Duncan took a seat opposite his uncle and let out a long sigh. “I’m not sure where to begin, Uncle.”
“I find it usually best to begin at the beginning.”
Angus studied him for a moment.
He could tell there was much on Duncan’s mind.
Duncan agreed. He began with the search for the stolen cattle, telling how he and his men had gone looking for the reivers and how they had come upon Aishlinn. Duncan went on to tell him the lass’ story of stabbing the earl.
“We could no’ leave her alone in the forests uncle, so badly beaten she was. We were certain she would die.”
“I wudna expect ya to leave a lass stranded out in the middle of nowhere in such a state!” Angus reassured him and bade him to continue.
Angus’ face had turned to a deep scowl by the time Duncan had finished.
“Are ye sure the earl be dead then?” Angus asked.
“I’ve no reason to think otherwise,” Duncan replied.
“Well, there is some good to come of it all then.”
Though glad to hear of the death of the earl, he was still troubled with the fact the young woman was still there.
“Have ye no' found her own clan?” he asked.
“Nay,” Duncan told him, growing slightly nervous for he knew where the story went and was not sure how Angus would take it.
“Why no’?
Let her be
their
problem when the English come looking for her.”
The safety and well being of his clan was Angus’ first concern. They needed not to battle with the English at this particular time.
“She doesna who her clan might be,” Duncan told him.
“And Isobel thought it best she stay with us while she healed and rested.
I agreed with her.”
Suspecting his foster son was holding something back Angus studied him closely for a few moments. When Duncan kept averting his eyes, looking about the room at anything but Angus, his suspicions were confirmed.
It suddenly dawned on Angus then, why Duncan was behaving as he was.
His eyes flew open and he slammed his hand down hard upon his desk.
“Damn it, Duncan! Ya’ve gone and fallen in love with her, haven’t ye?” His face had turned red as he yelled at him.
Remaining calm, Duncan sat straighter in the chair.
“Aye, I have.”
Angus shot up and began pacing.
The last thing he needed at the moment was trouble with the English.
“We’ve got the clans Keith and MacPhearson ready to attack because they want our land.
And now ya add the English into the mix?” The clans Keith and MacPhearson were the main reasons he had spent more time than he wanted to in the far north.
‘Twasn’t just to help the northern clans to settle their own disputes; he was there to shore up allies for a fight he was certain would be coming from the west. Running his hands through his hair, he continued pacing.
“I sent out scouts, uncle.
They searched for days and found no English, no soldiers, no one searching for her.
I think the guard who helped her to escape, may have done more to ensure her safety, but what, I dunna ken.”
He could only hope that whatever the guard had done or said would continue to keep the English from searching for Aishlinn.
He’d feel better about it though if he knew for certain what had happened, what had taken place
after
Aishlinn escaped.
“We’ve the support of the McDunnah on our side, should the English come for her,” Duncan offered, hoping that would help Angus feel better about the situation.
“The McDunnah?” Angus asked, rather leery.
“Aye.
He is here, with a hundred of his men.
They arrived a few days ago.
They’re having troubles with the Buchannans.”
The Buchannans were a greedy and lecherous lot of men.
Their allegiance was not with Scotland, nor with the English; it went to the side with the most coin with which to purchase it.
Unfortunately, their numbers were rising of late and they were fast becoming a rather large thorn in the side of the McDunnah, as well as his own.
Angus took a deep breath.
“How bad is it, lad?” he asked.
“I love her. I wish to marry her.”
It wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear.
“Do ya love her enough to die for her?”
“Aye,” Duncan said clenching his jaw.
He would die for her, a thousand deaths if he had to.
He had been angry with her earlier in the day, so angry that he had sent her to her room for her own protection for fear he would say something that he knew in his heart he would later regret.
Though he admired her tenacity and stubbornness, there was a time and place for it.
Standing on the archery field and openly defying him was not it.
“Well ya may just get yer wish lad, if the English show up here, for we’ve no guarantee they won’t!” Angus said rather impatiently.
“Do ye expect the clan to defend her to
their
deaths as well?”
“They would, without even asking,” Duncan said with great certainty.
He knew how the rest of the men and the clan felt for her.
“They love her as well.”
Sighing heavily, Angus shook his head and returned to his desk and sat.
“She must be something very special then,” he said as he looked at Duncan, understanding fully how the young man felt, for he held the same love and devotion towards Isobel.
He would die for her, as would his clan.
He could only hope that the need would not arise for such a sacrifice.
I
sobel had finally come to fetch Aishlinn to take her to Angus. “He may seem a rough man, but in truth, he is no’.
Dunna let his size and deep voice fool ya either.
Underneath it all is a man with a heart as big as the world, lass.
Just tell him what ya’ve told me, leaving nothing out,” she explained to Aishlinn as they stood outside the door to Angus’ private room.
“Be not afraid.
Tell him everything, Aishlinn.”
And with that, she gave the frightened lass a hug before she opened the door to send her in.
“I’ll be right outside the door if ya need me.”
Aishlinn paused a moment before entering and Isobel shut the door behind her. She stood on trembling legs for her entire future lay in Angus McKenna’s hands.
He held the power to allow her to stay or to send her away.
Angus stood behind his desk with one massive arm resting on the wall as he stared out his window.
“Be that the lass I’ve heard so much of?” He said without looking at her.
“Aye,” she whispered, too frightened to step forward.
He was even more imposing a figure in person than he was when she saw him first from her bedroom window.
He was tall with very broad shoulders and arms the size of tree trunks.
Angus remained lost in thought, his gaze frozen as he looked out at his lands.
He was trying to make sense of what Duncan had just told him and he felt an overwhelming sense of uneasiness over it.
When he finally turned towards her, a most bewildered look instantly came to his face.
His eyes grew wide as he stood in stunned silence, his mouth opened but no sound came from it, and his face had suddenly paled.
Aishlinn grew fearful for she had no idea why he looked at her that way and thought perhaps he had suddenly grown ill.
“Laiden,” He finally whispered.
Aishlinn was quite surprised to hear him call her by her mother’s name. “Nay. I am Aishlinn,” she said, wondering if perhaps Duncan had told him of her mother and Angus was confusing their names.
Angus gripped the edge of his desk with both hands.
If he let go, he would certainly fall over from the shocking image that now stood before him.
It canna be possible
he told himself as utter disbelief took hold of him.
He began to wonder if he had not completely lost his mind.
A sea of old memories came crashing through his heart and mind and he felt he might drown in them.
“Aishlinn?” he finally asked. His voice was husky for his mouth had gone completely dry. “That was me mother’s name.”
She had never known another Aishlinn before and wondered then why Isobel had not shared that with her.
She was growing nearly as confused as Angus looked to be.
“It canna be,” He said, breathless from the shock his system was taking. His face had grown paler.
“It can
no’
be.”
“Shall I get Isobel for you, m’laird?” she asked, convinced he had become ill and might need the healers.
He shook his head and straightened himself.
Not taking his eyes from her, he quickly came around the desk.
He towered over her, his face awash in confusion and pain. Aishlinn grew more nervous and frightened.
“Forgive me, but ya look just like a lass I knew a long time ago,” He said with a pained smile. “Laiden be her name.”
Aishlinn cocked her head slightly.
“You knew my mother?” she asked, bewilderedly.
He knew her mother.
A sense of dread then came to her next, for if he knew her mother then he knew what clan she belonged to.
The possibility of being sent away flooded her eyes with tears.
Angus had known the moment he saw her that she was Laiden’s daughter. There was no doubt for she was nearly an exact replica.
‘Twas as if Laiden herself stood before him, a ghost from his past; the sight of the lass before him had taken his breath away.
Angus put his unsteady hands upon her shoulders, unsure if he should believe his eyes and ears. He touched her just to see if she was real.
When she did not disappear into a cloud of mist, he gave her shoulders a light squeeze.
“Aye, I did.”
He guided her to the chair in front of his desk and sat her down.
Bewildered and excited, he could not take his eyes from her. He kept shaking his head, muttering under his breath that he simply could not believe she was really here.
When he realized the look on her face had changed from one of curiosity to that of fear, he apologized.
“I’m sorry to stare lass, but ya look just like yer mum.”
“I do?” Her mother had died so long ago that all Aishlinn had left were memories of things and small moments about her.
She had long ago forgotten what her mother looked like, or the sound of her voice.
And no one who had known Laiden had ever told her before that she resembled her. It had always been the exact opposite.
“Och! Aye!” Angus said.
“All ye have to do is glance in a mirror lass, and ye’ll see yer mum!”
Angus ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head again. His mind whirled as he tried to make sense of it all.
“Duncan said ye be an orphan.”
Too afraid to speak, Aishlinn could only nod her head yes.
Everyone had told her that Angus was kind, strong, fierce and brave.
Unfortunately, no one had mentioned to her that he was daft. Perhaps it was the result of too many battles and wounds to his head.
Angus jumped to his feet and began pacing back and forth.
Occasionally he would stop, look at her and shake his head.
Aishlinn stayed frozen in her chair completely baffled by his behavior.
After pacing back and forth for a long time, he went and stood before the window, and stared out at the lands before him.
For a time he was quiet, as if he were entranced by something that lay beyond the room, beyond the windows.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was low and he suddenly sounded quite tired.
“He came to me,” Angus began.
“Twenty years ago he came to me, with her dress, drenched in blood.
Said a band of thieves had killed her as she travelled to see her father.”
The pain was as fresh in his heart as the day he had learned she was dead. The same intense anger and guilt returned with those memories.
“She had gone there to see her father -- her father was an Englishman, ya ken.” He shook his head as he closed his eyes.
“She said she
had to see her father one more time.
I begged her not to go, to wait until I returned, but she was a strong-headed woman!”
Laiden had been that and so much more.
Sweet, bonny and kind, yes, but what a temper the lass had!
“She was beautiful, like ye are.
And more strong-headed than any one I had ever ken.
Or have kent since.”
He let out a long heavy sigh.
“I believed him. He had her dress and it was covered in blood.” He took a deep breath and righted himself before turning to look at her.
“I should no’ have believed the lying bastard!”
He was growing angry at the realization he had been lied to. “I should have insisted he take me to her, show me where she was buried.
I was so devastated that I fell into the bottle for months before comin’ out again.”
Aishlinn listened silently. She had no idea whom he spoke of and was afraid to ask.
“When did yer mum die, lass?” He stood still at the windows his jaw clenched as his hands began to shake with a burning anger.
“Twas winter. I had just turned five years,” she answered him quietly.
“Who raised ye, after yer mum passed?”
“My step-father,” she answered, sensing the anger building in him.
“His name, lass!” Angus shouted.
“What was his name?”
Aishlinn sank in her chair, growing more and more frightened. “Broc,” she managed to whisper. She wished Duncan were here to offer his support and strength, for it appeared the man before her was quickly losing his mind.
A blank stare came to his face. He tilted his head back and a deep, guttural howl of anger came from some unfathomable part of his soul. He sounded like a wounded animal in an unparalleled amount of pain and anguish.
Aishlinn sank still deeper into her chair and prayed that Duncan or Isobel would hear him and come to see what was the matter.
When he was finished, out of breath and with so much anger upon his face that Aishlinn was certain he was going to lash out at her, tears burned her eyes.
As he came around the desk, his face contorted into an expression she had never seen before on any human, she threw her arms over her head, afraid that he was coming to beat her. Though she had developed an inner strength and resolve over the past fortnights, the instinct to protect herself kicked in.
He knelt before her, taking her hands in his. “Aishlinn. Do no’ be frightened of me!” He pleaded.
“Tis no’ ye I be mad at lass! I swear it!”
She was not certain if she should believe him.
“Do ye no’ understand what I’ve just told ye lass?”
He asked, lowering his voice.
“Nay, I do not,” she whispered. She could not stop the flow of tears that trailed down her cheeks.
“Twas Broc who lied to me, lass, lied to me about yer mum. He was the one who told me the thieves had killed her.”
His eyes pleaded with her for understanding.
Why would Broc have lied to Angus? How had they known each other? “I don’t understand.” Her mind reeled, trying to make sense of it all.
He took a deep breath.
“Aishlinn.
I was in love with yer mum.
I loved her more than anythin’ in this world.
Broc loved her as well, but she loved him naught.
He wanted to possess her, to break her spirit. ‘Twas me she was to marry, no’ that son of a whore!”
My mother was to marry Angus?
Her head swirled and she was certain she would faint at any moment. Her mother was to marry Angus, but she married Broc instead. Why would she have done that? Why would Broc tell Angus that Laiden was dead? To keep her to himself?
And where in this story did Aishlinn fit? Her mind was swimming with a hundred questions she had no answers to. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to breath.
“Yer mother and I were to marry.
She went to talk to her father, to tell him the news, Aishlinn; that we were to be married.
I was off fighting a clan to the south of us, gone nearly a fortnight I was.
I begged her not to go, but she was gone when I returned.
Broc came to me, not but two days after I returned, and he told me that she was dead. He had her dress, covered in blood and told me that thieves had killed her.”
Her mouth and eyes flew open as the most intense feeling of anger began to boil in her stomach.
For a moment she thought she would retch and had to take deep breaths to settle her stomach.
Broc had lied. He had lied to keep Laiden to himself.
Hatred, even more than what she had felt toward the earl or toward her brothers, swelled.
How many other lies had the bastard told?