Seduced by the Laird (Conquered Brides Series Book 2) (14 page)

Finn tentatively put his arms around Kirstin, nodding.

Gregor stood in a stupor trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. And then it dawned on him, the whole reason he met Kirstin to begin with—because she’d been looking for her cousin.

Sweet Jesus. Fingall was
Finn
?

Kirstin pulled away from her long lost cousin and stared accusingly at Gregor. He took an instinctive step back, waiting for her wrath to blow over him like a forest fire.

“Ye’ve had him all this time?” Her hands flew to her hips. “And ye didna tell me?”

Gregor wanted to tell her the truth, that he didn’t even known they were the same man, but instead, he frowned, and said nothing. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Fingall, daring him to say something. The man stood mute. Perhaps whatever excuse he had was buried. ’Twas no wonder he had made up excuses to get away from Kirstin’s since the moment they’d met her on the road. It was only a matter of time before she figured out who he was.

“How could ye, Laird Buchanan?” she asked, returning to formalities. “How could ye not tell me when ye knew I was searching for him?”

Gregor ground his teeth together, still refusing to answer.

“He didna know,” Fingall finally answered, his voice hoarse with unspoken emotion. “Dinna blame him.”

“How can I not?”

A deep ache wound its way inside Gregor’s chest. Oh, how he wanted to wrap her up in his arms and tell her not to worry, to explain everything. But he still felt the sting of her rejection. The pain of all she’d revealed to him that morning. The ache of not being able to get her out of his mind. He felt like they were bound by rope, but with oceans between them. Neither could get free, nor could they seem to find each other.

Would the memory of her, his love for her, forever haunt him?

Anger suddenly filled him, taking the place of the disappointment and sorrow he’d been fighting all day. He’d told her, he wasn’t going to be punished forever. He was trying, but it seemed like she was finding fault with everything he did, said, even things he couldn’t have known.

“I am verra sorry, lass. Shall I gift ye another
apple
?” His words were bitter, and he could tell they stung by the way her face fell, but he couldn’t help it.

There seemed to be too much sorrow overshadowing any happiness they might have once had. Too many things he’d done wrong that she wasn’t willing to forgive—things he wasn’t willing to forgive himself for either.

Kirstin’s gaze was locked on his, fire flaming from their blue depths. He could feel the burn on his face, all the way inside his skull.

Dammit, but he needed to get out of there. Only thing was, the tavern was the last place he wanted to be.

Fingall stared at them, confused.

But it was the Bruce who spoke up, as though he’d only just arrived at a pleasant gathering of friends, breaking the spell of tension. “Ye might just be the prettiest nun I’ve ever come across.” Then he shook his head. “Apologies, sister, that was incredibly inappropriate of me, but I seem to have lost my sense looking at ye.”

Gregor bared his teeth, only pulling back the growl in his throat when Fingall stepped forward, nudging him and whispering, “Remember he is your sovereign.”

And it was true. Kirstin was beautiful. Her blue eyes sparkled, creamy flesh rosy with emotion. Lord, but he could stare at her for eternity.
Fuck
.

It hurt too damn much.

“Thank ye, my lord.” Kirstin curtsied, ducking her head in a show of meekness, as she should being a daughter of the church.

Affected so perfectly, so at odds with everything Gregor knew about her, he almost believed for a second that her devotion to him in their past life was just as perfectly affected.

But he refused to believe that.

“Fingall, see that your kin is escorted back to her side of the abbey. This is no place for a nun.”

“There is always room for God’s servants,” the Bruce said, a big smile on his face.

Gregor grunted.

Kirstin, curtsied once more, and said, “I really ought to be getting back. And, Finn, we have much to discuss along the way.”

Gregor watched their retreating figures with yearning and a jealousy so ripe, he could practically smell it.

“I see ye think she’s a beauty, as well,” the Bruce murmured.

“Aye. But a nun.”

“She wouldn’t be the first to renounce her vows to the church in exchange for vows with a man.”

“I wouldn’t ask it,” he lied. He damned well would ask, and had been trying.

The Bruce’s grin widened. “I would.”

Lord save him, for Gregor was
so
close to pulling his sword.

Chapter
Fifteen

Kirstin was reeling.

Vision blurred. Heart pounding. Palms sweaty. She could barely walk upright, and clung to Finn’s strong arm for balance. How different he was than she remembered.

As a youth, he’d been wiry, not yet grown into his full body. He’d kept his face clean shaven—well, not that he had much in the way of facial hair to shave anyway—but now he had a full beard that covered nearly all his face. His hair was longer, too. Almost like he’d been trying to hide himself from the world. And maybe he had been. As next in line to the MacNeacail lairdship until Brenna’s son, Theo, was born, Finn would have been hunted down by the MacLeod’s until his head was on a spit they turned over their hearth fire.

Kirstin shivered. What torment her sister had been through. Kirstin suddenly felt guilty for all the grieving she’d done on her own behalf. At least she’d not been in her sister’s shoes. Brenna was always the stronger of the two, ever since they were little.

“Are ye all right?” Finn asked.

“Aye.” She smiled tentatively. She
was
all right. In fact, it was high time she started believing that.

High time she pulled out of her funk and lived. Followed the path that fate seemed to be taking her down. The one Aunt Aileen had mentioned she should look out for.

They got near the covered walkway toward the guest quarters when she tugged him off the path, heading back to the orchards and a private bench she knew to be there. “What happened, Finn?”

They sat down, the marble slab of the bench cool on her heated skin.

He hesitated before answering. “’Tis a long story.”

“I’m willing to wait and hear it.” Kirstin wasn’t going to back down. She’d not seen her cousin in fifteen years. Not heard anything about him other than speculation. She wasn’t going to settle for it simply being a long story.

Again he hesitated. “I’m not certain I want to retell it.”

Kirstin blew out an irritated breath. Didn’t want to tell her? She’d thought him dead all this time and he didn’t want to tell her? She bit her lip, trying to keep her rage to herself. One massive and emotional argument with Gregor—still fresh in her mind—was enough for a single day, and she didn’t even want to think about that. It still hurt to look at Gregor. The way he’d touched her, helping her to stand when she’d spotted her cousin, she was lucky not to have fallen into his arms again. Because she wanted to. Badly.

She had to admit it, and she’d known it all along—she still loved him.

Bracing herself for more of her cousin’s rejection, Kirstin said, “Finn, there are a lot of people that have been missing ye for a long time. ’Tis only fair ye tell me what happened. I thought ye dead. When I heard rumors ye were at Eilean Donan nine years ago, I came looking for ye. If not for that…” She trailed off not wanting to tell him all her secrets just yet.

“I know what happened between ye and Buchanan,” he said, changing the subject.

Kirstin knew he was pulling attention away from himself, but his admission rattled her enough she couldn’t concentrate. “Ye know?”

“Whisperings of the mysterious Kay cover the walls of Castle Buchanan as thick as the plaster. The woman who could have been his wife. The one he still mourns and thought for dead. Kay, a spirit or fairy who inhabited the castle for a short time. Ye’re legendary.”

She stared off in the distance, not realizing how much she affected an entire clan in just six months in their presence. How much Gregor had thought about her over the years. She’d heard him say it, but perhaps it took hearing it from another for the reality to sink in. “They still talk about me?”

“Aye, and Gregor does, too.”

She flicked her gaze at her cousin, feeling her cheeks heat at the knowledge. “And when did ye know it was me?”

“When we saw ye on the road and he called ye Kay, but I saw ’twas ye.” Finn looked away, shame in his eyes.

“Why did ye not come forward?” Kirstin was hurt. He’d known it was her for a couple days now and had not bothered to come find her.

Finn shrugged, having the decency to look guilty. “A moment of fear and weakness. It had been so long and we didna know why your party was on the road, what side ye were on.”

“What other side
would
I be on?”

Again he shrugged, tugged at his beard. “There are many who are not what they seem. Many who appear to be loyal to Scotland, to the Bruce, but who would rather collect coin from the English, and betray our people.”

Kirstin’s stomach soured. “And ye think I am one of them? How can ye say that?”

“’Tis no small mystery that Brenna is married to my enemy. The man who wants me dead.”

Kirstin shook her head. His enemy? Gabriel was fully in support of the Bruce, had fought for the man. “Nay, Finn, ye’ve got the wrong of it. Brenna’s husband is not your enemy.”

“MacLeod
is
my enemy. Has been for fifteen years.”

Kirstin grabbed hold of Finn’s hand. “MacLeod is dead. Over a year now. Brenna is married to a good man now—Laird MacKinnon.”

Finn swiped his hand over his face. “Saints… I’ve been hiding for so long, I had no idea. I’m so glad she’s out of that monster’s hands. I tried to get her out of the castle. Rallied up enough MacNeacail’s that had escaped the MacLeod’s siege, but we were caught on the road. Decimated. MacLeod declared that he’d not rest until I was dead.” Finn blew out a deep sigh. “Thank God. Is she happy?”

“Aye. She is now.” Kirstin played with a fold on the skirt of her habit, not wanting to let her questions drop, but nervous about how to ask them all the same. “Finn, ye have to tell me, why did ye not at least send word? I would not have done anything to compromise your safety. We could have even offered ye sanctuary.”

“I know it now, lass, but at the time, I was scared. Running. I was nearly murdered more times than I can count. MacLeod never stopped looking for me. At least, not those first six years. I feared that if I were to come back to the abbey, they’d only break down the doors and murder everyone inside. After I took on a new identity, changed the way I looked, and let the rumors spread of my death, then I was safe. I couldn’t compromise that. I knew ye were safe. That Brenna was not dead. I…” He trailed off, his voice growing gruff. “I was weak, and then once I played into my new role, it was just easier to forget about my past, about having left ye behind.”

“Leaving me behind was the right thing to do. I’ve been taken care of, educated. I’m safe. But… I missed ye. I blamed myself for your death all these years.”

“I’m so sorry. Do ye think ye can ever forgive me?”

Forgiveness
. Seemed to be the word of the day. If she could forgive her cousin for assuming a new identity and keeping his old life a secret, hiding from her, letting her believe he was dead, then perhaps there was hope that she could forgive herself. Forgive Gregor. Ask Gregor to forgive her in turn. For not staying and fighting for him when he railed at her. She’d known he was deep in his cups at the time, and if she’d given it half an ounce of thought rather than reacting, she might have waited until morning when he was sober. The fact was, she’d run. She’d been scared too, and his push had been, perhaps, just what she’d been looking for.

“I forgive ye, Finn, there is no question of that.” She patted his hand and smiled brightly. “I’m just so glad to have finally found ye. That ye aren’t dead. Aunt Aileen will be so pleased, and Brenna, too.”

Finn shook his head.

Kirstin frowned. “Dinna shake your head at me. MacLeod is dead. Why would ye not want your kin to know ye are alive? I’m not the only one who mourned ye.”

Finn turned sad eyes on her. “I fear they will not be as understanding as ye.”

“Why of course they will. Why would they not?”

“Ye’re a different sort, Kirstin. Ye have a big heart, always have.”

A big heart. She was a different sort. She’d forgotten about that girl. The kind one. The one who easily forgave, and opened up her arms to offer sweetness to anyone in need. Even though she prayed daily, devoted her life to God, she was not that free-loving, forgiving girl anymore. Somewhere along the road, she’d gotten lost.

Well, she’d find her again.

She nodded, unable to voice her words. She did want to be that girl again. And perhaps the place to start, after speaking with her cousin, was with Gregor.

“Ye have to tell them, Finn. Ye canna hide any longer. It doesna mean ye have to give up your identity, but your enemy is dead. Brenna has several sons, ye need not worry about anyone trying to harm ye for the MacNeacail seat. Ye are safe now.”

He grinned. “As safe as I can be.”

“What do ye mean by that?” Her stomach flipped at the thought of more danger.

“As I said ye can never tell who is friend or foe. We are at war, cousin. A war not just between the Scots and English, but between our own people. That man ye saw me with, he is Scots.”

“And a traitor?”

“Aye. He is willing to hand over any Scot to the English for a bag of coin.”

She shuddered to think what that meant at large. “But he was no one.”

“Aye. Years ago, ’twas the lords and landholders close to the border, easily turned by promise of safety, coin and English castles we had to fear, now anyone can be our enemy.”

“Is that why ye are here?”

“Well, the prisoner is new. Gregor found him and his cronies last night, but aye, we are here because of matters of urgency to the country and our rightful king’s safety.”

“Ye are doing important work.”

“As are ye. Does it make ye happy?”

She wasn’t quite certain what that work was, but she knew it had to matter. “Aye. Why would it not?”

Finn shrugged, his signature gesture of brushing off the importance of his words. “Because I’ve seen the way ye look at Buchanan. The way he looks at ye. I’ve heard the stories of the passionate love ye shared. Seems like the stuff of fairy tales. I’d not want to see ye give it up.”

“We cannot always have everything that we want,” she said.

Finn looked her straight in the eye. “And sometimes we can.”

“’Tis impossible.” She shook her head, growing irritated, more so with herself and the word: impossible. Besides, Finn wasn’t the one she should be talking to. Gregor was.

Kirstin stood, and Finn also. He pulled her in for a hug and she squeezed him tight.

“I’m glad ye’re safe,” she whispered.

“And ye, too. ’Haps when ye return to Nèamh, I’ll accompany ye and tell our family in person that I am still alive.”

“I think that’s a grand idea.” She had a flash of herself riding to Nèamh, Finn was there, but so was Gregor. And she was married.

“Thank ye for your forgiveness,” Finn said, pulling her back from her vision.

“Forgiveness is not a gift, Finn. Ye need not thank me for it.” Kirstin left her cousin, making her way back toward the cloister, intent on finding Gregor so she could speak with him when Donna intercepted her.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for ye.” Donna grabbed hold of her arm, urgency in her tone.

“What is it?” Kristin glanced about, suddenly on high alert for danger.

“’Tis about
that thing
ye asked me to do.” Donna spoke under her breath and looked around the cloister suspiciously.

Kristin nodded. “All right, let us go back to our chamber to speak.”

They hurried down the covered walkway and into their chamber, settling at the table. Kirstin poured them each a small mug of ale.

“I heard them talking today, while I was sewing shirts,” Donna started, then stopped to sip her ale, seeming distracted as she began biting her nails.

“And?” Kristin urged.

“We are definitely here about coin, and many of them think ’tis in here.” Donna looked around, the anxious expression on her face almost as if she expected the coin to leap out from somewhere.

“I’d have known if my bag carried any coin in it,” Kirstin said with a laugh and then sipped her ale. “Any substantial amount would have been heavy.”

“This is true.” Donna frowned. “So, why would they think that?”

“I dinna know. I need to speak with the abbess, but she’s yet to call on me. I almost feel like she’s making me wait on purpose, but I canna for the life of me figure out why.”