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I lean against Luke’s lean bulk, brushing my cheek against the smooth silk of his pajamas, my muscles as tense as vises, my heartbeat peaking like mountaintops, too terrified to cry, and waiting for oblivion.
16
MacKechnie breathes out a long sigh of relief, and I turn to see the red wire sliced in two. “It’s done,” he confirms, resolute.
That’s when I cry, when the relief rockets through every tensed-up, tightly wound fiber of me. I sag into Luke, pressing my eyes against his nape, sobbing uncontrollably. “I didn’t want to lose you,” I whisper, over and over, as he plants adoring kisses on my hairline. “I didn’t want to lose you…”
Luke peels me away from him, holding me at arm’s length to watch me quietly. His thumb glides beneath my eye sockets, following the messy trails of my tears, and I see the same glimmer mirrored in his dark brown eyes. “We live for another day,” he says hollowly, the truth but with a wry lilt, and he glances up at Finlay, squeezing his palm. “We’re safe, friend.”
“Not quite,” MacKechnie interrupts in a grave voice. “We need to leave as a matter of urgency.”
My ears are ringing. I notice for the first time that MacKechnie’s dressed in his usual clothes — black pants, black top, black padding all over. I’m starting to think this uniform is his permanent state of dress, even at night, so that he may prepare more easily to flee with Luke.
“This should never have happened,” he adds bitterly, rising to his feet with a look of regret. Reluctantly, he meets Luke’s eyes, and I realize how deeply ashamed he is, that he must believe he’s failed his charge.
“We knew something like this could happen,” Luke states diplomatically, and I’ve missed that deep, sovereign voice. He rises to his feet, looking down at the dead man. The front layer of toweling is mostly white, and Luke examines his face with an unreadable expression. “He doesn’t look much older than us.”
“I accounted for every eventuality,” MacKechnie continues, muttering to himself. “I set a great many alarms and traps. And yet this still happened.”
Luke frowns gently at him. “No system is infallible, Mack.” And despite everything, I find myself smiling slightly at the tenderness of this nickname. MacKechnie had always seemed to me so strict and faraway, impossible to be humanized with a simple nickname, and yet… “We did the best we could, and your resourcefulness meant we managed to reside here for almost two months unscathed.”
MacKechnie nods, running a hand down his face. He seems entirely blase about the fact he’s just killed a man at point-blank range. But then he’s been Luke’s guard forever — who knows how many threats he’s disposed of in the name of the crown. “We need to move quickly, Your Highness. We don’t know how many he could have told of his plans.”
“I understand,” Luke acknowledges. He glances at me kneeling beside the dead man, then slides a more concerned gaze to Finlay. “Would you be able to make the necessary arrangements, Mack?” His eyes don’t leave Finlay’s stricken face. “Somewhere appropriate for these two?”
MacKechnie nods, turning on his heel.
“Wait! W-what are we doing about…?” I gesture nervously down at the fallen man, unsure how to address him.
“Wearen’t doing anything,” MacKechnie answers through his severe, frowning mouth. “As far as I’m concerned,you’resupposed to be in school. I’ll dispose of the body.” The way he phrases this makes me wonder at the speed at which a human deteriorates to a body, from ahimto anit.
As MacKechnie passes Finlay, he places a consolatory hand on his shoulder. “You did well, by the way,” he says sincerely. “Soldiers braver than you would have fared no better.” Finlay’s expression softens slightly. He looks at the three of us — me on the floor, too unconfident to stand; Finlay still clutching the dead man like a necessary talisman; and Luke eyeing us both like jewels to be treasured in a secret lockbox. “I know there’s been much excitement tonight but I encourage all of you to pack this minute.”
We nod. And yet, when MacKechnie leaves us, Luke rounds on Finlay instantly. “Drop him,” he orders, and Finlay, looking petrified, shakes his head. “You need to leave him, Fin.”
“I could have saved him,” Finlay mumbles through weak lips, voice hoarse and scratchy. They’re the first words he’s spoken in a long time. “He could have lived.”
“And we could havedied,” Luke counters. He steps closer to Finlay. When Finlay turns to him, his green gaze soft with confusion, Luke adds in a strange, lilting tone, “I was watching, listening, from my bedroom. You were prepared to kill him. You would have choked him, taken his life, his breath — for me.”
Finlay swallows. “I’ve never felt anything like it. Like it was happening through me, not because of me. My only instinct was to stop him any way I could. Had to keep you and Jessa safe.”
Luke’s eyes flick down at me. I’m still kneeling on the floor, clutching a bundle of soft white towels like a comfort blanket. His gaze returns to Finlay. “You would have murdered a man,” he reiterates slowly, “for me. You would have saved me.”
“Course I would,” Finlay says, and for the first time a semblance of emotion, impatience, tinges his voice. “Why d’ye think I’d no’?”
But Luke is staring at Finlay anew — and I realize his perception of Finlay has radically altered tonight. No longer the source of Luke’s mistrust and ire, as he’d divulged in private to me and Danny on the rowboat; Finlay, in his eyes, has thoroughly redeemed himself.
“Thank you,” Luke says graciously, the sincerity of his voice painful and raw, but Finlay remains bewildered. “You still don’t understand,” Luke realizes, a small half-smile lighting his lips. “You showed me yourself tonight, Fin. The courage in your heart. Your love for me. I believe that means we’re equal now.”
“Equal?” Finlay repeats dazedly, when only hours ago, on Arthur’s Seat, he’d shielded his heart to prevent upset by being adamant that none of us were equal. These rare words from Luke fly in the face of those tormented beliefs.
“A life has been exchanged for my mother’s — and you would have done it yourself had Mack not got there first.”
“So then,” Finlay begins slowly, raising his eyes from the floor, “I have no obligation tae the Crown any mair.”
It’s a whisper, a note of hope, and Luke indulges him with an elegant shrug. “If that is your wish.” He raises his hands by his sides in a placating gesture. “Despite all that has happened, all that has led to tonight, well… my forgiveness is entirely yours, Finlay Fraser.”
It’s everything Finlay’s ever wanted. These words, explicit in their intent, are enough to rouse him. For so long, Luke’s forgiveness, his acceptance, had been the one thing missing between them. And even in the aftermath of the island — it had only been the start of a journey toward forgiveness, never the conclusion. Finlay blinks multiple times, realizes he’s still holding tightly to the dead man’s body, and places him delicately on the bloodstained carpet behind us.
