'Have you forgotten how big your husband is? He can get whatever he wants.'
'No means no to him.'
'You love him, don't you, lass,' Father said.
'Yes. I love him, but it isn't enough.'
The priest reached for the door, yet didn't pull it open. 'Faith, please go outside first. Run to your brother and stay with him so he'll know the MacAlisters aren't a threat.'
'Do you think Gillian's soldiers would harm the Highlanders?'
'No, but I'm certain the MacAlisters would kill all of them without breaking a sweat. They can be ruthless when they want to be, and Lord only knows, they'll easily overpower them.'
'But there are twice as many…'
'Number means nothing to them. I've seen them fight, and I assure you, I know what I'm talking about.'
'I'll do as you say,' she promised. She hurried outside, ran to her brother, and hugged him. She spent several minutes listening to him tell her how Brenna's husband had sent men to their mother to protect her from MacNare. He also added that their mother had taken a fancy to the leader of the band and actually hoped he'd come back.
Faith gave him her full attention until Brenna walked outside.
'You can tell me more after I go inside and get my clothing,' she said, and though she had every intention of doing just that, she ended up following Brenna instead. Her sister looked so vulnerable and alone. Faith wanted only to protect her from further heartache, and Gillian would just have to be patient a little longer.
He could wait a few more minutes, couldn't he? 'I'll be right there, Gillian,' she called out. 'I just want to meet Brenna's husband first.'
Before her brother could deny her, she picked up the hem of her skirts and hurried toward the MacAlisters.
Father Sinclair was detained by the monks hanging out the windows on the first floor. He had to reassure each one that a battle wasn't about to be fought on sacred ground and it was perfectly all right for all of them to return to their duties.
'It's just a family reunion,' he explained, and heaven help him, he told the half-truth without laughing once.
Faith didn't speak to any of the monks, but she did wave to all of them. Several, caught up in her enthusiasm, waved back. As she neared the end of the path, one of the MacAlisters caught her attention. She had the peculiar feeling he expected her to do or say something, and though he didn't motion to her, or give her any other sign, she couldn't shrug off the feeling he wanted something from her.
All of the warriors kept her brother's soldiers under close scrutiny. Brenna, she noticed, had suddenly stopped. Faith thought she was having second thoughts about talking to her husband and decided to help her make up her mind. She caught up with her, took hold of her hand, and gave her a tug to get her moving again.
Brenna wasn't paying any attention to her sister. Her gaze was on her husband. It was sheer agony for her to be so close to the man she loved and know she could never be with him again. Didn't he realize he was tormenting her by coming here? Her heart felt as though it were being shredded apart.
She stopped once again before she reached the end of the path. Faith let go of her hand and stepped behind her sister.
A full minute passed without a word being spoken while husband and wife stared at one another. Once again, Faith decided to help. She gave her sister a little shove.
Brenna ignored her. She took a deep breath, held up the medallion, and said, 'This used to belong to you, Connor.'
'It still belongs to me, Brenna. And so do you. Now and forever.'
She shook her head. 'It's too hard,' she cried out.
He removed his sword, handed it to Crispin before he dismounted, and walked forward.
'I'll make it easy for you. Please don't cry. I know I hurt you.'
The priest rushed forward to offer a cloth to Brenna. One look from Connor made him change his mind. He backed away, turned around, and strolled toward Gillian.
Brenna felt as though the world were intruding on her now. When he took hold of her hand and walked down the path toward the gardens, she didn't pull away from him. She kept her head down and thought to wait until they had some privacy before she said good-bye to him.
The lack of privacy didn't bother him at all. 'I know I hurt you. I should have protected you from Raen. I will have to live with my mistake for the rest of my life. I don't expect you to forgive me, Brenna, but I…'
'You aren't responsible for what happened. I should have told you what he was doing. I meant to, but you left before I could get up the nerve. Then he left, and I thought he wouldn't come back. It doesn't matter now anyway. You made your choice when you went to Euphemia.'
He looked astonished. 'Will it make you feel any better to know she's dead?'
'Good Lord, no.'
'All right then,' he said. 'Does knowing that I didn't banish her as I intended make you realize I was considerate of your feelings?'
She turned to look at him. Connor didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to keep himself from taking her into his arms. He was determined that she willingly come to him, and he knew, if he didn't move away from her now, he would lose his battle. He let go of her hand, sat down on the stone wall, and waited for her to join him.
She moved closer, until she stood between his outstretched legs. 'What happened to Euphemia?'
'I'll have to tell you about my father's legacy so that you will understand, but it's a long story. Do you want to hear it?'
There was an overwhelming sadness about him now that tugged at her heart. The strength seemed to go out of him as well. His head was down, his shoulders sagged from the weight he had borne all these many years, and she could feel the ache of his melancholy.
'Do you want to tell me?'
'Yes,' he answered in desperation.
She took a step closer. 'Please tell me now,' she whispered.
He looked relieved. 'I know that Lothar told you about the ruins, and that they would be torn down after I had avenged my father. I want to tell you how he died and what he said to me.'
'He told me you were there during the massacre, and that you were just a boy. I would like you to tell me what happened, but only if you want to. Do you?'
Connor nodded.
'He didn't die easy…'
The past poured out of him in halting, broken sentences. He remembered all of it, remembered the fear he had felt and the hopelessness. She pictured him as a young boy, crawling over burning embers, clutching his father's heavy sword to his heart, and she was in awe of him, for he had more courage and honor than a hundred noble knights. No wonder she loved him so much.
'My father's demand to avenge him became my obsession,' he ended.
She nodded to let him know she understood. 'I have a question to ask you.'
'Yes?'
'Would you demand from your son what your father demanded of you?'
He didn't hesitate in answering. 'If there was a chance that the murderers would come back, I would warn my son to protect himself, and I would tell him to find out who they were so he would know his enemy's name. I would not want to die worrying that he and his family might one day be destroyed, but I would not ask him or demand that he avenge me, Brenna. No, I would never ask that of my son.'
He didn't know that his answer had just reclaimed her future.
He put his hands out in front of him so she could see the scars on his fingers and palms. 'This is my inheritance. I can't remove these marks from me, and I can't change what I am.'
She took hold of his hands and kissed each palm. 'Your hands are beautiful. Whenever you're overburdened or worried, you have only to look at your hands to remember that you are a man of honor and courage, for that is
