Connor ran a hand through his hair, his mind a whirlwind. “Tell me, did ye hear them speak of why he’s there, or what his dealings with McKay might be?”
David shook his head. “Nay, Laird. They only mentioned him as Michael, and he obeyed the guards without question. We overheard nothin’ of his history or why he’s with them. I feared ye might react thusly, Laird, but I had to bring ye the truth at once.”
Connor clenched his fists, feeling both hope and rage twist in his chest.
“Hope… Hope is a cruel thing, David. It lifts ye and then drops ye into despair. If it truly is Michael, then the world must explain itself. How did he survive? Who dared touch him? And why has McKay taken him under their guard?” His voice trembled, half with fury, half with the raw ache of long-buried love.
David placed a hand lightly on Connor’s shoulder. “We cannae ken all the answers yet, Laird, but we can follow him. We can watch, see what he does, and perhaps find a way to bring himhome.” His eyes were steady, offering the strength Connor felt he might need.
Connor closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply, then opened them with renewed determination. “Aye, we will watch, and we will learn. If McKay has him, they will rue the day they laid hands on me brother. I will find him, and I will keep him safe, even if I must tear the world apart to do it.”
David nodded gravely. “As ye say, Laird. I will prepare the scouts. We will ride discreetly, nay banners, nay attention. Plain cloaks, quiet tongues, and eyes everywhere we go.”
Connor straightened, a steel in his spine returning. “Good. I will gather what I need, and we will not waste another moment. Michael’s life was stolen from me once, David, I will nae lose him a second time.” He paused, running his hand down his face, feeling the mix of anger, relief, and fear swirl inside him. “Gods above, David… if he is truly alive… I must see him with me own eyes.”
David watched him closely, knowing this revelation would change everything. “Ye will, Laird. And when ye do, we will make sure nay harm comes to him again. I swear it.”
Connor nodded, eyes burning with a fierce resolve. “Then ready the horses, David. We move tonight, and we keep our eyes on McKay lands. Michael … if ye are alive, ye shall nay longer hide from yer brother.”
David inclined his head, already thinking of the strategy, while Connor remained frozen for a moment, staring down the road, imagining the face of his lost brother, the years stolen from them both, and the justice he would claim.
Connor followed David, his mind consumed with the revelation of Michael’s survival. He hardly noticed the scent of hay or the low whinnying of the horses, his thoughts a whirlwind of disbelief, hope, and anger at the McKay guards. Every movement felt raw, his hand resting on the pommel of his saddle, his eyes distant as he prepared for the ride. He barely registered the soft footfalls behind him until a familiar voice called out.
“Connor. Wait. Where are ye goin’?” Eva’s voice trembled, carrying a mix of concern and fear.
Connor froze mid-step and spun toward her, his jaw tight, eyes burning.
“It’s none of yer concern, Eva. Daenae fash yerself with what I do.”
Eva’s brow furrowed, hurt flashing across her face. “Ye need nae be so cruel, Connor. Must ye always lash out at me?”
Connor shook his head, his frustration simmering over. “I am nae cruel, lass. I am… busy. Do ye nae see? I have things that require me attention.”
Eva stepped closer, her voice rising. “Busy? Or just usin’ that as an excuse to push me away? I cannae handle these moods of yers anymore. One moment ye are kind, and the next… it’s as if I mean nothin’.”
Connor’s hands clenched at his sides. “Ye think ye understand, but ye daenae. This is somethin’ I cannae explain.”
Eva’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Then maybe I shouldnae try. Maybe I should stop carin’ at all if ye will nae speak to me.”
Connor’s throat tightened. He wanted to tell her, to spill the truth of Michael, to let her share the burden and the hope, but he could not.
“Eva… ye ken nothin’ of it. Leave it be.”
Eva’s hands clenched at her sides. “Leave it be? I daenae think I can… I… I cannae handle yer silence, Connor.”
With that, she spun on her heel and walked away, leaving Connor standing frozen in the stable aisle. The echo of her footsteps lingered like a knife in his chest. He felt the weight of guilt pressing down on him, a sudden clarity dawning; he had fallen for her, heart and soul, in spite of himself.
Connor’s mind raced, images of her face, her fiery spirit, the way her eyes looked at him, all mingling with the urgency of the news David had brought. He swore silently to himself that when hereturned, if he returned successfully with Michael, he would tell her everything. He would tell her how much she meant to him, how she had become the first thought in his morning and the last at night.
For now, though, there was no time for confessions, no time for tenderness. His brother’s life, his flesh and blood, hung in the balance, and Connor would see him brought home if fate permitted. Every muscle in his body coiled with anticipation, his pulse hammering as he mounted his horse. The weight of the responsibility, the past, and the unknown future pressed on him like never before.
He looked back once, over the dark stables, at the place where Eva had stood. The memory of her expression, hurt and fierce, lingered, gnawing at his resolve even as determination sharpened it. He exhaled, forcing himself to focus. Michael’s life was out there somewhere, and Connor would not fail him again, not after twelve long years of loss.
David’s hand rested on the reins of the first horse, eyes steady and expectant. “Are ye ready, Laird?” he asked, his voice carrying the weight of shared history and trust.
Connor nodded, gripping his reins tightly. “Aye, David. We ride for McKay lands. Keep yer wits sharp and yer eyes open. We find him, or we return knowin’ what has been done.”
The horses whinnied, pawing the ground, as if sensing the urgency of their master’s heart. Connor swung into the saddle, feeling the familiar strain of leather and muscle beneath him,the wind brushing against his face, and the bite of cold morning air sharpening his senses. Each thought of Eva, each pang of longing and guilt, was locked away for the moment, set aside in favor of duty and family.
