Page 73 of The Butterfly
Conall edged toward him, dark shadows crowding his eyes and making them appear like dead, black coals. The man fairly shook with the force of his rage, his chin trembling, chest heaving.
“Why d’ye think I was always warnin’ ye not to get tangled up with ’em?” he blustered. “I tried … for yer own good, I tried to teach ye to keep away from ’em … but ye’d never get it through yer thick skull that ye could never be one of ’em anymore than I coulda!”
Niall’s head spun as he tried to make sense of it all. His father was speaking in circles, but in the midst of it lay some grain of truth, some discovery that had been hidden from him all these years.
“Why would ye have been? Ye were a stable boy, a groom, then Stablemaster just like yer da.”
“He wasnae my da!” Conall cried, pounding a meaty fist against the nearest wall. The house fairly shook with it, his strength obviously not gone just because he’d gotten old and fat.
Niall frowned, shaking his head. “What are ye talkin’ about, old man?”
“My maw was always the vilest whore in all of Edinburgh—all of Scotland, most like. Never could keep her knees together. But, she was a pretty thing, just like that chit ye’ve always fancied. Delicate and fair and … the lairds could make good sport of her when she was amenable—which was often.”
Niall’s jaw dropped, one hand coming up over his churning belly as he absorbed this. “One of them got her pregnant.”
Conall shrugged. “Aye, but she was married to the man who ended up raisin’ me, so by the law, I was his. Oh, but the son of a bitch could never let me forget I wasnae his … or that he and my maw were stuck livin’ out back o’ the stable while the other children of my sire—some friend o’ the old earl’s—got to go to school and live in a fine house and have everythin’ I couldnae!”
He felt as if he might be sick as it all became clear to him—so clear, he could not believe he’d never seen it for himself. Conall had always hated his lot in life, complaining that he could have been as great a man as any other if only he’d had everything handed to him like those born to privilege. He’d never ceased reminding Niall that he’d been born a nobody, just like him.
Except, Conall had not been born no one … he’d been born of a lord, someone with power and privilege. Someone who might have improved his circumstances, but who had chosen not to, leaving him to be raised by a Stablemaster and the woman who’d conceived him in sin.
“I had to see the bleeder often,” Conall went on, unable to stop now that he’d begun. “Had to see him comin’ to visit with his wife and other children and see what I couldae had, what I should’ve been. I was his son, same as the ones with his wife. But, d’ye think he gave me the time o’ day? Do ye think he cared at all about the bastard whelp he’d gotten on some whore chamber maid?”
Niall sighed, his jaw unwinding and his hands going limp at his sides. He had always suspected Conall’s hatred for him ran deeper than anything he’d ever understand. There had always been this notion in his mind that his da hated him because he hated his own self, and because Niall was a part of him. Now, he could see things more clearly. His father hated Niall for earning the favor of the Callahan family, for making friends with Adam and Olivia and earning the sort of privilege and acceptance that bond came with. That he’d been let go and had his post given to Niall had only added insult to injury.
“And now, here ye come to rub my nose in yer new life,” Conall rasped, his glare intensifying, his mouth curving into an ugly sneer. “Does it make ye feel good, boy? Ye like comin’ here in yer fancy clothes to flaunt yer new wife and the fine house ye now own in my face?”
“I only came to offer ye my help,” Niall said wearily, shoulders sagging. “But I see now ye’re too intent on nursin’ yer anger to see it as the gift it is. I’ll go now, as it’s clear ye’ll never be able to see past yer own hatred. I cannae do anythin’ about yer da not claimin’ ye. But I can help yer wife and yer boy … my brother. The offer stands if ye can pull yer head out of yer arse long enough to find yer way to Dunvar House.”
Nodding at Gawain and tipping his hat to Evie, he turned to leave.
Conall’s footsteps rang out over the floorboards as he approached—at a run by the sound of things.
“Bugger ye, ye snobby little—”
Niall spun and struck with swift efficiency, his palm against Conall’s throat bringing him up short before his raised fist could land. He grasped the man’s throat and propelled him back against the wall and held him pinned there, fingers tightening around his windpipe. His da’s eyes went wide as he clawed at Niall’s hand, grunting and gasping for air. Evie cried out, sinking deeper into her corner while Gawain crawled back across the floor to get out of the way. Both looked on with wide, awe-filled eyes. Niall could not tell if they were afraid of him, or simply surprised that anyone would dare raise a hand to Conall.
Leaning close, Niall made sure his da looked him in the eye and saw the truth before it had fallen from his lips. “I’m not a lad anymore, Da. Ye put yer hands on me again, and I’ll kill ye. Ye ken?”
Conall shook with fury, his face reddening as he tried to fight his way free. But he was old, and Niall still young and strong; for once, he was now outmatched. After a brief struggle, he went still, glaring daggers at Niall as he nodded his understanding.
“Yer wife and yer boy, too,” he added. “If I come back here and see bruises on them again, I’ll kill ye slow … ye’ll be beggin’ me to end it by the time I’m finished. Aye?”
“Aye!” Conall spat. “Now get off me!”
Niall let him go and stepped away just before the man could spit upon his shoe. He could not conjure any anger over it, finally seeing his da for the pitiful soul he was. There was nothing else he could do here. He could only hope the man heeded his threat. He’d return to ensure that the woman and child weren’t being abused. He hadn’t been able to save his own maw before her death, but he could help Evie and Gawain.
He left them, blowing out into the night and slamming the door behind him. He’d gotten halfway down the lane when a thin voice cried out to him. He turned to find Evie rushing to catch up to him, a threadbare shawl held around her shoulders. It was not enough protection against the cold, and she shivered, her teeth chattering as she skidded to a halt before him.
Niall frowned and glanced back at the house, half expecting Conall to come huffing after them. But, no one had followed her.
“It’s freezin’ out here,” he chided, shrugging out of his coat and draping it over her shoulders. “Ye should go inside before ye catch a chill.”
“Please,” she insisted, reaching out to touch his arm. “I didnae know … he never told me he already had a son. Ye look so much like my Gawain.”
He could not help the grim expression tightening his lips at the thought of the boy, who was in for a world of pain with Conall for a father. “Does he beat the lad?”
With another shudder, Evie pulled the sides of his coat together and huddled inside it for warmth. “No … only me. When ’e tries to touch the boy, I get between ’em and take the blows. I’d do anythin’ to protect ’im.”
