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And his father hadn’t been there.
He had never been there.
The door opened, and Aindreas straightened from the desk, crossing his arms while he watched his father enter the room. He watched Laird MacBean kick the door closed, scrutinizing his father’s grey beard and greying brown hair, appearing half the man he remembered him to be. He was tall with broad shoulders and muscular arms, but recently he seemed less inclined to spar with his soldiers and more willing to sit in his study. Aindreas took note of his father’s legs trembling as they carried his weight forward. His father’s once tanned face was now gaunt and pale, with freckles marring his cheeks. Aindreas nearly felt sorry for the old man before him, now completely different from the warrior he once was.
Yet, the truth of what his mother whispered to him that night held him back from feeling any pity for the man before him.
His father shook his head while he glared at Aindreas. “I’ve about had enough of ye, lad,” he said lowly. “Ye will apologize to Blair. Tonight.”
Aindreas laughed, finding no amusement in the situation, but he knew how much it irritated his father. “And here it starts,” he said while turning around and facing the window, remembering when he was a young boy, his father used to stand at the window and watch him train with the guards. He had enjoyed those times. He had wanted his father’s affection, his pride.
“Ye will treat Blair kindly.”
Aindreas continued laughing.
Now, he didn’t know what he wanted from his father, if he could really call him that.
“I mean it, Aindreas. If ye want to continue living under my roof, ye will do what’s asked of ye.”
“And what of ye, Father?” Aindreas leaned towards Laird MacBean, towering over him. “How could ye bring a stranger here? How could ye bring her? We are upon war and hear ye are taking in potential spies. Are we to open all our doors to every lass with a bonnie face?”
“What I do is for the clan. It’s also for ye, Aindreas.”
Aindreas threw his hands into the air. “How is it for me, Father? All ye ever think about is yerself.”
“That’s not true.”
“‘Tis the truth,” said Aindreas while brushing past the laird and stalking towards the door. “Now if ye excuse me, Father,” he said while throwing open the door. “I’ve had about enough of ye, as well.” He slammed the door and stomped down the hall, ignoring the servant girls batting their eyelashes at him.
He was in no mood.
Aindreas didn’t know where he was going. He only knew he didn’t want to be anywhere near his father, nor did he want the laird finding him. His feet took him to the stable, and he stalked down the narrow path inside, looking for his horse.
“My laird,” the stable master bowed low while he took his horse’s reins. “May I-“
Aindreas ignored him as he hoisted his body onto the beast, urging the horse forward. He ignored the gazes of several soldiers sparring within the courtyard. His gaze narrowed on Daniel with Marcus, who both looked at him with concern.
He didn’t want their concern.
He wanted his father to start treating him like the future of this clan.
Once outside the castle’s walls, he kicked his horse into a run, flicking the reins against the horse's haunches. The horse whinnied and bolted through the pastures. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back, enjoying the wind whipping through his hair, focusing on the rhythm of the horse’s breathing under him rather than the pain stabbing through his heart.
He opened his eyes, finding himself coming upon a familiar tree. It was the only one growing outside the wood in the middle of the field. It reminded him of days when he was a young lad. Often, he found his mother sitting under this tree while he ran through the fields, playing with Daniel and Marcus, pretending to be soldiers at war. Sometimes his mother would sit and watch them while knitting a wool cap. Often more than not, she would be sitting under the tree crying.
Aindreas dismounted his horse as they drew closer to the tree. He grabbed the reins, leading his horse forward towards an upturned trunk, often used as a seat. The trunk was thick, with large branches he once climbed on with Marcus. Alisa wouldn’t permit Daniel to join them, worried her son would fall and injure himself. Many times Marcus and Aindreas would taunt him while swinging upside down from one of the branches.
That was, until, Aindreas had fallen.
After that, Aindreas no longer teased Daniel about not climbing, especially since he was bedridden for the next several days for breaking his arm. Tavis had set it after a firm scolding while Alisa had admonished his mother for her lack of parenting.
His aunt had always been different from his mother.
The only similarity had been their looks with their brown hair and brown eyes. They were both tall and lithe, yet that was where their similarities ended. His mother, the late Lady Fiona MacBean, had been a very kind woman. Aindreas remembered how she had kissed his bruises and aided Tavis with wrapping his injuries. She had wanted him to enjoy every moment of life, often taking him out to the fields to play with Marcus. Lady Fiona had seen to it he was well-read and knew his numbers. She had raised him as if he was a laird-to-be.
Yet, there had always been a sadness behind her gaze.
Aindreas had always wanted to make her smile. He had wanted to rid her of whatever darkness haunted her.
