Page 21 of The Bells of Triumph
“It sounds like a dream,” she told him wistfully.
“Aye. It was. I hope that at the end of all of this, it will be again. I love my home, and I intend to pour all of my effort into making sure that other people can love their homes again one day. When Campbell is gone and the clan is allowed to prosper again, I want to see children running through the village and merchants shouting their wares. Och, I would even go so far as to run through the trees once more if that meant the magic of Murray Village was back.”
“I lived there too, ya ken.” She leaned further into his side, needing his strength for the story she was about to tell. “My father was one of Laird Murray's guards. His station was inside the keep. I was too young to remember much about it. Campbell invaded when I was only four years old. Both of my parents were killed in the invasion.”
“That must have been so hard to lose them both when ye were still so young.”
She nodded slowly, her brow furrowing as she tried to conjure an image of her parents.
“I am ashamed to admit it, but I cannae remember what they looked like. I am sure Finn and I resemble them, but I dinnae ken the color of my mother's hair or if I have my father's eyes. Sometimes, I will catch a whiff of something that smells like him or someone will laugh the way my mother did. But that is all I have left of them, of the life we once shared in Murray Village.”
Connor squeezed her shoulder tight. She got the feeling that he was trying to squeeze all of her broken pieces back together again.
“Campbell destroyed more lives than I think even he realized the day he invaded. All the guards who fought back, who resisted even after Laird Murray gave the orders to retreat, those are the true heroes. Those are the men I look up to, the ones I wish tobe like one day. Those men are the great heroes of our clan and deserve to be honored as such.”
“I only hope that nae all of yer heroes are dead.”
“Brid, ever the optimist,” he teased, nudging her with his shoulder.
She laughed at his dry tone, surprised that she was able to make such a sound in the midst of their bleak conversation. Connor was delighted to hear it, though, pleased that she felt comfortable enough with him to share all of her emotions—the good and the bad.
“I think all of Finn's heroes are gone,” she whispered after a moment. “I think Rolland's death has shaken him more than any of us want to admit. I never thought I would see him act this way; so unsettled, so suspicious about everything and everyone.”
“He cares, verra deeply. He's merely showing it in an unusual and somewhat difficult way.”
She scoffed at Connor's kind description of Finn's recent behavior.
“He has always been protective of the people he loves. I think it is a byproduct of losing our parents so young. He was old enough to remember them, to remember how they died. He has always done everything in his power to ensure that nay one close to him is hurt. His need to control is what pushed Flora away. But he couldn't protect Rolland, and he has to blame someone. I think he has chosen the entire world rather than the one person who is at the center of all of this.”
“Dinnae fash, Brid. I have seen grief do wild things to a good many men, who are nae as kind or loving as yer brother. He will come out of the fog one day and see the error of his judgment. His mind will clear and though he will never be the same as he once was, he will nae be so unrecognizable.”
Brid didn't know how to respond to him. She had never seen the aftermath of grief so up close and personal before. Sheguessed she would simply have to trust Connor's word that Finn would not stay this way forever.
She didn't say anything after that. She felt too raw, too open to find the right words that wouldn't reduce her to tears. After a while, the darkness settled in on her mind, while the warmth of Connor's closeness was lulling her to sleep. Without meaning to, her head slid to his shoulder, and she didn't have the energy to move it again. He didn't seem to mind too much, though, as he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She drifted off to sleep with a smile dusting her lips.
“How didye ken this road was even here? It does nae look as though anyone has been on it in the last decade.”
“I told ye,” Connor answered Brid with a smile, “I loved to explore these woods as a lad. There is nae an inch of them I have nae walked, or a tree I have nae seen. The main roads are easier to travel and closer to other villages, hence why nay one uses this one anymore. But it suits our purpose perfectly. We dinnae want to draw any attention to ourselves by riding into the village from the main road.”
“How much further?” she asked, finding herself nervously impatient for what the day might hold.
She still didn't feel comfortable with Connor being so close to Campbell and all of his loyal cronies. Death was the only acceptable punishment for betrayal, according to Campbell, and she knew that was one death she wouldn't be able to handle. Luckily, she had spent the morning convincing him not to go to the castle just yet.
“If the village and the castle are as connected as ye say,” she had all but pleaded, “then let's find someone in the village whois on our side. They can go to the castle to spread the word, while we stay out of sight. Even if Seamus says he understands the risks of war, he cannae afford to lose yer skill as a warrior so close to battle. Ye must stay safe so ye can fight when Campbell dares to show himself once more.”
Something she said must have gotten through to him, as that is what they were doing at the present moment. He led their group to the edge of the village on the side of things farthest from the castle. It still didn't feel safe to Brid, but she knew that was as good as she was going to get from Connor.
“This way,” he directed. “I ken some old friends who share our sympathies.”
They rode to the door of a tavern that had clearly seen better days, but was still teaming with customers, the majority of whom looked like weary travelers, making sure that their group of six fit right in.
“Six ales and bowls of the day's special,” Connor told the waitress, keeping his head down. “And tell Cookie he's got some old friends who've come to say hello.”
“Cookie?” Brid echoed.
“He's the cook here. His son was executed years ago for speaking out against ye-ken-who. And the benefit of being the tavern cook is that he hears everything. He will ken who is with us in this.”
“I thought we had seen the last of ye,” a gruff voice called just as Connor finished his explanation. “It is verra brave or verra foolish for ye to show yer face here.”
