Chapter Sixteen

Connor could hear the applause as he approached his old home – the castle. The Highland Games were certainly happening. He hoped they’d serve as a distraction, so that he could go in and search for Sabine without drawing too much attention to himself.

The field was set up so traditionally. He’d competed in a handful of tourneys himself, but he’d always lose, and advise the others to perform poorly, so the poor lad got his woman. Connor hoped that the men still upheld the honourable tradition.

From where he was standing, the Games had concluded, yet the celebrations continued. He spied his brother Fergus dancing with a raven haired woman in the centre of the field as several other competitors cheered them on. A sense of homesickness hit him when he realised that it must have been Fergus who was the one marrying. Had any of his other brothers married? How much had he missed in his absence?

He spied Munro, Hamilton and Ian all standing around Fergus, but he could not see Duncan. Connor felt his heart speed up when he saw his father standing across the field talking to his mother and several others in their social circle. His father was wearing his McKenzie tartan proudly as he smiled happily. Connor had never seen his father look so cheerful. Their resemblance was startling, however, Connor had never seen it so when he was growing up, or perhaps he denied it as his father behaved like a troll. But then again, perhaps he was the problem. Maybe his absence made his family happier.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, or he’d had any chance to look for Sabine, he heard his named being called.

“Connor?”

Turning around quickly, he saw Duncan standing before him with a keg of ale in his arms. Duncan wore a loose fitting white shirt and the traditional McKenzie kilt. Duncan had been too young to compete when Connor was last on McKenzie lands, it made him realise how much he’d missed. Duncan’s red hair was a similar length to Connor’s, with the same amount of curl to it. His eyes were the same piercing green as Merida’s and their mothers and his body was a lot leaner and he’d lost all his childlike features. Duncan was a man.

“Ye are home,” Duncan scoffed, dropping the ale keg to the ground and making his way toward his brother.

“Aye,” he nodded. “Hello, Duncan.” Smiling carefully at his younger brother, Connor extended his arms slightly.

Duncan took the invitation gladly, embracing his brother in a tight hug, crying happily that his brother was home.

The commotion between them had caught the attention of the townsfolk, who began flocking around them instead of the competitors. Connor heard several whispers of ‘Sir Connor’ as they realised who had returned.  

Soon enough the cheering and whooping returned as ‘Sir Connor’ had finally come home. Connor didn’t want to have to deal with any of it though, he had missed his friends and his land, but there was one thing that mattered to him above anything else, and she was nowhere to be seen.

“Duncan,” Connor said hurriedly, as the crowd began to gather. Spying his family in the middle of the field, he could see that they had noticed something was going on, though he didn’t know if he could be seen from where they were standing. “Have ye seen an English lass? She’s golden hair, a bit lighter than mine and blue eyes. She’s no’ very tall … an’ well she’s the most bonny lass ye would ever see in your life.”

Duncan appeared puzzled. “No, I don’ recall – English?” he repeated the last word with a smirk. “Why would an English lass be here? Da’ would have her hung an’ quartered, ye know what he’s like when it comes to the English.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “Ye haven’t seen her?” he checked.

Duncan shook his head. “If she’s as bonny as ye say, I think some of the men will remember her,” he grinned devilishly. Connor realised that perhaps Duncan had been spending a little too much time with Fergus while he was away. He was no longer naïve.

Taking one last look through the crowd, Connor was certain Sabine was not there. She can’t have gone far as Puissant was still in the stables. A thought hit him suddenly. He hadn’t seen the dark haired Heather anywhere either. His fiancée had already wandered onto McKenzie lands, of course she would be with the woman he had once courted.

As he was about to go off in search, his name was boomed through the crowd. “Connor!” said the intimidating man. The crowd immediately silenced and separated as the McKenzie ‘royalty’ came through.

His father’s brown eyes were on him, his jaw rigid. Connor couldn’t read Mungo’s expression at all. He was halfway to thirty, he was no longer a boy, and if Mungo went to strike him then he would strike back. He was not afraid.

“The prodigal son returns,” Mungo said sternly, his teeth clenched. “Ye have a lot of nerve just waltzing back onto my land after ye walked off it so easily.”

Connor’s eyes flashed to his mother, whose green eyes were filled with tears. Connor could tell that she wanted to move past Mungo and hug him, and he so desperately wanted that too, but Mungo would not allow it. Connor knew that in his father’s eyes, he was dead.

“I’ve no’ come for a fight, da’,” Connor said firmly, trying to stay calm, though he could feel his blood boiling. “Nor have I come to claim my right as heir – tha’ will remain for Fergus an’ his bride,” he said nodding to his brother, who was standing beside his fiancée.

Fergus smiled and nodded discretely, thanking his brother.

“What have ye come for, then?” Mungo demanded to know.

“A lass,” Connor replied evenly. “She’s here, I don’ know where, but her mare is in the stables. I just want your permission to search for her, then I’ll be gone. Ye won’ see me again, I promise ye.”

“No!” Deirdre cried. Connor didn’t think his mother meant to speak, but she had instinctively. “No, ye won’ leave!” she said again, more confidently.

Guilt washed over Connor as he saw his mother’s grief stricken face. He so desperately wanted to comfort her, even though she had made a decision he didn’t like three and a half years earlier.

“Deirdre,” Mungo snapped angrily.

“Don’ speak to mama like that,” Connor retorted, a few gasps sounded in the crowd. It was not often that a Laird was challenged. Connor wasn’t standing for any more of his father’s dictatorial control.

Mungo’s eyes were acidic as he glared at his eldest son. It was as if Connor was looking into his future when he looked at his father. His golden hair was getting lighter with age and it had the same curl to it. On the rare occasion when he smiled or laughed, Mungo’s face would crinkle and their brown eyes were the exact same hue. Their height, now he was noticing, was very similar, with Connor having possible an inch on Mungo.

“Inside. Now,” he barked. “I don’ wan’ spies.”

The crowd almost immediately dispersed as Mungo turned around to start back towards the castle. As soon as Mungo was gone, his mother flew into his arms. He couldn’t believe how much he had missed the comfort of his mother as he tightened his arms around her little waist. To think she had given birth to seven children was ridiculous.

“Ye don’ leave me again, ye hear?” she said, sounding like she was sobbing. His theory was confirmed when he felt the wetness of her tears coming into contact with his skin.

“I’m sorry, mama,” Connor sighed, not knowing whether he was apologising for leaving the first time, or for when he would leave once more.

“No matter what he says, da’ has been miserable without ye and Merida, ye hear?” Deirdre said emotionally. Connor would believe that when he saw it. The smile on his father’s face before he’d known of his presence at the castle contradicted that. “An’ I saw ye lass,” she whispered. “The English girl?”

Connor pulled back immediately. “Where is she?” he asked quickly.

“She an’ Heather left for the castle awhile ago after having a few glasses of wine. She’s a fine beauty, just pray your da’ doesn’t find her before we can get her out of the castle.”     

He made quiet conversation with his brothers as they followed Mungo into the castle but all he could think about was finding Sabine and getting back to … to Gretna Green? To England? He had no plan.

The castle had not changed a bit. The inside was still the same, cold stone that was warmed by rugs and fireplaces. The family tapestries still hung in their usual places and armed guards manned every entrance, which Connor knew was Mungo’s paranoid precaution in case another uprising against the few remaining clans occurred.

They were led into the familiar dining room. The long, mahogany table accommodated many guests, yet for that day it would contain a conflicting family. Mungo took his seat at the head of the table with Fergus and his bride sitting on the side that once was his. Deirdre sat beside Mungo and the rest of his brothers filled the remaining chairs. Connor selected the seat beside Munro, who was sitting next to his mother so he was still in stabbing distance of his father if he got violent. He knew where all the secret dirks were hidden in the castle, he’d been the one to discover the loose stones in the wall. It was an attack precaution. If one was ever confined in a room without defence, then there would always be a weapon accessible. And Mungo had seen to it that he was properly trained.  

Mungo knitted his fingers together and placed them on the table, glaring at Connor darkly. “Explain yourself,” he demanded. “Why have ye come back here?”

“I already told ye, da’,” Connor replied icily. “I’ve come for someone. I’m no’ here to wage war or to overthrow ye.”

Connor could tell his father wasn’t convinced. Perhaps even Mungo was thinking about the weapons training that he’d made mandatory for his sons. “What makes ye think tha’ they’re here,” Mungo retorted instantly.

Repeating himself again, he replied “Her horse is in Mr Alexander’s stables.”

“An’ who is she?” he asked, sounding slightly calmer, an odd tone for a man like Mungo.

“My fiancée,” he replied truthfully.

Eyes widened around the table as he made his announcement.

“Oh, ye little bugger,” Mungo snapped, his anger returning. “There’s no lass, ye just wan’ my land!”

“Da’, I don’ care about your damn land!” Connor yelled, rising from his seat. Mungo rose as well, his hand on the dirk in his belt. “Go ahead,” he challenged. “Stab your eldest son, see how much of a man it makes ye feel. Ye beat us long enough, ye should be used to seeing our blood.” Connor knew that underneath the shirts of each one of his brothers that there were lashing scars.

“Don’ ye dare speak to me tha’ way, lad, I am your father and ye will show me respect!” Mungo seethed, his brown eyes black with anger.

“Respect is earned, da’,” Connor growled. “An’ whatever respect I had for ye, ye lost when ye expelled Grant from the castle and ye disowned Merida.” Connor could really tell his father had been miserable.

“I did tha’ for her own good, an’ how does she repay me? By running off with a no good peasant!” Mungo grabbed a small piece of pottery that was holding some fresh cut flowers and he threw it at the wall in anger. It smashed into tiny pieces and scattered across the floor. Connor was glad he didn’t throw it at his head, because he would have been out cold.

“Mungo,” Deirdre said firmly, putting her hand on her husband’s forearm. “Sit down before ye have a stroke,” she instructed. “Ye too, Connor.”

Both men returned to their seats and glowered at each other.

“Deny it all ye like, Mungo, but when ye realised both Connor and Merida were gone, ye cried.” Deirdre looked at her son, letting him know it was the truth.

Connor raised his eyebrows in shock. His father crying was something he’d never seen. It was something he never allowed among his sons. Crying showed one’s weakness. A weakness was a way for a man to be defeated.

Mungo didn’t deny it. He instead looked at his hands as if they were the most interesting things in the world. Taking a deep breath, he slumped his shoulders. “Why do I even try with any of ye? I’ve done everything for ye! I’ve fed ye, clothed ye and cared for ye. I taught ye how to survive in the woods, I taught ye to hunt and skin, I taught ye how to survive in battle, an’ I used appropriate discipline to make you tough. The world is a cruel place, an’ those who aren’t prepared don’t live. Nobody could ever call a son of mine weak.”

Connor hated the feelings of guilt that filled him as his father spoke. His words were no longer malicious, but those of a tired and broken man. Connor wanted so badly to hate him, he’d hated him for so long, and it should be easy to go on doing it.

There was a silence for a long while before Mungo spoke again. “Just find your lass an’ go,” he sighed, rising from the table. As Connor was about to do as he was told one last time, the voice he had longed to hear sounded from behind him, along with a voice he had dreaded.

“Connor?” they both said at the same time.

“Jesu’,” he said under his breath as he turned around. Sabine was a sight for sore eyes. Her beautiful face lit up as he looked at her, letting him know that she was no longer angry with him. She was wearing the same blue dress that she had been wearing since they’d left England, and it was beginning to look a little tatty, but she still looked stunning. Her hair was pulled into a loose braid and her blue eyes sparkled.

Heather, on the other hand, was a sight that he didn’t have the energy for. He couldn’t have another argument. It then dawned on him that once Sabine found out who Heather was, there would be more friction between them. Heather was still as lovely as ever. She had always been a very pretty girl growing up but she’d only ever shown interest in Connor. At one time, he had thought that he could grow to love her, but he could never get rid of the feeling that she preferred him over his brother because of what he would inherit. Fergus was the handsomest of all the McKenzie boys.

“Is tha’ the lass ye were looking for?” Duncan asked.

“Hello, I’m Sabine,” Sabine said nervously, waving to the room.

“She’s English,” Mungo said, his voice filled with realisation.

“Ye were looking for her?” Heather gasped.

Connor suddenly wished that his father had struck him down with the dirk.    

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