Chapter Nineteen
‘Do you want more to drink? There’s wine,’ Finley said.
Rory didn’t want any wine. What he wanted was to spend time with his wife, to ask questions of his mother, but his father had requested a meeting with him. So with a look to his wife and mother who were engaged in conversation, he closed the door to Chief Lochmore’s private chamber.
‘I am full of food and ale and couldn’t possibly imbibe further,’ Rory said. He still couldn’t believe his mother had presented the family brooches in front of the clan. It would be many years, if more than that, where he wouldn’t feel this choking of emotions as she’d pinned it to Ailsa’s gown.
Ailsa. His mother. He wanted to be anywhere else but here in his father’s chambers.
No, not his father. The few times Finley had discussed any matters with him had ended in Rory storming away or raising his sword.
When he was younger, he’d picked fights with Paiden just to release the anger and frustration. The unending feeling of unworthiness.
Now he knew Finley wasn’t his father. Hamish was. The irony of it all was if Hamish’s blood ran through his veins, he truly was unworthy.
‘Why am I here?’ Rory asked. ‘You have never invited me before.’
Finley walked further into the room, to the table laden with drink and even more food. ‘You’ve changed much in the days you’ve been away.’
‘There was much to change me.’
Finley lifted the flagon, smelled it, set it down. ‘I didn’t expect it, your marrying a McCrieff.’
He didn’t want to talk of his marriage with this man who had always found fault. Ailsa didn’t deserve his scrutiny. ‘I was talking more of the fact that Paiden was poisoned.’
‘Did you ever discover by whom?’
Since he had full expectation that he and Frederick would address the division in McCrieff clan, Rory intended to keep his silence regarding Mary and Hamish. ‘There is still time.’
Finley lifted the other flagon and poured it. ‘I would never have sent you there if I’d known. It caused your mother much worry.’
If Hamish was his father...ah, and that was why his mother questioned Ailsa regarding her height. ‘There was no need for her concern.’
Finley shot him a sharp look. ‘Then why marry? Did they hold a sword to your back? Your missive was without detail.’
‘You’ve met Ailsa and the McCrieff clansmen who travelled with us—do you think them so vile as to force a marriage?
’ To various degrees, McCrieff hatred ran through every vein of a true Lochmore.
His father, however, had remained diplomatic, despite his hatred of them.
He tended to administer justice when necessary or negotiate with King Edward when the opportunity presented itself.
Finley held his goblet in both hands and peered into its depths. ‘I sent you there to secure Lochmore’s claim to the borderlands. You were there to fight, win, subdue.’
His father wasn’t looking at him, and he sounded almost...concerned. ‘What would it matter if I married her instead of raising my sword? In the end, I did secure the lands for the Clan.’
Finley’s head whipped up at that. ‘I wouldn’t want it at the expense of my son.’
Rory took a step back and another. His father had been acting differently all through the evening. Nothing untoward and nothing he could say with certainty, but Finley wasn’t as he had been before Rory had left that fateful day.
Or maybe he was acquiring his wife’s observational skills and this was how his father had always been. A little worn, his shoulders stooping, his face carrying deep grooves and his eyes a little less clear. It wasn’t only his physical appearance, but his mannerisms, too, that were softened.
Flummoxed at these observations, Rory couldn’t make sense of the invitation or his father’s statement. So he listened to the tone of the words; he watched Finley’s almost imploring look. Then he answered the truth. ‘I would not have married her if there wasn’t some possibility of compatibility.’
Finley’s wondering gaze fixed then and he took a swift drink. Rory had seen this expression on his father many times when he faced a merchant, a representative of the King...when clansmen lied at court.
It didn’t affect Rory. He had quaked before his father since he was a child and, after facing the McCrieffs and almost losing his friend, he was past attempting to gain this man’s approval.
‘There is something you’re not telling me,’ Finley asked.
There was much he wasn’t telling this man, but the tone of Finley’s voice still wasn’t one of command. So he answered another truth. ‘There were no swords, but Ailsa did have shears.’
Finley let out a startled laugh and swept his arm to indicate the laden table behind him. ‘Come now, then, a drink for celebration!’
His mother pinning the brooches, now this. His father never celebrated anything. Not a birth or a death. In turn, he didn’t know how to celebrate with this man. First because of the conflict of the past and now with the discovery of his true parentage.
‘I’ll wait on that drink.’
‘Still?’ Finley said. ‘Even after today spent in the crypt and then in the outer village?’
Long used to people and their gossip regarding the Chief’s son, Rory didn’t question his father’s knowledge of his whereabouts.
Finley took another drink, then lowered the goblet only to become quiet.
For once, Rory didn’t say anything to fill that silence.
Instead, he merely observed. He might not be this man’s son, but he recognised that he took most of his mannerisms from him, including the quirk to his lips, the tilting of his head. The direct look.
Finley looked away first. ‘I want you to know, I’ve had a good marriage. Arranged, like your own, but out of everything in this life, I never regretted being wedded to your mother.’
Experience told him Finley spoke as a chief, not as a father. ‘If you want to know if I regret marrying Ailsa, I don’t.’
Finley nodded. ‘Your wife is nothing like your mother, though I never suspected you’d end with a gentle soul. I didn’t know one such as she existed for you.’
At the truth of Finley’s words, Rory let out the breath he’d been holding since the door closed. ‘She’s surprising.’
His father made some sound like a chuckle or agreement and Rory felt the need to sit.
This was the most he’d ever talked to his father.
The times before that, when they had conversed, it had usually been about how he’d failed at matters of politics and training.
But his wife...he didn’t intend to fail her.
‘I am well wed.’
‘Marriage isn’t easy,’ Finley said, flourishing the goblet at him, ‘and you have no training.’
‘She’ll teach me soon enough...just as Mother has taught you.’
Definitely a laugh from his father now. Rory pulled out a too-small chair from the even smaller table and rejected both. It was probably better to stand on unsteady legs.
Finley tipped back his cup. ‘Marriage often requires unexpected sacrifices. Compromises that you can’t conceive of ever making, but are the right decision for your wife. For you. Yet, sometimes I’ve wondered if the decisions we made were the right decisions for everyone else.’
‘Maybe I will have that drink.’ Striding to the side table, Rory swiped the flagon of ale and poured it.
He understood sacrifice and compromise. He’d negotiated everything the moment he met Ailsa.
What he didn’t understand was this conversation with Finley.
Once the goblet was clasped tight in his fist, he leaned against the nearest wall.
Finley pointed at him. ‘You always did that as a child.’
‘Did what?’
‘Lean or slouch against walls. Never could understand if you were simply trying to intimidate your friends who weren’t as tall as you or—’
‘The furniture in this house never fit me.’
Finley’s brows suddenly dropped and Rory wanted to take back the words.
If he desired to announce that he didn’t belong here, he couldn’t have said it any clearer.
The chairs didn’t fit him here because his body wasn’t like the other Lochmores.
It was the truth, but why at a time of truce like this, did he have to reveal it?
He couldn’t even blame the extra ale since he hadn’t taken a sip.
‘You never said,’ Finley said.
He still wasn’t saying. At least not what he truly meant because he hadn’t gained the benefit of his wife’s blunt tongue. However, he had gained his wife’s company and was beginning to understand a different way of looking at the things around him.
Maybe that was why after he’d come through the gates of Lochmore Castle, he’d forced himself to see his home differently, or maybe it was because his mother presented the family brooches. Maybe...just maybe...he’d listened enough to Ailsa’s healing words and deeds.
Because instead of his first reaction, that of blame or of pointing out all the times he’d wished Finley had given him guidance, he found himself wanting to ease his father’s frowns.
‘It never seemed important,’ Rory said. ‘For the most part it suited me fine.’ Relaxing against the wall, Rory realised the truth of those words. Growing up, he’d known no different than small chairs and smaller beds. It was only now he thought of changing things, of making his life different.
‘When you get to my age, you realise what’s important.
’ Finley set down his goblet. ‘I was gone for many months during the time you were born. Such a surprise upon my return. Such...joy upon your mother’s face.
From that moment on, I wanted life here at Lochmore to be more than fine.
I wanted everything for you and so I made you my own. Do you understand me?’
Rory shook his head, knowing he couldn’t be hearing this conversation correctly.
‘Truly? Even after you gathered the family cartularies and read them in the crypt? Even though you’ve been to McCrieff land, met McCrieffs?’
Shock had Rory bracing hard against the wall. His father, Finley, was telling him he knew he wasn’t his father. That sacrifices and compromises were made.
‘You need to know that your mother and I only ever wanted what was best for you,’ Finley continued.
‘One of my favourite memories was when you refused that vile green broth your mother kept trying to get you to drink.
No matter what she did, every time she held the cup to you, you knocked it out of her hands.
You were stubborn and fierce from the very beginning, just like us.
‘From your expression, you’re probably wondering how I noticed these things since I was never around.’
Rory cleared his throat. ‘You are Lochmore’s Chief and have many responsibilities.’
Finley made some non-committal sound. ‘I raised you as my father did me. His...harshness suited me fine. Made me strong enough to support and care for this clan and your mother. So when I became a father, I did the same to you.’
All those years ignored with no praise and only criticism. ‘I thought—’
‘That I didn’t care for you? How could I not? You’re my son.’
Locking his knees, Rory wanted to sit now and damn the chairs if they didn’t fit him.
‘I called you my son the moment I saw you. When I gazed at my wife’s adoring face as she held you, I claimed you. I was fiercely proud of you then and am even more so now.’
His father’s words brought more questions to Rory’s mind, but he did hold one absolute certainty. ‘I’m proud to be your son.’