Conall strode steadily beside her, his expression unreadable. She wondered what thoughts were hidden behind those piercing gray eyes.
A distant sound came to her: the barking of dogs echoing over the landscape. She looked around in surprise and noticed that sheep dotted the hills in the distance like little wooly clouds, and she even spotted one of two people—shepherds by the look of them.
They soon came upon a winding dry-stone wall and walked along it, its weathered stones blanketed in silvery lichen. Molly reached out, brushing her fingers along the uneven surface. How many centuries had passed since these rocks were first placed? The wall had witnessed generations live and die, yet still it stood, enduring stoically.
Molly envied its solidity, its permanence in the face of time’s steady march. She wished some of its steadfastness would seep into her bones.
Their trail began to lead downwards, hugging the far side of the hills she and Conall had climbed and all of a sudden she got a view of the valley spreading out below. She halted in surprise. Before her sprawled a sweeping vista—emerald fields dotted with grazing sheep, a patchwork of crops in varying shades of green and gold, and a shimmering loch that reflected the slate-gray sky.
But it was the castle rising from an island in the middle of the loch that truly took Molly’s breath. It was enormous, its walls gleaming and towers reaching towards the sky. A wide river flowed from the loch towards the sea and there were houses along both shores of the river and boats bobbed on its surface. The village looked prosperous, the castle looked powerful, unassailable.
“The Pinnacle,” Conall breathed.
Molly glanced at him, seeing the tension in his shoulders and the set of his jaw.
“Aye,” said the leader, coming to stand beside them and staring down at the scene with his hands on his hips. He smirked at Conall.
“Welcome home, Lord Sinclair.”
Chapter 14
As Conall stared outat his childhood home, at the place that in so many ways had shaped him into the man he was today, he felt none of the emotions he might be expected to feel. No swell of nostalgic happiness, no pleasure at being home, no feeling of pride at all his family had achieved. Instead, he only felt a deepening sense of dread.
What are ye involved in?he thought.What have ye done?
He could feel Molly’s eyes on him. She said nothing, but he could sense her surprise at what the guard captain had said. Conall didn’t know the man—which was no surprise. He had walked out of here many years ago and there had no doubt been lots of changes since then. But the man seemed to know Conall—by reputation at least. His sarcastic deference and his sneer at the use of the term ‘lord’ was testament to that.
The derision no longer bothered him. He’d had many years to get used to it. Let the people of this valley think what they would of him. He knew the truth and that’s what mattered.
At last he could bear Molly’s scrutiny no longer. He turned to look at her. Her eyes burned with questions. Her lips parted slightly, a slow breath escaping them and Conall couldn’t help thinking back to their kiss.
He could not regret it. Kissing Molly had felt... incredible. He wanted to feel like that again. He wanted to take Molly in his arms, wanted to smell her hair in his nostrils, wanted to taste her lips on his, wanted to hear the whisper of her indrawn breath.
But he could not. Not now. Maybe not ever. If coming back here had reminded him of one thing, it was that he had nothing to offer her. Nothing at all.
“Follow my lead,” he murmured, low enough for only her to hear. “Trust me.”
