Minutes passed, heavy and tense, as Connor studied every movement, every gesture. The lad reached for bread, pushed it away, and stared into the fire as if lost in thought. Connor wondered what name he answered to, what stories he’d been fed, and whether he remembered anything at all. The questions clawed at him, but he stayed silent.
At last, Connor leaned toward David and spoke with quiet resolve. “Slow and careful, then.” Connor’s gaze never left the boy as he finished, “Aye, for if that is me brother, I’ll nae lose him a second time. When he leaves, we will wait but a moment, then follow him.”
Connor watched. The lad spoke little to anyone, nodding once to the innkeeper before finishing his bread and rising at last. Connor followed every movement, noting the easy strength in the boy’s limbs and the way he carried himself like kin. When the door closed behind the lad, Connor stood at once.
He leaned toward David and spoke low. “That’s our chance, we follow him now.”
David nodded, already rising. “Aye, me laird, steady and quiet.”
They slipped out into the cold air biting, as they trailed the boy across the yard toward the stables.
The stable yard lay hushed save for horses shifting in their stalls and the creak of leather. The lad moved with purpose, loosening his mount’s reins as if readying to leave. Connor stepped forward, his heart pounding so hard he feared it might give him away.
“Michael?” he called, his voice rough.
The boy turned sharply, hand half-lifted in caution. “Aye,” he said after a breath, eyes narrowing, “I’m Michael.”
Connor stared at him, the world narrowing to the line of his jaw, the familiar tilt of his brow. This was him, his long-lost brother, flesh and blood, alive before him after twelve barren years. Connor swallowed, steadying himself against the flood of relief and grief.
Michael frowned slightly and asked, “What can I do for ye, lads?”
“There’s much to tell ye,” Connor said, forcing calm he did not feel, “but I cannae do it here.”
He stepped closer and added, “It’s best ye come with us.”
Michael’s brow furrowed deeper as he asked, “Go where?”
Connor opened his mouth, then closed it again, words failing him entirely. His thoughts were a snarl of memory and urgency, of fear that any delay would cost him everything. Instead of explaining, he turned and gestured sharply.
“Just follow me,” he said, voice stern.
Michael took a step back, eyes darting as boots sounded behind him. Two guards emerged from the shadows, and David moved to stand at Michael’s shoulder.
David spoke evenly, “Best do as the Laird says, lad, we mean ye nay harm.”
Michael’s jaw clenched, his gaze flicking between them all.
Connor moved swiftly, tying the reins of Michael’s horse to his own with practiced hands.
“Get on,” he said, softer now but no less firm.
Michael hesitated, fingers tightening around the saddle horn.
“Why should I trust ye?” he asked, suspicion thick in his tone.
Connor straightened, meeting his eyes squarely. “Because if ye want the truth of who ye are, truly are, ye’ll come with us this day.”
The words struck home. Connor watched as Michael’s breath caught as doubt flickered across his face.
For a long moment, Michael stood frozen. At last, he swung up into the saddle, shoulders stiff with tension. Connor mounted as well, giving a short nod to David. Without another word, they rode from the yard, hooves muffled against the dirt road as the village lights fell away behind them.
The path stretched wide and uncertain as they left McKay lands, the road unspooling beneath them like fate itself.
Connor rode with his gaze fixed ahead, senses sharp for any pursuit. Beside him, Michael kept silent, his presence both a miracle and a burden.
Connor’s chest ached as he thought.
I daenae feel right forcin’ him so,butwhat choice have I, if I mean to keep him alive this time?
