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“Damon has come back,” the servant said. “Seems he was told to brin’ a certain person back wit’ him.”
“And did he?” Conner asked as his heart swelled. For a moment he couldn’t believe the news. He had, after all, only sent Damon out this morning and to have him come back so soon filled him with hope.
“Aye, M’Laird. They await ye in the study.”
Conner glanced to Olivia. A prick of guilt stabbed him but it quickly vanished as he saw her lips curl at the corners.
“Go,” she said without hesitation or malice in her tone. “It’s what ye’ve been pinin’ for all day.”
“I wouldnae say that,” Conner said as he moved to her. Leaning down, he kissed her tenderly on the forehead. “Daenae be out here too long. Ye heard the thunder. I wouldnae want ye to catch a death of cold when the the winds pick up.”
“As ye wish, M’Laird,” Olivia said. Conner gazed at her suspiciously, wondering if she would take his warning seriously. But he didn’t have time to argue. Within the walls of his study he knew he’d finally get some answers he had so desperately needed.
“See to the horses,” Conner said to the boy. The young lad smiled as he eyed the white mare beside Olivia.
“Aye, of course,” the servant said with a smile.
Conner stole one last glimpse at Olivia before taking off to the main entrance. His muscles trembled as he climbed the stairs to the door. With each step he took, he found his heart beating ever faster. It was as if he were the storm coming to ravage through the barren moors and glens.
Pushing through the doors of his study, Conner paused. Damon sat in the plush seat near the fireplace, hunched over with his back to the door. But it wasn’t Damon Conner wanted to see. Sitting across from Damon he recognized the old man, Henry. It had been years since Conner laid eyes on him, but he knew it was Henry the moment he saw him.
Rolling his shoulders back, Conner moved into the room. His heart quickened as he tried to keep his hands from trembling. In the pit of his stomach he knew Henry had the answers he wanted.
“Ah, there ye are,” Damon said as Conner passed by him. “We’ve been waitin’ for ye. Henry here has been tellin’ me the most interestin’ stories about this place and his time here.”
“Has he now?” Conner said as he moved to the small table where three bottles resided. Trying not to let the bottle clink, Conner poured himself a dram of the whiskey and took it in one gulp to ease his nerves. Now that he had the old man in his presence, Conner’s mind went blank. Although he had several questions he wanted to ask, none of them came to the surface.
“Now what right dae ye have to pull me from me bed?” Henry demanded as he slapped his hand to his knee.
“Mind yerself, ole man, that’s Laird Ó Riagáin yer speakin’ to,” Damon snapped. Henry’s bushy eyebrow rose a tad as he leaned back in his chair.
“Are ye now?” Henry asked as Conner turned around to face both men.
“I am,” Conner said. “When my faither passed, the title landed on my shoulders.”
“Even wit’ a fancy title ye have nay right,” Henry grumbled as he folded his hands together with a scowl. “And whatever ye think yer goin’ to get out of me, yer wrong. I daenae care what O’Reily told ye about me. It’s his word against mine.”
“I didnae brin’ ye here to discuss O’Reily,” Conner said as he exchanged a confused glance with Damon. Damon shrugged and turned his attention back to the old man across from him.
“Then what?” Henry asked.
“Ye worked here once, did ye nae?” Conner asked as he poured another drink and filled the second glass with the liquor. With both glasses in his hand, Conner moved closer to Damon and stood between them. Extending the dram to Henry, Conner waited for the old man to take it.
With a suspicious glare, Henry’s lips twitched. Conner could see he was debating on taking the glass offered to him. Licking his lips, Henry shifted his attention to Damon a moment, as if waiting for Damon to give him the go ahead to take the glass.
“It’s nae poisoned,” Conner said, lifting his glass to his lips and taking a sip from it. Only after Conner swallowed the lot down, did Henry steal the dram that was offered to him. Conner watched as Henry’s eyes widened with delight at the smell.
“I used to make this for the previous laird, ye ken. He liked it stout. He told me to make it burn like Hades.”
“Ye ken my faither, did ye?” Conner asked, hoping the old man’s lips would loosen after a few drinks.
“I did. Fine man he was. I am sorry for yer loss though,” Henry said as he sipped on the whiskey as if to savor every bit of it.
“That was a long time ago,” Conner said. “In truth I didnae even ken him. He died when I was just a wee lad, only here high.” Conner lifted his hand to his thigh and sighed.
“Well if ye didnae come to chide me about the O’Reily’s then what did ye call me here for? Ye ken I have lands that need tended to. It’s nae like I have any sons to fend off them dirty scoundrels that keep comin’ about harrassin’ my cattle.”
“Which clan is harrassin’ ye?” Conner asked as his heart seemed to skip violently in his chest.
