Page 51 of The Ruthless Highlander's Hellion
“Nicholas,” Oscar rasped, staggering to his feet and gripping the bars. “Laird O’Donnell, please… why have ye kept me here all this time?”
Nicholas kept his stance rigid, eyes cold as stone. “Ye ken well enough why. Daenae play a bampot. I’ve come for answers, and nay lies this time.”
Oscar blinked rapidly, hope creeping into his expression. “I beg ye—let me out. I’ve paid me penance. I lost me mind after Annabeth—after me lass died. I wouldnae have taken Charlie if I were thinkin’ straight.”
Nicholas stepped closer, his jaw tight. “Ye stole me only son. Took him in the dead of night, left nay trace. That’s nay grief, Oscar—that’s betrayal.”
Oscar clutched the bars tighter, his knuckles white. “I raised him gently, never laid a hand, I swear it. I just… I couldnae bear the thought of losin’ both me daughter and me grandson.”
Nicholas felt his throat tighten, though his voice remained steady. “Grief or nae, ye broke me trust. Ye broke the boy’s heart.”
Oscar lowered his head, shame flooding his features. “Aye… I ken it. I’ve lain awake every night, thinkin’ on it. If I could undo it, I would.”
Nicholas studied the man—older, wearier than he remembered. There was no triumph in seeing Oscar like this, only the bitter ache of what had been lost. But Alexandra’s words echoed in his mind, and with them, the image of Erica being taken.
“I dinnae come to grant ye freedom,” Nicholas said at last. “But I need to ken how ye took Charlie from under this roof. I need every step, every detail.”
Oscar looked up slowly, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Why? What are ye plannin’?”
“That’s nay concern of yers,” Nicholas snapped. “Just tell me what I want to hear.”
Oscar nodded and slumped to the floor. “I used the east passage. The one beneath the cheese cellar—few ken it’s there.”
“I only meant to keep Charlie safe. But I got lost in it. In the grief.”
Nicholas turned to leave, but Oscar's words echoed in his mind as they struck him. "Meant to keep Charlie safe? What do ye mean by that? He's safe here in the castle. Safer than out in the wilds with ye."
Oscar's shoulders sagged as he lowered his eyes to the filthy ground. “I loved me daughter, Nicholas. Loved her more than breath itself. When she died… when ye told me she died in childbirth—I never truly accepted it.”
Nicholas narrowed his gaze, fists clenched at his sides. “That’s nay excuse for what ye did.”
Oscar lifted his head slowly, eyes reddened. “I dinnae believe she died naturally. Nae truly. I always thought ye’d gotten what ye wanted—an heir—and rid yerself of her afterward.”
Nicholas’s face darkened with fury, his voice low and sharp. “Ye dare accuse me of such a thing? That I took her life? I would never harm Annabeth. She was the maither of me son. I would never take that from Charlie or harm a woman.”
Oscar shook his head, gripping the bars weakly. “Grief makes a man mad. I ken it now. But back then, I thought I was savin’ the boy from a man I believed had murdered me daughter.”
Nicholas took a step back, disgust flaring in his chest. “That’s nae grief, Oscar. That’s delusion.”
Oscar’s voice cracked. “Then why did she die so sudden? She was healthy, strong…”
Nicholas turned, stepping away from the cell. His heart pounded, not with guilt—but with rage at the insult. “Because childbirth is a cruel thing,” he muttered. “It takes women too often.”
Nicholas stepped toward the corridor.
“Wait,” Oscar called, his voice suddenly desperate. “Nicholas—what’s goin’ to be done with me?”
Nicholas paused at the door, hand on the latch. “I havenae decided.”
“Please,” Oscar rasped. “Let me prove I’ve changed. Let me help. I ken things, things that could help ye now. Or if ye want I shall go south and ye will never hear of me again."
Nicholas didn’t turn back. His voice echoed as he pulled the iron door open. “We’ll see.”
Nicholas' rage filled his heart as he slammed the iron door closed. It rang with an echo through the dungeon. He marched up into the castle toward his study. He never once thought that Oscar held such a dark secret. All this time, he had considered himself cursed for what happened to Annabeth, yet Oscar thought him a murderer.
He paced the length of his study, jaw clenched, and brow furrowed. Oscar’s words were of some help, but only if he planned to sneak into McLaren Castle when the time came. However, he didn't know the castle layout, so he should prepare if the opportunity should arrive.
He grabbed parchments from the shelves and unrolled them. Maps lay strewn across the long oak table, edges curling and stained with age, all marked with notes and boundaries drawn in ink as he studied them.
