Highlander’s Buried Identity (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance)

by Shona Thompson

  “Are ye alright?” he asked once he joined Sine outside. She was heaving and clutching onto the wall, as if she feared her legs would give out at any moment. Finlay could feel the panic seep into his veins with every passing moment that she didn’t reply to him.

  “I’m fine.” Sine spoke through gritted teeth, and Finlay knew that she wasn’t fine, not at all. “I’ll be back inside in a moment, I promise. Ye don’t have to stay out here in the cold.”

  “I cannae leave ye all alone now, can I?” Finlay said. Though he knew that Sine would take it as him doing his job and following her around, Finlay was genuinely worried about her. He could hardly leave her there all alone, with no one to make sure that she was alright.

  Sine took a few deep breaths, her eyes firmly shut as she tried to compose herself. She felt as though an arrow had pierced her heart, the image of that tiny little girl dying imprinted itself in her mind. There was nothing she could do for her but pray, and that imbued her with a sense of helplessness and worthlessness. What good was it being the laird’s daughter, having so much money at her disposal, if she could do nothing to save that child?

  “That little bairn…her name is Eilidh. She is only of six years, ye ken,” Sine said. “Six years, and she is deathly sick. It’s no’ fair.”

  Finlay had to admit that he was taken aback by Sine’s concern over the child. Certainly, she must have seen other children die before, he thought. After all, it was part of life.

  Yet Sine was shaken, her hands trembling as she slid down the wall and sat on the ground, head laid on her knees. She looked small like that, Finlay thought, much smaller than even her usual dainty self. There was a pang in Finlay’s chest at the sight of her curled up into herself, and he wished he could tell her something that would comfort her. There was nothing to say, though, nothing that could change the fact that there was a sickly, dying kid in there that was, most likely, not going to make it.

  Instead, Finlay laid a warm hand on her shoulder. He did so with hesitation, fearing that Sine would loathe such an interaction, a commoner’s touch unwelcome on her. She surprised him by leaning into it though, just enough to let him know that it was okay.

  “I’m sorry.” It was all Finlay could say, hoping that it was enough. “Why come here? Why come here when ye ken ye’ll be saddened by what ye see?”

  She could very easily avoid the sight of the sick and the poor by choosing to spend her days in the castle, away from anyone beneath her station—and yet here she was, taking care of sick children and talking to poor merchants. It was a side of Sine that Finlay didn’t even think existed, and he realised in that moment that he had misjudged her character. He had only thought of her as a spoilt noble girl, whose every whim was met immediately by her servants, but she was out there, amongst sickness and death, doing her best to help her people with no regard for her personal safety.

  Sine laughed a hollow laugh, shaking her head at Finlay. “Because they are my people. If I don’t help them, then who will?”

  “Yer father.” After all, Laird Duncan had many more resources than Sine could ever hope to get her hands on.

  There it was, that hollow laugh again, bitter and resentful, twisting Sine’s mouth as it came out. “My father…weel, I dinnae mean tae insult my father, but he never comes out here, never meets the people in his care who need him the most. He spares some of his wealth, but what of it? It’s not enough to heal the sick or feed the poor. He thinks everyone lives like he does, because he never cared to learn the truth.”

  Finlay had never heard anyone talk about the laird in such a way, but then again, he didn’t talk to many people. The way Sine talked about him, though, made Finlay think that there was more that she wasn’t sharing with him. But he didn’t have to ask; she told him readily.

  “My father is a selfish man,” Sine continued. “People remember the laird as he was before my mother’s death, before he…changed. That’s all they know, because my father never leaves the castle now. I’ve heard the stories of the kind laird who cared for everyone in his clan’s land, but I’ve ne’er met that man.”

  It was no news to Finlay that the laird’s wife had been long dead, but he had never bothered to ask how she died. Now, knowing that she was not only the laird’s wife, but also Sine’s mother, he couldn’t help but ask, “What took her?”

  “Childbirth,” Sine said. Every time she talked about her mother, a knot began to form in the back of her throat, thorns and nails as she swallowed. “She was pregnant with twins…me and my brother, but neither she nor he made it. I was the only one who survived, and ever since then, my father loves reminding me of it. He loved her dearly, more than he could ever love anyone else, and her death devastated him.”

  The hand around Sine’s shoulder tightened in a comforting squeeze, and she looked up at Finlay, seeing the concern in his eyes. She covered his hand with her own, then leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes with a sigh. Sometimes it was easier to simply not look at people while talking about her mother.

  “Ye ken he means well. He only wants the best for ye,” Finlay said. “Ye are his only daughter.”

  “Aye,” Sine agreed, eyes still closed. “And that is precisely why the only use I have in his eyes is to be married off to a wealthy laird, sold off like a prized pig. He only has ye follow me around because he cannae stand the thought a man would sully me and make him lose a powerful ally. Meanwhile, I must sit quiet and spread my legs for a husband I cannae love, because a lass’ place is not to speak about politics or strategies. I have good ideas, ye ken. I can just ne’er tell my father, because then ah’m told to go to my chambers and practice my embroidery.”

  Finlay laughed softly at the thought of Sine embroidering anything, knowing she would much rather be outside, riding, talking, or getting into trouble. His laugh was quickly drowned by the thought of her being trapped in the familial bonds between her and her father, and her ultimate fate; she was going to marry a noble man, and she would be nothing for him than a pretty-faced means to an end.

  It was a fate that Finlay didn’t want for someone as caring and kind as Sine—and yet, there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  Before Finlay himself knew it, he was leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss on Sine’s hand, his lips brushing against her knuckles. Quickly, though, he pulled back as if he had been burned, worried that he had done irreparable damage to their relationship.

  The last thing that Sine had been expecting was a kiss on her hand, and it caused a flush to rise high up in her cheeks. She could still feel the warmth of Finlay’s lips against her skin even after he pulled back. She cupped that hand with her own, as though she was trying to keep the feeling of Finlay’s mouth against her forever.

  Sine searched urgently for a topic that could bring them out of the awkwardness of the moment. She didn’t want to talk about the kiss, and judging by the red face that Finlay was sporting, neither did he,

  “What about ye?” she asked. “Where are yer parents?”

  The mention of his parents was enough to make Finlay forget all about his previous fumble and his strange, blossoming feelings regarding Sine. It was a topic that he always avoided as much as possible, in the hopes that he would manage to spend a single day without thinking about them.

  “I dinnae have any,” Finlay said simply, shrugging.

  Sine frowned at that. “How is that possible?” she asked. “I dinnae ken any man with no parents! What, ye sprouted off the earth?”

  Finlay could have told her some tale about how he was orphaned as a small child or how he had been sold to pay off the family’s debts. He could have told her anything, but once it was time for him to speak, he realised that his mouth would not allow him to lie to her.

  “I dinnae remember,” he said instead. “Like ye dinnae have a mum, I dinnae have any parents.”

  It was enough of an explanation to placate Sine, as she didn’t press it any further, or perhaps it was due to the mention of her mother. Eith
er way, Finlay was glad that she didn’t try to pry further.

  The two of them fell silent, but eventually, Sine stood up and dusted herself off. “Weel then, let’s go.” They had stayed out there long enough to get some unwanted attention.

  Finlay followed her back inside, and Sine threw herself back to work. It was the only thing that kept her from thinking not only about her own mother, but of Finlay’s parents and his heritage—something that she feared would always remain a mystery to her.

  Chapter Five

  The nights in his room were almost unbearable for Finlay. He would lie there on his comfortable bed with the soft linens, and his traitorous mind would only be able to think about Sine. He could have sworn that he could almost feel her through the shared wall between their chambers, her thrumming energy and presence reaching out to him like a beacon of light.

  Finlay had seen plenty of women in his life, even though he hadn’t quite interacted with them. They were everywhere, after all, and many of them were beautiful, with long, luscious locks and sly smiles that could bring him to his knees.

  Yet there was something different about Sine. At first, Finlay had thought it was simply because she was a noble girl, her skin unmarred by daily hard work and her figure benefitting from a good, well-balanced diet that never left her starving. He soon realised, though, that it was much more than that. She was a real beauty, of course, one that greater men than Finlay would have waged a war for. She reminded Finlay of a statue carved of the finest marble, her face cherubic and her body anything but.

  However, Sine also had a fire in her gaze that spoke of her passion. Her face would light up every time she spoke to her people, and she would treat everyone with the same kindness, the same warmth that others would reserve for their closest family.

  She was the perfect woman, and Finlay often thought that she was sent to earth simply to torture him. He could never be with her, after all; she was the daughter of the laird, and he was, well…just a farm boy. There was nothing between them other than his duty to protect her, and there never could be anything more.

  It didn’t mean that he couldn’t indulge in some not-so-chaste thoughts though, when he was alone at night, right next to Sine’s rooms. The castle walls didn’t do much to drown out sounds, and he could often hear her undress in that haphazard way of hers, tossing her garments here and there after struggling with her corset, eager to get rid of it and allow her ribs to expand to their normal size once more.

  He would think of her then, her dainty fingers unlacing her corset and pushing off her skirt, leaving her in nothing but her shift, all that pale skin on offer for him to look at. Perhaps she would let him grab her, he thought, and slide his hand under the hem of her shift, and—

  Finlay stopped himself. Not only did it do him no good thinking about such things—things that he could never have—but it was also a violation of Sine’s privacy. He couldn’t think about her like that. He shouldn’t think about her at all.

  A man like him would never be worthy of someone like Sine.

  Finlay spent his night tossing and turning in his bed, trying—and failing—to get some precious hours of sleep. In the morning, he woke up grumpy and annoyed, the lack of sleep and frustration he harboured against himself and his thoughts about Sine putting him in a bad mood.

  Still, he got up, got dressed, and waited for Sine outside her chambers, in the hallway. She emerged from her rooms soon after, looking more rested than Finlay ever remembered being himself. There was a flush on her cheeks, creeping up her face the moment she laid eyes on him, and Finlay could feel his stomach flip and turn—even if he knew that no matter what she felt for him, they could never be.

  Sine walked out of her rooms and saw Finlay waiting for her, as usual. Still, the sight of him stirred something deep inside her, her mind immediately supplying her with flashes of that kiss he’d pressed on her hand, as well as images of all the other kisses she wanted him to give her. She could feel herself blush, heat spreading across her face as she looked at him, though she took comfort in the fact that his face was just as red as hers.

  Sine knew that she had to say something. She was always the first to speak, after all, always the one to let Finlay know her own plans for the day, which he then had to follow. Still, it took her a few moments, her mouth drier than a rainless summer evening.

  “I want to go on a walk,” she said, as she began to make her way towards the castle exit, breakfast be damned. She was eager to go out and get some fresh air, busy herself with something that would take Finlay out of her mind.

  “Aye,” Finlay said. It was a good idea, he thought, even though it would mean that they would be alone, just the two of them. At least there would be no one around to see him blush and falter around Sine.

  “In the woods,” Sine added, words falling out of her mouth with such haste that Finlay almost missed them. She knew what she was doing; Finlay never liked her going to the woods, even if he was accompanying her and keeping her safe.

  “I dinnae think so,” Finlay said. “The woods are not safe. I’ll no’ risk yer life or mine just so that ye can go on a walk.”

  It was the answer that Sine had been expecting, but she was nothing if not insistent. “I promise ye, I’ll do anything ye ask of me. If ye want to leave, we’ll leave. If ye want me to stay near ye, I’ll stay near ye. If ye find any danger, we’ll leave immediately.”

  Finlay narrowed his eyes at Sine with suspicion at her promise, knowing that it was never easy to make her do something that she didn’t want to do. Then again, she was offering to obey Finlay’s orders of her own volition.

  It was impossible for him to not relent. “Aye. If I find ye lied to me, I’ll be verra angry.”

  “I ken,” Sine said. “I said I promise.”

  Finlay was still not entirely convinced, but he followed Sine out of the castle and towards the woods. It was not a pleasant day, dark clouds gathering in the heavens up above, threatening to pour rain all over Brims Ness. The air was crisp, a chilly breeze making Sine wrap her arisaid tighter around her. She seemed happy enough, Finlay thought, almost skipping on her way to the woods.

  Finlay himself didn’t mind the clouds nor the chill. People would often avoid the rain and the cold, leaving space for him to exist outside of his own rooms without judgement. It was perhaps his favourite kind of weather, the one that allowed him to walk around freely, even if it meant getting a little wet.

  It took Finlay a while to realise where Sine was taking him, but once they were there, he couldn’t help but shake his head at her. They were at the edge of the clan’s territory, very close to the place where she had been attacked not too long ago.

  Sine walked around, her fingers grazing over the tree trunks as she did. She lost herself in her memories for a moment, the terror of being assaulted making her freeze on the spot, but she hid it well. Besides, there was a reason why she had taken Finlay there; she had to face what had happened, and she had to make sure that no one could ever do it to her again.

  “Finlay, I…I want to learn how to fight.”

  Finlay blinked a few times in surprise, tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy. “What dae ye mean? Why would ye want to learn that?”

  “Christ, not fight with my fists!” Sine said. “I want tae ken how to protect myself, and others if it comes to it. I want ye to teach me how to do that.”

  It wasn’t a half bad idea, Finlay thought. If Sine was going to be putting herself in danger constantly, she should at least know how to defend herself. Besides, she was the daughter of the laird; even if she had constant protection, one could never know when she would be attacked and if her men could protect her. She should be able to fight for herself, to give herself a fighting chance.

  Finlay couldn’t help but grin at her, something that he rarely did. Perhaps Mairi had been the last and only person in Brims Ness to see him do that. “Aye…I’ll teach ye.”

  Sine had been expecting a lecture about how a weapon
would be dangerous, or about how a lady like her should not fight her own fights, so she was just as surprised to hear Finlay agree so readily as he had been when she asked him to show her. She could hardly contain her excitement, a squeal escaping her lips and making her clamp a hand over her mouth.

  Finlay laughed at that, more so at Sine’s reaction that at the actual sound that she made. He wondered for a moment if she had ever truly been allowed to do anything that she wanted. He had thought of her as always acting according to her own will, never listening to anyone else, but perhaps he had been sorely mistaken; perhaps she had never really lived at all, at least not the way she wanted to.

  “If ye want to fight, ye need a weapon,” Finlay said, as he pulled a knife from his sleeve, and then another from his hose, holding both in his hand. The one he retrieved from his sleeve was a sgian-achlais, the bigger of the two, its blade measuring twenty-eight centimetres, while the other one, the sgian-dubh, was around eight centimetres. Both sported simple handles made from antlers, and Finlay had received them from Rory as a gift when he was no more than a child.