Page 8 of The Highlander's Captured Bride
Ethan barely recognized his brother as heat and death were already ravaging Finley’s body. He was swollen and a soft smell of decay was resting in the air. Not daring to touch him, Ethan felt his eyes begin to burn with tears. The reality that he was never going to see his brother again felt thick in his throat.
As the light came into the room, he saw that there was no blood on Finley’s body. Someone, that he was sure was not their mother, had washed him and dressed him for burial. His clothes were white linen and beside his head was his death mask, an old custom of his family, made from plaster, painted and ready to put on his face before being carried to the village kirk later that day.
He moved to lean on the wall under the window as the smell was getting thick in his nose, but he could not bear to walk out. He stayed there until the sun rose and the rays were strong in the room. Memories of Finley were running through his mind like wild horses, one chasing after the other.
That time they were caught sneaking into the kitchen for the candied peaches…that other time Finley had taken him to jump into the loch without their parents’ permission—and which he had nearly drowned…and the many times they had gone foot racing in the glens beyond.
His eyes went back to his brother, and again, the heavy feeling of loss caged his chest in an invisible prison. Ethan felt tired and sick to his stomach. Every time he so much as thought of his dead brother, his stomach lurched. Now that he was looking at him, his stomach felt hollow.
Under all that sorrow and grief, anger was bubbling inside him. He felt that the duty to avenge his brother had fallen upon him, not his father— but him. He deeply felt thathehad to find the one who had killed his brother and make them pay, just like he had vowed yesterday.
A grating sound had his head darting up and there, in the doorway, was his father. The dark smudges under his eyes were clear indicators that his sire had not slept a wink last night.
“I kent ye would be here,” his father tone was grave. “Are ye going to stay with yer maither or come to the burial?”
“I’ll stay with Maither, but I will come to the burial,” Ethan said. “I willnae be absent when he is laid to rest. Are the cooks preparing the feast?”
Balgair came close and lifted the mask with a grunt. “They’ve been preparing from last night. Thankfully, we have stores of meat and fish to use, wine and whisky too. But I want ye to be near Miss O’Cain through the day.”
“Why?” Ethan asked, as his father bid for him to take Violet into the garden came back to him. “Are ye trying to shield her from something? Faither—” he nearly snorted. “—she’s seen more than ye ken.”
“Even so,” the Laird said. “Doesnae mean she has to see more. And her faither told me she has a penchant for being a little... adventurous.” His father slanted an eye to him. “Er, she’s been known to get a bittooinvolved with her faither’s cases. He told me that once, she had donned boy’s clothes to sneak into a gambling house and find a thief who had stolen a sack of gold from his employer, and another time she was poised to act as a stable boy to find out who was racing his master’s horses without his permission.”
His father had meant to warn him or scare him, but Ethan only felt his admiration and awe of the young woman grow. His lips twitched. “I dae nae see that as an issue…I ken that is very admirable.”
“Ye would,” his father snorted. “Go for yer meal, son, today is going to be a very… very long day for all of us.”
Nodding, Ethan passed by Finley’s body and stopped to brush his fingers over his brother’s chest. “Rest in peace, brother.”
He did leave, but not to the main hall. Instead, he took the stairs to go see his mother, Annabelle. He felt guilty for not visiting her yesterday, but he was sure that she had slept for most of it. He took the stairwell up to his parents’ third story room and knocked quietly on the door.
“Enter,” the frail voice of his mother came through and he pushed it in.
His mother was sitting on a rocking chair—another English acquisition by his uncle—with a meal tray resting on a table beside her. Her thick golden hair was combed in a bun at the base of her neck, and her light green eyes were trained out the window near her.
“Maither?” he called softly, knowing from experience to not startle her with loud noises.
She turned to him and smiled. “Ethan, son, I was expecting to see ye yesterday.”
Coming closer, he closed the door behind him and took a seat. “I ken, Maither, but yesterday was…difficult. Very difficult.” He took care to not use words that would trigger her faint-heartedness. “But Faither has things under control, and Uncle Callum is here to help.”
“Ah, Callum,” she nodded before her face fell, “Is it true…Ethan? Is me son dead? I woke up kenning it was a dream. It all feels so hazed. Did I dream it or…”
He sucked in a breath. “Sadly, Maither, it is true.”
Lady Annabelle’s hand flew to her mouth and the grief made her already pale face turn yellow and garish. He reached out and wrapped an arm around her thin shoulder and held her on his chest while she began to sob. He pressed his cheek into the side of her head and felt her grief compound his. Her sorrow had to be doubled his as she had birthed Finley, nursed him, cared for him, and raised him.
“I ken, Maither, I ken. I’m in anguish as well.”
He stayed put, rocking her slightly as one would do to an upset child. Ethan was sure that his father had not told her Finley had been murdered because of her delicate state. “Do ye want me to stay with ye today, Maither? It’s the day of his burial.”
“I think…” her breath hitched. “I need to lie down.”
Kissing her forehead, he asked, “Is there anything I can send ye this mornin’?”
“Nay, I’ve eaten and I’m nay ready for anything more,” she said.
“I understand, Maither.” He embraced her before he helped her from the chair over to her bed. Resting a soft blanket over her, he grasped her hand and grimaced at the soft trembles he felt. Her eyes were fluttering, too, and her breath was sharp and staccato, both showing her distress.
