Page 51 of Claimed By a Savage Scot
“Uh-oh,” he breathed with feigned dismay. “I seem tae recall ye sayin’ that exact same thing back by the bridge, and that was where all the trouble started.” He sighed. “Och, go on and ask me then, whatever it is.”
She tucked in the end of the bandage and straightened up to meet his eyes. They were barely afoot apart. “Why d’ye avoid the chapel?”
He stiffened, his dark brows rising, then knitting as they dropped. “Who told ye that?” he asked tightly, compressing his lips into a thin line.
“It daesnae matter,” she said, suddenly afraid of his anger, half expecting him to get up and leave. But he just stared at her. Sensing the importance of finding out the truth, for his sake as much as hers, she steeled herself to continue. “So, ye dinnae deny it then?”
After a few tense moments, he shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Nay, I dinnae deny it.”
“Will ye tell me why?”
Malcolm gazed at her searchingly. Then he said, “Ye dinnae remember then?”
She thought for a moment, groping for words to explain her reason for asking the strange question. When she had them, she said, “I remember hearin’ people talkin’ about something very bad that happened tae yer family when we were young, a terrible tragedy of some kind, but I must have been too small tae really understand.”
He let out a long exhale and rubbed a hand over his unruly curls. Then, he pulled another chair close to his and gently pushed her into it, so they were sitting knee to knee.
“I think ye must have been about four of five when it happened,” he began, “a wee bairn. Ewan was eight. And I was just twelve, the same age as Duncan.” He paused, his eyes so full of sorrow, Catriona’s heart squeezed as if feeling his pain. He swallowed hard, then went on, “But there was another Gordon braither as well, the one ye dinnae remember.”
“Another braither?” Catriona exclaimed softly, frowning as she searched the corners of her mind for remembrance, finding only a shadow. “But how… I mean, what happened?”
“His name was Arran. And he’s dead.”
Catriona felt like she had been punched. “Dead?” she repeated, unable to comprehend his revelation.
The word hung in the air between them as they looked into each other’s eyes.
Alive to the wave of sadness coming off him, she laid a soothing hand on Malcolm’s wrist and squeezed it. “Malcolm, I’m so sorry. I didnae ken. Nay one ever told me. What-what happened?”
His head dropped for a moment, the rose again, and she saw tears shining in his eyes. She had never seen him so hurt and vulnerable and desperately wanted to comfort him.
“I’m sorry, I should never have asked ye,” she said, deeply contrite. “I understand if ye dinnae want tae talk about it.”
He laid his hand over hers and curled his large fingers around it. “’Tis hard fer me tae even think about it, let alone talk about it. But I want ye tae ken.”
“All right, if ye’re sure.” She squeezed his fingers in a gesture of reassurance.
“Arran came in the middle, between me and Ewan. He looked different tae us. Nae so tall as me, and skinny, but strong too. He inherited our maither’s looks, light brown hair, eyes of hazel blue that were always twinklin’ with mischief.” He smiled and let out a choked laugh.
“Faither always called him a tearaway, for he was always gettin’ intae scrapes. He was so sharp and funny, Cat, he used tae have me and Ewan in stiches, and he’d get us intae trouble as well. But he always had our backs. Ach, he was a fine braither.” He brushed the back of his hand across his eyes.
“There used tae be an old chapel on our land, a couple of miles from here on the outskirts a village. The three of us would ride out there sometimes and break in, steal the communion wine, dress up in the priests clothes, the sort of things young lads get up tae, tae entertain themselves.”
Catriona was on the edge of her seat, drinking in every word, feeling how much they were costing him. It was like he was digging them out from the depths of his soul.
“One day, Ewan was sick in bed, it was just me and Arran. We were bored and decided tae ride over tae the chapel fer somethin’ tae dae. It was winter and already dark when we arrived. The place looked spooky. I was scared and didnae wantae go inside, so Arran said I could be lookout, while he went in and swiped the latest consignment of wine. Then we’d go tae the woods and drink it.
“So I waited with the horses a short distance away, hidin’ beneath some trees. Arran ran around the back of the buildin’, where there was a window with a broken catch. After a few minutes, I saw a faint light in the window and knew he’d lit a candle. I was angry with him for it because I was scared someone would see and catch us.”
He paused to take in a deep breath, and Catriona sensed they were coming to the hardest part of the story and it was getting more difficult for him to frame the words. She laid her other hand over his in comfort.
“I didnae smell the smoke at first, I only wondered what was takin’ him so long. When I did smell it and saw the light in the windows growin’ brighter, turnin’ orange and red, flickerin’ through the glass, I still didnae take in what was happenin’. I just stood there, expectin’ Arran tae come racin’ round the corner any minute.
“Only he never did. He must have got trapped somehow… he must have… he must have… been waitin fer me tae come and get him out.” He said through whisper. “But I just left him there, Cat. I left him there tae die, me own braither.”
His suffering tore at Catriona’s heart and she leaned over and hugged him tenderly.
Looking her in the eyes, he murmured, “It broke me, Cat. I’ve never gotten over what I did. Och, the guilt of seein’ me parents torn up with grief, and Ewan so hurt and confused. How can he look up tae me after that? All that pain was down tae me, and I’ve lived with it ever since. It daesnae matter what I dae, I can never make up fer it.”
