Page 21 of Highlander’s Devious Ally

“How did you find out where she was?” Lyall asked curiously.

Findlay sighed. “One day last week he asked me to take a bucket, a mattress, and a blanket to the cottage,” he replied. “He often uses me for mindless errands like that so I thought nothing of it. I put the items in the cottage and left, then I forgot about it. It was only when you came asking for Mistress Ailith that it occurred to me that it might be she who was in there, so I sneaked out of the castle around midday to see what they were up to, and I saw them pass some food to her through the door. She looked a little dirty, but seemed fine otherwise.”

“Dirty?” Lyall groaned, and ran his fingers backwards through his hair in agitation. “She hates being dirty. She must be suffering so much. I have to get her out of there. What are they feeding her?”

Findlay did not have the heart to tell Lyall about the pitiful amount of food he had seen, so he simply shrugged. “I could not see properly, Lyall. I am sorry.”

“Well, if he wants to marry her I suppose he is keeping her well fed.” Lyall sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. “Do you think she is safe from the guards?”

Findlay frowned. “In what way?” he asked, then, realizing Lyall’s meaning, he smiled. “Men like Jock want virgin brides,” he pointed out. “If any of those guards lay a finger on her, it will be the last thing he ever does, my friend. Have no fear on that score.”

Lyall nodded. “That makes sense,” he agreed. He looked at the other man’s grim, handsome face and saw there the same anger that he suspected was on his own countenance. Findlay was certainly bearing a grudge of some weight against Jock, but Lyall was not sure that he wanted to pry into a subject that might be hurtful to him.

However, Findlay wanted to talk. He looked at Lyall keenly and said, “I expect you are wondering why I hate him so much?”

“I was, but I did not wish to intrude upon your private affairs,” he replied.

Findlay nodded, and sat for a while in silence, which Lyall did not interrupt. He seemed to be collecting himself before saying something that was painful to him. At last he spoke. “Do you know what it is like to lose what you hold dear?” he asked bitterly.

“No, thankfully I do not,” Lyall replied. “I lost my mother, but I still have my sister and Ailith—at least I hope so.” His voice broke for a moment before he recovered and spoke again. “I have my castle and my wealth, but I would sacrifice every possession I had if it meant saving Ailith. What has Jock done to you?”

Findlay slapped one fist into the palm of the other in a gesture of utter rage. “He took away the brother I loved, and my mother died of a broken heart, and…” Findlay paused for a second and wondered far away.

“And he ripped my family apart.” He said clenching his teeth.

“I have sworn that I will make him pay, but before I do, I want to utterly ruin him.” He poured another measure of whisky into the little goblets, but this time he did not make a toast.

The pain he saw in his eyes was familiar. “If you would rather not speak about this, I understand,” Lyall said softly.

Findlay shook his head. “No,” he replied grimly, “it is time I talked to someone who might understand how I feel, and I have a notion that you are that person.”

“Then tell me,” Lyall encouraged grimly, “because I am the one man who may be able to help you get revenge.”

12

Six Years Earlier

“Findlay!” Ranald cried, striding towards his younger brother. “For God’s sake leave that horse alone or I will use this on you!” He was carrying a horsewhip and he brandished it threateningly as he spoke. Findlay kissed the beautiful velvet nose and stepped back, although he knew that Ranald would never have carried out his threat. The two brothers were devoted to each other, although in way of boys that age, neither would ever have admitted it.

Their kinship was unmistakable. They could have been twins apart from the fact that Ranald was four inches taller and had left behind his treble voice. Findlay at sixteen was a late developer and was still going through the awkward, voice-breaking stage of his adolescence. It embarrassed him beyond measure when his deep manly voice suddenly broke into a humiliating squeak.

They both had black shiny hair and dark blue eyes, and any observer could see that Findlay was going to have the same sturdy physique as his brother. Findlay hero-worshiped Ranald, especially when pretty girls paid him attention and let him kiss their hands. Ranald used to practice kissing his own hand just to see what it felt like, but somehow he knew it was not quite the same. Kissing the thicker skin of a not-quite man’s skin was not the same as the soft skin of a girl. Neither did it provoke a dazzling dimpled smile from the recipient.

The boys’ mother had died when Findlay was born, so the two were brought up by their father, who died when Findlay was twelve. He had gone on a sea voyage to Spain and had never come back, and later it was discovered that his ship had gone down in a storm with no survivors.

They had a sister too who wanted to be a nun, and Ranald had to be father for all of them. She and Finlay where twins but still, not as close as the two brothers where. Ranald was almost ready to take over the family farm, which was quite prosperous and had been running quite profitably under the auspices of Uncle Adam, his father’s brother.

Ranald’s pride and joy was his newly-acquired mare Sheba, a well-built but fine-boned riding horse. He had paid a small fortune for her and took care of her as if she were his own child. He had sometimes even been known to sleep in the stables with her. He had no excuse; he merely wanted to be near her.

“You treat that horse like a girl!” Findlay accused him, laughing. “Even the chambermaids laugh at you!”

“Away and get your head back in your work!” Ranald growled. “And remember that next time I really will hit you! I should have done it months ago!”

Findlay laughed. Ranald always came out with the same threat but had never once carried it out.

Findlay and Ranald did not have a castle of their own, but the farm had a ten-bedroom house and they employed four servants, made their own butter, cheese, and sausages, as well as curing their own bacon, and they grew all their own vegetables in the kitchen garden. Chickens who supplied all their eggs strutted about clucking importantly in the garden, as well as goats for milk. Findlay often thought that if they lost everything but the garden and the pigsties they could still live comfortably forever.

He was happy. Soon he would be big and strong enough to chase the local girls and then he would have a sweetheart of his own. Until then, he could watch how Ranald did his flirting and learn from him.