her.

  Finlay reprimanded himself quietly. He couldn’t be thinking about the laird’s daughter in that way. He was only a farm boy, after all, a man no more fit for a noble woman than a mule was for a mare. He should keep his eyes off her waist; he should stop gazing at the way her breasts rose and fell with every breath that she took, more tempting than a pot of homemade stew after a rough journey.

  Besides, she was nothing but a spoilt little girl, sheltered her entire life, not knowing what sacrifices it took for most people to stay alive. The attraction that Finlay felt was physical—nothing that he hadn’t experienced before with a number of other lassies. It was just an infatuation, an unfortunate infatuation that would soon fade away.

  Finlay focused back on the task at hand, but while he was lost deep in his thoughts, he seemed to have lost Sine. He cursed himself quietly for allowing his mind to distract him with such thoughts, but then wasted no time trying to find Sine, rushing around the market and scanning the stalls for anyone who resembled her.

  Sine couldn’t say that she hated Finlay; she couldn’t even say that she disliked him. Sure, he seemed a little brutish, hardened by the ways of life on a farm, and lacked social skills—but he had done nothing to warrant her hatred. It didn’t hurt that he sported better looks than most men around the castle. She had eyes, after all, and they had been roaming around ever since she was old enough to know what that tightness in her belly was every time she looked upon a pair of broad shoulders or the line of a sharp jaw.

  Sine simply didn’t like to be monitored at all times. The constant attention reminded her that she would never be able to have a normal life. She was her father’s prized trophy, an object he could sell off to the highest bidder once the time came for her to marry.

  Sine only wanted to spend a few hours at the market without feeling like a prisoner, and so when Finlay looked distracted—his gaze glued to a cart of plucked chickens, of all things—she took the opportunity and walked away slowly, so as not to grab his attention. Sine soon found herself at the other end of the market, surrounded by fragrant
spices for those who could afford them.

  “Lady Sine!” one of the vendors exclaimed, a young woman by the name of Elspet that Sine had seen many times before at the market. “Verra nice to see ye out at the market. Are ye weel?”

  Elspet was one of those women that could bring a smile to anyone’s face with a simple gaze and the lilt of her voice. Sine had known her ever since the two of them had been children, though she had never been allowed to really get to know her.

  “Aye,” Sine said, rushing to Elspet’s stall. She looked at her merchandise, and for a moment, she imagined what it would be like to be nothing more than a vendor in the market, with none of the burden that her family name bestowed upon her. It would be a peaceful life, she thought.

  Sine often thought about such things. She would daydream about running away from the castle, perhaps disguising herself and joining another clan as a simple farm girl. Part of her knew that she was romanticizing a life that was rough on the body and the mind. She had never known a day of work in her life; transitioning and adjusting to living in a farm would be nothing short of exhausting, and perhaps even impossible.