Chapter 28
28
Lachlan
Leaving Keyanna to go and help Finlay was a hardship; while I’m learning to be less wary of the older man, he’s no match for his bonnie granddaughter when it comes to preferred company.
“Can you hold this piece there?”
I give my attention to the old man in question, reaching for the wooden piece he’s gesturing to, grabbing it and holding on to it so he can hammer it in place. “Got it.”
“These wee heifers,” Finlay chuckles. “Nothing can stop them when they set their mind to something, aye? Even a fine fence like this one.”
“There’s nothing ‘wee’ about your heifers, Finlay.”
He flashes me a grin. “Just babies, all of them.”
“If you say so,” I snort.
I listen to the rhythmic thudding of his hammer as he nails the wood into place, not letting go of the piece I’m holding until he pulls back, wiping the sweat from his brow. “There are at least four more places down like this,” he tells me. “It’ll take all day at this rate.”
“I’ve got time,” I say.
Finlay chuckles again, giving me a wry look. “Time to spare away from my granddaughter, you mean?”
My eyes go wide, my lips parting in surprise at his blatant callout.
“Don’t look so shocked, lad,” he says. “You think my Rhonnie keeps secrets from me?”
“S’pose she wouldn’t,” I mumble.
Finlay takes his hammer again, tapping at one of the posts as he eyes me. “Now tell me,” he starts. “Are ye jerkin’ me granddaughter around?”
“I…No. Of course not,” I splutter, shocked by the sudden hardness in Finlay’s gaze.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen the man frown when he wasn’t crying.
I shake my head. “I—” Love her? Am obsessed with her? Want a future with her if I don’t lose myself to the beast? “I care about her,” I settle on. “A lot.”
“That’s real good,” Finlay answers with a nod. “Because I know you’re bigger than me, lad,” he says, “but I know where the sinkholes are.”
“We don’t have sinkholes,” I balk.
Finlay’s lips curl up in a grin that is unsettling. “Aye, you keep believing that.”
“I don’t want to hurt her,” I assure him, eyeing his hammer with an uneasiness that isn’t like me. “That’s the last thing I want.”
Finlay eyes me for a long moment, his grim expression finally morphing into his usual friendly one as he guffaws a laugh. “Right then,” he says cheerily. “That’s settled.” He waves his hammer at me. “Can’t have someone running around breaking my granddaughter’s heart when I just got her, aye?”
“Aye,” I agree. “And I wouldn’t.”
“Good.” Finlay winks at me, tapping his hammer against the wood post as he eyes farther down the fence line. “Reckon we can get this done before supper, then?” He glances over at me once more. “I’ll expect you to be coming to supper soon, by the way. You ken?”
My chest clenches at the knowledge that those promises are ones I can’t make, that it’s currently out of my hands, but I want to believe in a not-too-distant future where it will be something I can agree to.
“Aye,” I say, channeling that hope. “I ken.”
He pats my shoulder, gesturing to the quad bike. “We’d best get a move on then, aye?”
I follow after him, my head still reeling slightly from the complete shift in Finlay’s demeanor I just witnessed. I have a feeling if I were to tell Key, she wouldn’t even believe me. Hell, I wouldn’t. I doubt I’ll see her again today, not with all the work to be done that I’m just hoping we can wrap up long before sunset—but I make a mental note to tell her all about this first thing tomorrow morning.
Can’t have someone running around breaking my granddaughter’s heart when I just got her, aye?
If he only knew how utterly enamored with her I am. It’s almost laughable.
Still doesn’t keep me from eyeing Finn warily for the rest of the day.
The night is another brutal one; I was exhausted from the long day of fixing fences, and that paired with another night of my father chasing me away from anything he deems his territory—it didn’t make for a restful evening. I managed to grab some sleep before sunrise, thankfully, but still my body feels stiff and sore, only partly because of the oddity of changing shape. It’s something that I imagine is ghastly to see—experiencing it certainly is—so I’m still a little surprised that Key saw all of it and didn’t run away screaming. It actually makes me smile, remembering how she reacted to me. Like I wasn’t a monster. Like I was still just…me. She makes me feel like that in a lot of ways, really.
The sun is just starting to creep higher in the sky, the gloomy overcast from last night seeming to have dissipated with daybreak, leaving the dew-covered grass glittering in the warm rays of morning. It casts a glow-like backdrop on the farm as I crest over the hill that leads there, and I pause for a moment at the top, taking it all in.
It’s not my home, and I know that, but something about knowing that Key is waiting for me down there, that she’s missed me during the night…it almost makes it feel like it is. It’s the first time I’ve felt close to this feeling since my family fell apart.
I trot down the hill and onto the gravel road that winds up toward the main house, breaking away from it and crossing the grass toward the groundskeeper’s cottage instead. It was only yesterday that I last touched Keyanna, and yet all I can think about is burying myself inside her, reveling in her warmth and her touch and letting it make me feel more human. Something about her just grounds me in a way nothing ever has.
It means I’m smiling when I open the door in anticipation of her, but when I see her huddled on my bed, dark circles under her reddened eyes as she clutches a thick, leather-bound book that looks positively ancient—the good feelings in me seem to wither and dissipate all at once.
And all at once—I just know.
“You found it,” I choke out.
She nods solemnly, looking far less excited than I thought she would be. This is it, isn’t it? Surely this has to be the answer. It has to be.
So why does she look so devastated?
I take quick steps to close the distance between us, coming to the edge of the bed and kneeling as I reach for her cheek, forcing her eyes to mine. “What’s wrong?”
“I haven’t finished yet,” she tells me.
I notice that she’s turned somewhere to the three-quarters mark of the journal, and I think to myself that she can’t possibly believe that I would be upset that she hadn’t, right?
“That’s okay,” I tell her gently. “We have time, Key. Don’t fret.”
She shakes her head, pulling her face from my grasp and scooting back to make room for me on the bed. “I think you need to sit down.”
I do as she asks, lifting myself from the floor just to take the place beside her on the bed, and she holds the book to her chest as if it’s something dangerous, as if at any moment it might explode. She holds it almost like she’s afraid of it, and that makes me wary too.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” I all but beg. “You look like you’ve been crying.”
She snuffles out a breath, something between a snort and a scoff. “Yeah, it’s been a hell of a night.”
“Is it the book?” I feel my stomach sink. “Are there no answers? Is that why you’re—”
“There are answers,” she says softly, her eyes sad as she regards me. She looks like she’s trying to decide how to let me down easy, but for what, I don’t know. “I just…I don’t know how to tell you this.”
“You can just tell me,” I say stiffly, trying to brace myself for whatever it is that would make her look so desolate. “It’ll be all right, Key. I promise.”
She nods again slowly, setting the book back on her lap and leafing through it delicately as if looking for something in particular. I watch as she turns the pages one after the other, noticing the way she winces ever so slightly when she seems to find what she’s looking for.
“Now, remember,” she says. “I haven’t finished. There could be something I haven’t seen yet. Something that makes more sense? I’m not sure how, but it’s going to be okay. I just want you to know that this doesn’t change things. Do you understand?”
My entire body feels like it’s made of stone as dread settles deep. “Keyanna,” I manage thickly. “Show me.”
“Okay,” she practically whispers.
She hands me the journal, open to the page she’s found, pointing out a line where I assume she wants me to start. I take one last look at her crestfallen face—remembering what she said.
It’s going to be okay .
I nod back at her as if in answer, turning my attention to the page.
It doesn’t take long for me to be absolutely sick.
Winter, 1297
Laird Greer is back. Him and his men stink of blood, but news of their victory over the clans of the North have already made their way across the land. No one will dare challenge him now. He thinks himself to be a king. I watched as he made his way straight to her chambers. He doesn’t know her. Not like I do. She’s not evil as they believe. She’s kept her promise. She waited for his return. No doubt she thought he would keep his. “The bridle in exchange for sanctuary,” he vowed. And yet upon his return home he took her. Hid her away somewhere. I have searched the dungeons, but have found naught. He carries her bridle as if it belongs to him, as if it be his right. He betrayed her. He calls her a monster, but Sorcha is no monster. It is the Laird who is the true monster.
I cannot let this stand. I cannot let her rot in the dark while he stands in the sun, holding her prisoner. I will save her.
My voice sounds unlike me when I ask, “Is it all like this?”
“Mostly,” she answers softly. “The journal starts just before she comes to the keep. It…doesn’t paint your ancestor in a very flattering light.”
My grip tightens on the journal. “What does it say?”
“Lachlan, that’s not important right now.”
“What does it say ?”
I hear her sigh, dropping her head to my shoulder. I can feel the warmth of her breath through the sleeve of my shirt when she speaks again. “It says he was a cruel, war-hungry man. He was unkind to his servants, to his kin…It says that he murdered innocent people from neighboring clans in some kind of widespread grab for power.” She lets out a shuddering breath, her voice even softer when she adds, “My ancestor—I have to assume this is Tavish—he…he mentions a few times that the Laird was a brutally harsh man that was set on conquering the entire area. They say he stole women from villages he overtook and gave them to his men as rewards, that he killed children to end lines that he found threatening, that he—” She clears her throat, looking away from me. “You get the picture.”
Every word she says settles over me heavily, threatening to pull me under. I feel everything and yet nothing, trying to make sense of the words now swimming in front of my eyes but coming up short. Everything I have ever known is challenged by this one, short entry—and to consider it to be true means that my entire life, my entire history —is a lie.
I can feel Keyanna beside me, waiting for me to say something, to react in some way, but I’m full of that same numbness that took me after seeing my da last night. Only this time, there is no pity, no sorrow. Not for me, and not for the rest of my line.
I touch the name of the creature—the woman —who I’ve always believed was the source of my suffering, wondering now how much pain she endured at the hands of my family. Wondering now if she deserved any of it. Thinking that it’s very likely she didn’t. Knowing that makes my stomach twist with guilt, replaying every unkind word I’ve ever thought about her, about her family, about Key even, not so long ago. Now…every word of it settles on my tongue like ash, leaving a bad taste in my mouth. Because one thing is certain, after reading what’s written here.
We aren’t the victims in this story.
We’re the bloody villains.