Beauty and the Beastly Highlander by Kenna Kendrick
Chapter Two
“Ijust dinna understand how this always happens if there is na a traitor among us,” Finley said, slamming his fist onto his desk. “Every time we go after the brigands, they manage to escape. Every single time, Lochlan. We’ve never caught even one of them.”
Lochlan, his brother, stood with his back to Finley, staring out of the study window. Finley was the Laird of the MacAlistair clan, but he didn't feel safe even in his own castle. His study was the only place left where the two could talk without Finley worrying that they would be heard by a traitor.
“I dinna ken what to tell ye,” Lochlan said with a heavy sigh. “I agree with ye, I do, but what are we to do? We’ve tried everythin’. I canna go to the men and accuse them of bein’ traitors!”
Lochlan was right, of course. Finley had refrained from making any accusations. Even though he wasn’t as close to the men as he used to be some years prior, he couldn’t imagine that any of them would betray him. He knew all those men ever since they were all children. It made no sense to him that one of them was a traitor, but it was the only logical conclusion he could reach.
“The clan is fallin’ apart in front of me own two eyes, and there isna a thing that I can do to stop it,” Finley said, his hand coming up to curl around a cup of wine that he had finished too soon. He tipped the carafe over it and found that empty, too, which only served to infuriate him even further. “I am their Laird, and I can do nothin’ but sit back and watch as those brigands destroy our lands.”
The look that Lochlan gave him was not one of pity, as Finley had been expecting, but rather one that spoke of how unimpressed he was. Despite his anger, Finley didn’t say anything. Even without speaking, he knew what Lochlan was thinking, and he knew that he had a point.
Ever since Anna, his dear wife, had passed, he had withdrawn from everything and everyone. The clansmen had no trust in him anymore. The village people in his land had no trust in him either, and he had heard of their unsavory nickname for him: Beast.
That was how they thought of him, and, perhaps, that was precisely what he was. The burden of the past he was carrying made him less and less human every day, chipping away at his soul.
“What do ye want me to do?” Lochlan asked. “Anythin’ ye want, I’ll do it. But we must come up with a plan before we accuse any of the men of bein’ a traitor to the clan.”
“Aye, I ken,” Finley assured him. “And I dinna have a good guess as to whom it could be. Yer guess is as good as mine. I can hardly believe that any of our men would do such a thing.”
Lochlan gave him a slow, understanding nod as he walked back to his chair, falling onto it with a sigh. “The most important thing right noo is to protect the villages. The brigands have been stealin’ from our people and killin’ our men for too long. They’ve tried to defend themselves, but there’s na much they can do. They’re na trained. They have na weapons. They are na match for the brigands.”
“We canna send men to every village,” Finley pointed out. “Perhaps we can spare a few and send them to the biggest ones, but there is na a thing we can do for the smaller ones unless we can finally fight them. But how will we fight them if they always run to the mountains?”
“We’ll find a way,” Lochlan assured him, but Finley could tell that he wasn’t as certain as he wanted to sound. “But Finley . . . ye must speak to the people. Ye’ve spent too long away from them. I’m surprised they even remember that ye’re their Laird.”
Finley shook his head. Lochlan already knew that he couldn’t do such a thing, and he also knew why. He couldn’t bear to be out there. He couldn’t bear to speak to anyone. Even though it had been five years since his wife’s death, it still haunted him, and he had not felt joy since. The mere thought of talking to his people, of touring the land and trying to get everyone to like him again, was exhausting. He would much rather stay in the castle and leave everything that had to do with people on Lochlan. After all, his brother had always been the social one, the one that constantly attracted people.
“Ye willna do it.” It wasn’t a question as much as a statement, and Finley looked up to see Lochlan shaking his head at him in disappointment.
“I canna.”
“Ye willna,” Lochlan insisted. “Weel . . . at least come with us on the hunt.”
Finley frowned at that. “The hunt?” he asked. It was the first time that he was hearing of it. “What hunt, Lochlan?”
“Weel, me and a few of the lads are goin’ huntin’,” Lochlan said with a small shrug.
“Noo?” Finley asked. “Do ye really think it’s a good time to be huntin’? I’d rather hunt the brigands than boars.”
“Weel, ye canna hunt the brigands until they show their faces again,” Lochlan pointed out. “And it’s good for the men. It keeps them in shape. It’ll do ye plenty of good, too, ye’ll see. Ye’ll get some fresh air.”
“I can walk around the castle grounds to get fresh air, thank ye,” Finley said, but the mischievous smile on Lochlan’s lips told him that he wouldn’t simply let it go. Finley knew his brother well; when he got an idea in his head, it was impossible to get it out. “Must I?”
“Na, but I think that ye should,” Lochlan said. “Ye’re the Laird . . . I canna force ye to do anythin’ ye dinna want.”
“But?”
“But ye’re also me brother, and I can annoy ye into comin’ with us.”
Finley knew that to be true. Reluctantly, he nodded his head, thinking that it would be easier to simply do as Lochlan wanted instead of fighting him over something so silly. Besides, perhaps it would be good for him in the end, he thought. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had left the castle, and he certainly couldn’t remember the last time that he had spoken to any of his men about anything other than clan business. Ye have to bond with them, Lochlan always said. Ye have to show them that ye care.
The truth was that Finley did care. He cared about his clan, about his people, and there had been a time when everyone had known that. There had been a time when no one called him Beast, when his people loved him, and the brigands feared him. There had been a time when he could look his clansmen in the eye. But that time was long gone, and now all was left was that guilt that was eating him up alive.
“Excellent,” Lochlan said as he stood once more, this time heading for the door. “We’ll be leavin’ the morrow at first light, so make sure that ye get some rest tonight.”
With that, Lochlan was gone, shutting the door behind him, and leaving Finley alone with his thoughts once more.
As much as he couldn’t stand being around people, he also hated being alone. It meant that he had too much time to think, too much time to consider what could have been different if his wife was still alive, what he had lost. In all those five years, he had barely even managed to talk to his daughter, and it was only getting worse. He couldn’t remember when he had last spoken to her. He had just left her in his grandmother’s hands, letting her raise her as she saw fit.
I’m a failure. I canna even do that right.
At least his grandmother would raise Malina well, that much he knew for certain. She was the closest thing that the girl could have to a mother figure, after all, and Finley knew that she was better off with her than with him. He was in no condition to care for a child.
Finley drained the rest of the wine that Lochlan had left behind before retiring to his chambers. The room always seemed so big to him without Anna in it, and it was no different now. He was used to being all alone, though, and he preferred it that way. Most of his nights were sleepless, and the moment that his head hit the pillow, he knew that he wouldn’t be resting much.
* * *
The morning came later than he would have liked, and by the time the first light broke in the horizon, Finley had slept very little after tossing and turning all night, like most nights. Still, he stood and dressed before heading outside to find Lochlan and the rest of the men who would join them on their hunt.
He wasn’t surprised to find that none of them was there yet. Perhaps they were having breakfast, he thought, or perhaps they were still getting ready, but Finley didn’t want to go back inside. At that time of the morning, the courtyard was still mostly empty, save for the few servants who were going about their day, having woken up before dawn. They didn’t dare look at Finley, anyway, let alone talk to him. They all knew to not disturb him and always kept a good distance from him.
No one wanted to face his wrath.
Finley had to admit that he was short-tempered, but not as much as those around him wanted to think. How could they have forgotten what he was like before Anna’s death, he wondered? How could they all think that he was a monster now? He was not the same man, but he wasn’t cruel.
“He came!” Lochlan exclaimed, his voice carrying across the courtyard. Finley turned his head to look at him and saw that there were six of their men with him, all of them ready for the day’s adventure.
“I did,” Finley said, as the men bowed in a chorus of “Me Laird’s”, rushing to greet him. They respected him, but it was a respect that stemmed from fear and knowing that left a bitter taste in Finley’s mouth. “Ye did threaten to annoy me, and I ken that ye can, so I decided that this would be less painful.”
“Only if ye dinna get run down by a boar, brother!”
Lochlan began to run to the stables, cheerful as always. Though he had the same blonde hair as Finley, he was shorter, and he had inherited their mother’s honey-brown eyes. He had also inherited her charm and her joyful disposition, it seemed.
Finley envied him for that. No matter what, Lochlan always managed to see the bright side, not letting every bad thing that had happened to him weigh him down. Then again, his woes were nothing compared to Finley’s own. He had never lost a wife. He had never had to carry a past that dragged him down daily. He didn’t have a daughter that he couldn’t face or people who hated him. He was loved by everyone, and though Finley sometimes envied him, he couldn’t help but adore him, too.
Finley listened to his men as they chatted while they walked to the horses. Once they were on their way, he fell in step next to Lochlan, who was already loud and lively, shouting with a cheer that seemed inexhaustible.
It had been a long time since Finley had banned his clansmen and women singing and laughing in the hopes that he wouldn’t have to be constantly reminded about everyone else’s happiness when he was so unhappy. And yet, Lochlan always found a way to let everyone know just how jolly he was, much to Finley’s chagrin.
“Me Laird!” Lochlan yelled, startling Finley. “Would ye care for the finest wine that our clan has to offer?”
Finley rolled his eyes at his brother, but he took the flask that he had offered to him. It never did any good to refuse a good wine, or bad wine, for that matter. Taking a swig, Finley passed the flask back to him, wincing at the burn in his throat.
“That’s na wine,” he told Lochlan.
With a frown, Lochlan looked at the flask. “Na?” he asked. “Ach, it might be whiskey. Weel, it’s better than water, that’s for certain!”
Finley gave his brother an unimpressed look. Lochlan was one of the two people—the other being their grandmother—who wasn’t afraid of him, and so his look didn’t have much of an effect on him, but it was enough to stop the conversations among the other men. They all fell silent, and Finley soon found that he preferred it that way.
His men knew better than to look at him, but in the sudden silence, Finley felt exposed. There was nothing to distract them anymore, and so he pulled his hood over his head, eager to hide. The scar that he had gotten on his face the day that Anna died wasn’t something that he wanted people to see, not even the people closest to him.
He didn’t even want to look at himself in the mirror anymore. The scar was a constant reminder of what Anna had done.
“This is a good spot,” Finley heard Lochlan say, and they all stopped, dismounting their horses, and tying the reins around the nearby trees. It wasn’t much later when they spotted a boar in the distance, and Finley immediately rushed toward it, disregarding the warnings that everyone yelled after him. He knew that hunting boars was a dangerous sport, but he had done it many times before.
And a part of him simply didn’t care.
Running after the animal gave him a rush that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He felt alive again, his mind ridding itself of every other thought. All that mattered at that moment was that boar and his own survival. His baser instincts took over, providing momentary relief from the endless noise that were his thoughts and worries.
He couldn’t hear any of his men behind him. He didn’t know if they were there, if they had followed him or if they had lost him in the woods as they ran. All he knew was that nothing would stand between him and that boar.
