Beauty and the Beastly Highlander by Kenna Kendrick
Chapter Fifteen
Once Etna reached Finley’s chambers, she hesitated, her hand hovering over the doorknob. She didn’t know if she had the guts to go inside. Her heart hammered in her chest, her ears pulsing along with her heartbeat, and every time she tried to convince herself to just walk inside, her feet simply wouldn’t move.
Ach, this is ridiculous. I dinna even ken if he’s awake.
It was that thought which finally helped her open the door and step inside, but the moment she laid eyes on Finley, she saw that he was wide awake.
Not just wide awake. He was in a good mood.
Finley was sitting up on the bed, his bed resting against the frame, and when he saw her, a smile spread over his lips as though he was not at all perturbed by his injury. But Etna couldn’t return his smile; she couldn’t reflect his enthusiasm.
That didn’t mean that she didn’t want to. It was the first time that she had seen Finley smile, and it only served to make him even more handsome, accentuating his chiseled features. Just looking at him made her heart skip a beat and hammer in her chest, but her sentimentality was nothing but a burden after everything that she had found out.
“Me Laird . . . may I come in?” she asked, even though she was already halfway in the room, as she hadn’t expected him to be awake.
“Please, Etna,” Finley said, gesturing at the chair that was still by his bedside. “Come in, take a seat.”
Etna did as she was told, though she crossed the room hesitantly, her blood rushing through her veins. Soon, she would know the truth, and that almost scared her even more than not knowing.
“The speech that ye wrote did precisely what we needed it to do,” Finley told her. It was odd seeing him so happy. Etna had once thought that if the day ever came that she would see this side of him, she would be happy, too, his joy becoming contagious, but that ended up not being the case.
“The villagers have put their faith in me once more,” Finley continued. “They believe in me again, all thanks to ye, Etna. Ye’ve done a marvelous job at—”
Then Finley paused and looked at Etna with a puzzled look on his face, as though he could sense that something was wrong. And perhaps he could; Etna wasn’t trying to hide her worry. She was certain that it showed on her face, etched into every line and curve.
“What is it?” Finley asked. “Why are ye lookin’ at me like this?”
Suddenly, he sounded severe, his old self returning. He was building up a wall around him, Etna knew, and she couldn’t have that. She couldn’t leave that room without an explanation.
“Do ye na remember what ye told me last night?” she asked, and when Finley didn’t reply, she added, “About Anna.”
At the mention of his late wife’s name, Finley’s skin, which had gained some color during the day, went back to being ghostly pale. He gulped, and Etna could see the panic in his eyes as she looked at him, scrutinizing his every move.
“It’s na what ye think,” Finley said. His voice was a weak whisper, barely audible, subdued by what Etna could only assume was shame. “I . . . I dinna ken what I said, but whatever I said, it’s na what ye think.”
“How can ye say that?” Etna asked, moving away from him. “How can ye say it’s na what I think if ye dinna even remember what ye told me? I want a straight answer, me Laird. Did ye kill her?”
Finley didn’t speak. Etna could see that his hands had begun to tremble, but so had her own. She was as agitated as he seemed to be, the entire matter so incomprehensible that she had a hard time reconciling the man in front of her with the man who could have committed the crime.
His silence was admission enough for Etna, and she turned to leave, unable to look at the man any longer. He had not only taken a life, but he had also caused so much pain to Malina, leaving her without a mother for the rest of her life. He had taken something from her that could never be replaced, and Etna didn’t know how anyone could forgive that. She certainly couldn’t.
Just as she turned to leave, though, Finley’s hand shot out and grabbed her, stopping her before she could get too far.
“Please . . . if ye listen to me, I can explain everythin’,” he said. “All I’m askin’ for is for ye to listen to me.”
“Did ye kill her?” Etna asked once more, her mouth firmly set into a thin line. “Did the attack that everyone kens about even happen? Did ye only say it did to cover up the truth? “Etna, please.”
Finley’s tone was so pleading and desperate that Etna couldn’t help but look at him. When she did, the vulnerability that she saw took her by surprise, her breath catching in her throat. Finley’s hand was a branding iron against her arm, where he was holding her, and for a moment, Etna forgot why she despised him so much.
But only for a moment. She couldn’t allow him to sway her.
“Ye deserve an explanation, and I deserve someone to listen,” Finley said as he let go of her. “I willna force ye to listen to me, but I’m askin’ ye to. Please . . . sit back down.”
Etna’s gaze traveled between the chair and the door and, after several moments of contemplation, she took a seat once more. The relief on Finley’s face was evident. He let out a sigh, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, he closed it once more, staying silent instead.
“If ye have nothin’ to say to me, I should leave,” Etna said, but Finley was quick to shake his head.
“Na. I just . . . I only need a few moments,” Finley replied. As Etna watched him in silence, she wondered if he would ever stop being a mystery to her. “What I said was right. I did kill Anna. But ye must understand, I didna mean to kill her. It was all an accident.”
Etna didn’t know what to believe anymore, but she didn’t speak. She wanted to hear the entire story from Finley’s side before she said anything, and so she remained quiet, watching him expectantly as a silent invitation to continue.
“One day, Anna asked me to go on a horseback ride,” Finley continued. The very words he was speaking seemed to pain him, coming out of his mouth with great difficulty, but he pushed through it. “That was a while after we had Malina, and all that time, we were driftin’ apart. I loved Anna with all me heart. She was the only one for me, and I spent so long thinkin’ that she had begun to resent me or to na love me anymore. We spent so little time together then that I thought she didna want to see me. But when she asked me to go with her on that ride, I thought that whatever it was had passed. I thought she loved me again . . . or perhaps she had never stopped lovin’ me, that she was just too busy with Malina to spend any time with me.
“I remember it was a beautiful day, and so she wanted to stray further and further from the castle. I indulged her, of course . . . I didna want her to have any reason to turn against me. I wanted her to be happy, and I was willin’ to do anythin’ for it. So, we rode out to the edges of the hill. It’s verra bonnie out there. Ye can see all the way to the sea, and the sky stretches on forever. I could see why she wanted to go there.”
As Etna listened to Finley, he didn’t sound to her like a murderer. He only sounded like a man who had loved his wife fiercely, and so she began to question her conclusions, not because of Finley’s words, but because of the way that he was telling the story. There was a slight tremble in his voice, one that he tried to mask by clearing his throat, and though he wouldn’t meet her gaze, she could see that his eyes were glistening with unshed tears.
That’s na what murderers look like. Finley’s na that good at actin’.
“I remember Anna was singin’ her favorite song,” Finley continued. “How I loved to hear her sing . . . she had a beautiful voice, and I liked nothin’ more than to listen to her. And then . . . I dinna ken what happened, but as we were ridin’, somethin’ hit me on the head. I fell off me horse. I was unconscious for a while, and when I awoke, someone was pressin’ me face into the dirt, tryin’ to kill me. Whoever it was, he was a small man. He couldna hold me down easily, and I was fightin’ for me life. I was tryin’ to get him off me with everythin’ I had, every ounce of strength.
“When I felt the knife dig into my back, I kent that I had to throw him off me or he would kill me for good. He was a stubborn one, but he couldna cling onto me, na with the way I was buckin’ and thrashin’. And then he was gone before I could even take a look at his face, disappearin’ in the woods.”
Etna had so many questions that she wanted to ask Finley. Did the man somehow kill Anna, and Finley blamed himself for it? For not being able to protect her? Did he ever find out who the man was?
But as many questions, as she had for him, she didn’t ask any of them. Finley paused only for a few moments before he resumed his story.
“I was so worried about Anna,” he said. “She was me whole world, and I thought that the brigand had killed her. It didna matter how much pain I was in. I could hardly stand after he stabbed me, and if the knife had gotten any deeper, I’d be long gone, but I stayed awake, and I called for her. Ye canna imagine my relief when I saw her walk toward me. She was like an angel, always so beautiful. I tried to reach for her, and it was then that I noticed that my arm was broken from the fall, but still . . . I used all my strength to stand up and go to her. I wanted to tell her that everythin’ would be fine, that she didna have to worry.
“But there was no worry in her face, only rage. I still remember how angry she looked. I had never seen her like that before, and I never thought that she’d have so much anger reserved just for me. She was like a different woman, nothin’ like the woman I had married. I remember seein’ the knife in her hand and askin’ her what she was doin’, but she never gave me any explanation, any reason. She just . . . she just lunged at me, tryin’ to kill me. And I didna want to harm her, ye must believe me, Etna. I didna want to cause her any harm. I just wanted to talk to her, to understand why she was doin’ what she was doin’. I tried to push her away from me, to save meself, but she cut me face before I could. That’s how I got the scar.”
Finley pointed at the scar on his face, the one that ran from his eyebrow to his cheek. Etna would have never guessed that his own wife had given him that scar. It seemed like such a vicious act, especially against someone that Anna was supposed to love.
“And then . . . when I pushed her . . .” Finley could hardly get the words past his lips. He was struggling with the memories, a tear falling down his cheek before he wiped it off furiously, refusing to cry in front of Etna. “I didna mean to, ye must believe me. I didna. I never wanted to kill her.”
“What happened?” Etna urged then, reaching out and grabbing Finley’s hand in her own. “What happened to her?”
“She fell off the cliff.” Finley’s voice was hushed, so much that it took Etna a few moments to understand what he had said. “I pushed her too hard. I ken that I shouldna have. I ken that it’s na an excuse. But I didna mean to kill her. She was the love of me life. I would have let her kill me if it meant that she would live.”
Etna didn’t doubt Finley’s words for a moment. For the first time ever since she had met him, she saw the boy that her father had described to her, the kind one who would do anything for the people he loved. His words seemed to her to be the sincerest thing that he had ever told her, and her instincts told her that it was all true.
Finley had carried so much pain inside him for so many years. Everything made sense to Etna now, the misplaced anger, guilt, and complete deterioration of the man he used to be. She wanted nothing more than to fix it, to fix him, but there was nothing that she could do after all the tragedy that he had experienced.
“Me Laird, I . . . I dinna ken—”
“Ye dinna have to say anythin’,” Finley assured her. Though he didn’t seem cheerful to her anymore by any means, he did look relieved, as though a weight had been lifted off him. “Ye finally gave me the chance to confess me sin. I am grateful for that.”
Etna stayed silent for a few moments, trying to digest everything that Finley had just told her, but she still had all these questions that needed answers.
“But why would yer wife try to kill ye?” she asked. “And who was the other man?”
Finley shook his head. “I dinna ken. I dinna have the answer to either of those questions. All I ken is that even though I didna mean to, I killed her, and since then, I havena managed to overcome it. I canna . . . I canna even look at me own daughter. It pains me too much to ken that I’m the reason her maither isna here.”
“It’s na yer fault,” Etna said firmly as she moved from the chair to the bed, holding Finley’s hand tightly in her own. “It isna. Ye couldna have done anythin’ else.”
“Etna . . .”
Before Finley could speak another word, Etna leaned closer and kissed him.
