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“Enough!” roared his father, slamming his hands down on the table while rising easily from his chair. “I will hear no more of this.”
Aindreas scoffed. “Of course ye won’t. Ye don’t care about anyone but yerself.”
His father shoved a finger in his direction. “That is not true, lad.”
“Ye didn’t care about mother.”
His father’s face fell, and Aindreas felt a chill come over him as he saw the sadness in his gaze. Yet, it didn’t stop him from saying the words, “Ye left her to die on her own. Ye never loved her the way ye should have.”
His father nodded. “Aye, I’ve made mistakes, lad. Everyone makes mistakes.”
Aindreas shook his head. “Not like this.”
His father’s eyes glimmered, and for a moment, Aindreas thought tears would slip. “I have been trying to fix my mistakes.” He sighed, raking his hands through his hair. “These past years, I have tried my best to mend my ways.” He shook his head. “Ye wouldn’t understand. I care for ye like my own, Aindreas. It never mattered to me that ye weren’t of my blood. I-I—”
Aindreas watched him run a quivering hand through his hair. Sweat dripped down his brow, and Aindreas frowned, wondering when his father began looking so frail. His shoulders drooped as if they carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. His body shook as if it was difficult for him to stand, and for once, Aindreas noticed how ill the laird had become. He was unusually pale; his skin had taken on a sickly pallor, reminding him of the night his mother had passed. No, Lady Fiona, Aindreas reminded himself, not his mother.
“Aindreas, I love ye like my own son,” his father continued, tears dripping from his eyes.
Aindreas took a step back. He had never seen the laird so desperate, so broken.
“That is why I am doing this. I am doing everything for ye. Ye must—“
His father choked. His hand clasped at his chest, and he coughed, spitting up blood dribbling down the length of his beard and staining his shirt. The laird’s eyes widened in alarm, his hands trembling as he brought his hand to his gaze, staring down at the red droplets.
“Oh,” he rasped before stumbling forward, his knees buckling. His body dropped in one swift motion, his arms slamming on the desk, trying in vain to catch himself.
“Father!” Aindreas shouted, lunging forward.
His father was slipping from his desk to the floor. Aindreas grabbed him before he fell, helping him into a standing position. His father gasped as he clung to Aindreas’s shoulders, his body heaving and coughing more blood which stained the front of Aindreas’s shirt.
“We need to get ye a healer,” Aindreas rushed out quickly, his voice trembling as he lowered his father into his chair. “I will call for Tavis at once.”
“Nae,” his father said, his tone desperate. He grabbed Aindreas’s arm before he could leave the laird’s side. His grasp was weak, yet Aindreas still paused. He stared down at his father, his gaze filled with horror, his mouth gaping open, at a loss of what to do. “Blair.” He watched his father seep deeper into the chair as if his entire body was melting into it. “Get Blair.” His voice was so weak, different than what Aindreas was used to. It lacked all of its commanding authority.
Aindreas shook his head. “Why Blair?” he whispered while slowly kneeling before his father.
“Ye must,” his father gasped, his eyes rolling to the back of his head before fluttering open. “If ye want to become and remain laird, ye must marry Blair.”
“I don’t understand.” Aindreas grimaced at the crack in his voice, feeling once more like a young lad. He shook his father’s shoulders lightly when the laird didn’t respond. “Why? Why must I marry Blair? She’s- she’s—“
“Please protect her, Aindreas.” His father seized his hand, his grasp tightening and trembling. “Ye must marry her. Promise me ye will marry her.”
Aindreas stared up at his father, his heart pounding in his ears. He couldn’t hide the shock from his face even if he wanted to. Wasn’t Blair his father’s mistress? Perhaps he had thought wrong. Maybe she had been his ward all along.
But how could he become a laird by marrying Blair? She was a simple village girl. He couldn’t marry someone who wasn’t noble. Didn’t his father know that? Or had his illness taken over his mind, commanding him to believe and call for things that made no sense.
“Promise me, lad,” his father whispered. Tears dripped down his cheeks as he gazed down at Aindreas.
Aindreas slowly rose. There was no way he could promise such a thing to his father. “Let me call for Tavis,” he said instead. “Let a healer have a look at ye.”
“Nae, Blair.” His father’s head lulled to the side. “Send in Blair,” he said faintly.
Aindreas turned for the door, reaching for the handle, yet something made him pause, a question he hadn’t thought to ask. Why would he ask for Blair and not Tavis? Wasn’t Tavis Castle Lachlan’s healer?
“Father,” he said while slowly turning around, his heart plummeting when he found his father’s eyes staring lifelessly at the floor, his mouth gaping open.
“Father?” Aindreas shouted, rushing towards him and shaking his shoulders. “Father, answer me!”
But he did not.
