Page 36 of A Nameless Highland Laird
He didn’t imagine it would go over well if he admitted that it was his own father who had ordered the fire to be lit. That would also mean explaining that he was Laird Knox’s bastard, along with his two siblings, not the realized heir. It would unravel everything he and Alastair were trying to build. And if she started asking questions about his father, questions about his mother would soon follow. He could imagine the horror and shock on Charlotte’s face when he told her that his own father had slaughtered his mother without a second thought. He doubted he would be able to keep his own shock and horror off of his own face.
The true depth of the story would only illuminate how vile his lineage was. She would surely start to wonder what kind of man he was after hearing the kind of man his father was. That same wickedness ran through his blood. It was only a matter of time before it manifested. They were the same concerns, the same worries he had had for years.
It was better for him to skip out on the details and let her question the blank spots he left behind. This was a rare case where the truth was worse than anything her imagination could conjure up.
He pressed on in his story, shortening it to the most palatable version of it that he could.
“Luckily, the nearby villagers heard our screams and rescued us. My brother and sister were taken out first. I refused to go while they were still inside. Those few extra minutes that I was trapped was enough to do lasting damage. The smoke got into my lungs and did what it could. The breathin’ attacks are the aftermath of it all.”
“Och, Cameron,” she uttered.
But he did not want her pity. He did not want the look she now had in her eyes, so he turned his gaze to the fire that roared in the hearth.
“They have happened less and less as I have gotten older and better at managing my thoughts and feelin’s. I guess I was more tired than I realized today. It snuck up on me.”
“Ye have these alone?” she asked, doing nothing to mask the horror in her voice.
He could only nod.
Her questions stopped, though he knew that she had to have hundreds more. For several minutes, they sat in the silence together, both lost in their own thoughts. He had no doubt that she was starting to question what kind of Laird he was; he was questioning it too. He had no table manners, he couldn’t read, his jackets didn’t fight right, and now she had seen just how unstable he was. He couldn’t control his own breath and was somehow expected to control an entire clan. The thought weighed heavily on him. His shoulders threatened to sag and he knew he needed to leave before anything more was said.
“Thank ye,” he told her, rising from the sofa, “for helpin’ me. It is nae something I am accustomed to. Yer efforts are greatly appreciated.”
She nodded slowly, watching him with careful eyes, though she made no move to get off of the couch herself.
“I…nay one,” he stumbled, trying to find the words for his request. Squaring his shoulders and facing her head on, he decided that honesty and directness was the best approach. “It would nae do well for the clan to find out about these attacks. The last thing our people need is a weak Laird. Can I trust ye to keep this between us?”
“Of course.”
Her answer came quickly, as if she didn’t need more than a split second to make her decision. He gave her a firm nod, slipping back into the character he was supposed to be playing.
“Then I shall leave ye for the night. Sleep well.”
She might have murmured her own response, but he did not hear it as he was already halfway through the doors.
