Page 32 of Taming the Highland Misfits
Isla continued to study the bracelet, which was about an inch wide with bevelled edges. The metal was pierced with a row of evenly spaced holes through which strands of plaited wire passed. Below each hole was a tiny flower. Isla could not stop looking at it, turning it this way and that so that she could see and marvel at every intricate detail.
She was sitting outside the barn enjoying a cup of ale when a shadow fell over her and she looked up to see Finley looking down at her, smiling. He was carrying a pile of newly-chopped wood in his arms, and Isla could not keep her eyes off the bulging muscles of his arms. Why did the word ‘magnificent’ spring to mind every time she saw him? Isla had no idea that Finley was thinking similar thoughts about her.
When they had talked the previous day, and while they were waiting for the stew to cook, he asked, “would ye like me tae comb your hair, or would ye rather dae it yourself?” He had looked at Isla’s hair and laughed. He was enchanted by her endearingly damp, dishevelled mop, but knew that when it dried it would be agonisingly painful to tease out the tangles. He had done it frequently with his own shoulder-length hair.
“You can do it,” she replied. “You are so gentle.”
“Ma always said so too,” he told her, and for the first time ever he thought of his mother without a pang of sadness. From that moment on, he would remember the good times he had spent with her and the love they had shared, something he had never been able to do before.
He would always mourn her, of course, but the pain had gone, and he knew why; it was because Isla had made him weep, and all the bitterness he had stored inside him had flowed out of him with his tears.
Now, he sat down beside Isla at the table as he placed a bowl of porridge in front of her. He had one last thing to tell her, and it was perhaps the most important of all, because it would determine his future.
“I need tae tell ye somethin’,” he said, stirring his porridge around with his spoon as he avoided her eyes. He hesitated.
“Go on,” she urged. The ominous tone of his voice was making her feel afraid.
Finley took a deep breath. “I told ye that Iain Crawford got me intae the gang,” he began, “but I didnae tell ye who runs the whole thing. When we took money an’ jewels an’ suchlike fae people, we handed half a’ it tae his Da, the tavern owner. He is gettin’ rich off the profits o’ our crimes.”
“Why did you not tell me this before?” Isla asked. She was furious, but not in the least surprised. Alec Crawford would never have done his dirty work himself, so he had his son do his recruiting for him, and other criminals to commit the actual crimes. Alec had a knack for spotting the right men for the job; he had picked on Finley when he was at his weakest, most vulnerable and therefore least likely to fight back against him.
“I didnae want tae get ye mixed up in a’ this mess,” Finley replied. “I wanted tae somehow get myself out o’ it on my own.” He thumped his hand on the table, making Isla jump.
“I am sorry, Isla,” he said gently. “I didnae mean tae give ye a fright.” He paused for a moment, and Isla could see that telling her the story of his life with the gang was very difficult for him. She let him sit in silence for a while, frowning. Her porridge was becoming cold, but she did not care. She had to hear this, since she had a feeling that it would have a great bearing on her and her future. If she and Finley were to be together, at least for a while, then what affected him affected her too.
“Alec Crawford controlled our lives,” Finley went on bitterly. “He told us which roads tae go on an’ when the carriages were comin’. I think he had spies in a’ the best places, because we hardly ever went out without comin’ back wi’ some treasure or other. At first, it broke my heart tae see how frightened folk were, especially the bairns, but after a while ye just get used tae it. Ye harden your heart, then it becomes just another job.” He sighed, and shrugged. “That sounds like a terrible thing tae say, Isla, an’ it is, but the only way I can explain it is—if ye didnae dae that ye would go mad.”
Isla put her hand over Finley’s on the table. “I have heard that before from some soldiers who visited my father once.” Her tone was gentle as she looked at his tortured expression. “I think it is the mind’s way of coping with things that are very hurtful and distressing. I am lucky enough never to have experienced it myself, thank heavens.”
They sat in silence for a moment, and although the porridge had grown cold and her appetite had left her, Isla resigned herself to the fact that she had to eat, and finished her meal while she surreptitiously watched Finley. She had seen him in every mood, but not this state of deep, dark gloom; the brooding expression on his handsome face did not suit him at all.
Isla felt infinitely sorry for him; what torture he must have gone through! She tried to imagine the terrified faces of the people he was robbing, and the way they must have felt; she knew what it was to feel powerless. She understood that Finley had been the one inflicting that terror, but at the same time he had been inflicting it on himself. He was by no means blameless, but the fact that he was suffering now was because he had a conscience, and that was a good, gentle quality in her eyes.
“Could you not have broken away from them?” Isla asked.
“Dinnae think it hadnae crossed my mind a hundred times,” he answered bitterly. “But I thought that they would find me an’ kill me. It happened tae another fellow that tried tae escape fae them. He was found just outside the town wi’ his throat cut. He knew too much about the gang, ye see.
Because I didnae want the same thing tae happen tae me, I had tae find a way o’ daein’ it without them knowin’. I have a few friends in Inverleith, so I know what is goin’ on wi’ the gang. They have been busy for the couple o’ weeks, because in summer there are always more people on the roads. I wish I could stop them, Isla, but I am only one man. I have been keepin’ myself well away fae the tavern, an’ I think they will leave me alone. They have seen what I can dae, especially when I am angry, but I am always ready tae fight.” He laughed suddenly. “I have eyes in the back o’ my heid!”
Isla ignored his attempt at humour. “Do they know where you live?” Isla asked anxiously.
“They know my Auntie Bettie used tae live here,” he replied, “but I have always been careful never tae mention where I live tae anybody.”
“So what is your plan?” she asked.
“I have tae go intae Inverleith an’ meet the bastard face tae face!” he growled. “I want tae tear his eyes out. No, Isla, that is not what I am actually goin’ tae dae, but I want tae bring him tae justice. I want tae make sure everybody in the town is safe fae him, an’ that the gang is broken up so it cannae dae any more damage.
Before, I would have had tae leave the bandit life behind, but now I have made the break I will dae what I have wanted tae dae for the last couple o’ years. I cannae stand it any more.” He shook his head vehemently and once more covered his face with his hands. He did not want to embarrass himself by weeping again, or Isla would think it was something he did all the time. The last thing he wanted to do was appear like a weakling in Isla’s eyes.
Isla moved around the table to stand behind him, then wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him from behind. He let his hands drop from his face and leaned back against her, sighing. It was so good to have the presence of a woman in his life again. Isla was not his mother, of course, but her tenderness and femininity filled a gap that he had not even realised was there.
Isla stood there for a moment, waiting until she judged that Finley was calm again, then she moved away and sat down at her side of the table again. “I am afraid for your safety, Finley.” Her tone was concerned as she gazed at him. “From what you tell me, these are dangerous and vicious men.”
“They are,” he confirmed. “No’ an ounce o’ mercy between them, but this time I will no’ let them beat me. I am done wi’ this life, Isla. I dinnae want tae die. I want tae stop the Crawfords fae hurtin’ an’ stealin’ fae people any more than he has already.”
“I can see that I am not going to be able to stop you,” Isla observed. “If that is the case, perhaps I can help you. What can I do? And Finley -” Isla held up her hand and looked at him warningly “- please do not insult me by treating me like any other feeble upper-class woman. I am involved in this too now and I won’t be left out of any part of the plan.”
“Isla, I wasnae goin’ tae try tae leave ye out.” Finley grinned. “I know it would be like bangin’ my head against a tree trunk. Even as a wee lassie ye were as stubborn as a mule. I remember tryin’ tae get ye down from that tree ye climbed. Your Ma was worried sick, but she just couldnae talk ye down. In the end I had tae go up an’ get ye. Dae ye remember that?”
