Page 30 of Taming the Highland Misfits
Now, as she drank her tea slowly, all her troubles came rushing back with a vengeance. She had ceased to trust Finley, but was she being the kind of despicable, judgemental person she utterly despised? Yes, she had seen another side of Finley, but that was not all of him. He was not an evil man, but a damaged one. Come to think of it, so was she; both of them had had the dearest person in their lives ripped away from them during the years when they had needed them most.
Yet Isla had never gone out to rob and kill anyone, had she? She paused there, however. As Finley had pointed out, she had never been starving or poor; she had taken all the good things in her life for granted because it had simply never occurred to her that life could be any other way. She had been brought up in a privileged background and could not imagine anything else.
Suddenly, Isla felt ashamed. What if she had been in Finley’s position? She tried to imagine the options that would have been open to her if she had been homeless. She could try to find a job serving in a tavern, working as a cleaner or in a shop or a market stall. She had no skills to cope in the real world apart from those Finley had taught her. There were only two more options she could think of; begging or selling her body.
She screwed her face and shuddered at the very thought. Having strange, filthy, possibly diseased men laying their hands on her would be a fate worse than death. Isla realised now that given the same circumstances as Finley had she might have had to make such a choice—something so ghastly that even the thought of it was unbearable.
‘Who am I to judge him?’Isla thought.‘If I was poor, who is to say that I could have done any better?’
She sat and waited for Finley to come out from behind the barn, but when he did, he merely glanced at her and walked past her into the house. He was carrying a brace of rabbits and Isla’s mouth watered as she imagined the delicious meal he was going to make with them.
What could she do to help him? She could think of nothing that she had not already done that day. The house was clean, the garden was weeded, and she could think of nothing else to keep herself occupied. Then she looked down at her filthy hands and decided to go down to the burn to wash them, but when she looked into the water, she received an enormous shock.
When was the last time she had looked in a mirror? She had been without a maid for—how long? She had not been counting the days, but she knew it must be close to two weeks and her hair looked as though she had been dragged through a hedge backwards.
She remembered the comb Finley had made for her and reflected that she had hardly used it while he had been away. After all, there was no one there to see her, and without a mirror, she had been unable to see what a shambles it was.
Now, Isla’s first instincts told her to straighten out her hair because there was a man in the house and she had to look her best. As she thought of that, she felt a surge of resentment.
‘My father is not here,’she thought mutinously.‘I don’t have to follow his orders and dress up to impress every man I meet. I am free now.’She stood up as the realisation sank in. All this time she had been living in the cottage with Finley she had been answerable to no one, not even him. She had been able to come and go as she pleased, and had not had to provide a reason for everything she said and did. Furthermore, she was appreciated; Finley thanked her for every little bit of help she gave him, even though it was minimal.
There was a great deal of kindness in him, and she had almost written him off as being evil and heartless. Yes, the deeds he had done were dreadful, but they came from a place of utter desperation. He was not a bad man. He was quite the opposite, and she was a very fortunate woman to know and—she hesitated.
‘Do I love him?’she asked herself.‘Am I wrong to let his crimes come between us?’She sat and thought for a while, letting herself dwell on her good memories, of which there were many, and eventually the answer came to her.
Yes, she did love Finley, she loved him with all her heart. Why had she not seen it before? Impatient now, she decided to take her courage in both hands and face him so that he could put this whole terrible episode behind him. He had been a criminal, but had had the courage to turn his back on the bad in his life and walk the right path. He was worth fighting for.
She went back to the water and sluiced it over her hair to make it easier to comb, then wrung it out and ran her fingers through it. It likely looked a mess, but it would have to do for now.
When Isla went into the cottage the smell of rabbit stew tantalised her nostrils immediately, making her mouth water and her tummy rumble. She noticed that Finley had brought fresh bread home with him; she could not wait to eat it with butter, since Finley had taught her how to make it with goat’s milk. It was yet another thing she had learned from him.
‘Home,’she thought.‘Yes, this is my home now. This is where I belong, with Finley. How could I have doubted it?’The thought brought a rush of warmth with it.
Finley was sitting in a chair by the fire which he had lit, looking into it, and the expression on his face was the saddest Isla had ever seen him wearing. He glanced up once when Isla came in then resumed his study of the fire.
“Finley?” she asked tentatively. “I think we need to talk.”
“Why do ye want tae talk to me, Isla?” he asked. “I am a horrible, dreadful man, an’ I dinnae deserve your attention, or anybody else’s for that matter. Dinnae bother wi’ me. Ye can stay as long as ye want because I love havin’ ye here, but I will understand if ye want tae go. If ye dae, then I will give ye all the help I can. I have a wee bit o’ silver saved up. Ye are welcome tae it.”
“I am not going anywhere until you talk to me properly,” Isla said gently. “Look at me, Finley.”
He turned his head and looked into her eyes, and what he saw there gave him hope. Isla was not angry with him. Although she was frowning a little, it was an expression of concern, not rage. He attempted a cautious smile, and she smiled back, then she took both of his hands in hers, but he withdrew them immediately, and looked back into the fire again. “Ye dinnae know the kinds o’ things I have done, Isla,” he said bitterly. “Ye would hate me if I told ye. I hate myself. I have killed men. I told myself I had tae in order tae be able tae live, but that isnae true.
Ye see, Isla, as I told ye before, I hated what I was daein’, an’ I hated what I was becomin’, but I made excuses until the first time I killed somebody, then I realised what a beast I was. When ye kill the first time it is hard, but the next time it is much easier. I never went out tryin’ tae kill anybody, an’ I think I stopped some o’ the others fae daein’ it sometimes, but nothin’ makes it right. If I steal fae somebody I can always give it back, but I cannae give men back their lives.”
Finley put his head in his hands again and was quiet for a long time. Isla instinctively knew that he needed a few moments to recover from his confessions, so she moved away to pour them a cup of ale. When she judged that the time was right she turned back to him.
As she handed it to him she asked, “the men you killed—did they deserve to die?”
Finley took the cup, then looked at Isla, frowning. “What difference does that make?” he asked.
“It makes a big difference,” she answered gently, cupping his face in her hands. “If they were innocent or not.
I still remember your mother and the way you were together. So much love. I always envied that love between you, especially after my own mother was gone. I only had my father and he was heartless. He still is. But I remember you and Agnes; you were so devoted to each other, and I was so jealous. I had all the material possessions, all the comfort and riches anyone could want, but you still had a mother’s love, and that is priceless.” Her voice was bitter, and she frowned deeply for a moment but pulled herself together as she saw Finley’s face.
“Ma,” he whispered, and then tears began to run down his face. “Oh, Isla, she would be that ashamed tae see what I have become. I am a poor excuse for a man. I have killed, stolen, frightened people half tae death—I am nothin’ but a beast.”
Isla leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. “Finley, if you were a beast, you would not be sitting here weeping for your past mistakes,” she said gently. “You would be laughing over your triumphs.” She gently wiped the tears from his face with the pads of her thumbs. “You are not a bad man. I know it.”
