Page 83 of Redemption for the Baron

Thomas, braced for a confrontation, looked as though someone had just knocked the wind from him.

“Ah, Grenville!” McConnell greeted warmly. “Or should I say, Thomas? We’ve much to discuss, lad.”

Thomas blinked. “I—pardon?”

Huntington’s gaze settled on Bridget with surprising familiarity. “And you, Bridget,” he said, his tone almost indulgent. “I hope my son hasn’t given you too much trouble.”

Bridget opened her mouth. Then closed it.

Thomas stared at the two men, his brows drawing together as if he’d misheard. His father and Laird McConnell, laughing, speaking as though they were old friends? The very idea unsettled him, knocking the breath from his lungs.

His father, the man who had built a reputation on measured control and political maneuvering, stood shoulder to shoulder with McConnell, the very embodiment of the Highland resilience Thomas had spent years trying to understand. It didn’t make sense.

A strange tightness settled in his chest. He’d spent years carrying the weight of their silence, of their absence. And now, to find they’d been allies all along. It felt like betrayal laced withrelief. How could they have kept this from him? And why did part of him want to forgive them anyway?

His jaw tightened. “You’ve been working together?” His voice was quieter than he intended, rough with disbelief.

Neither man hesitated.

McConnell clapped Huntington on the back once more, unfazed. “Aye, lad. And for longer than you’d think.”

Thomas shook his head slowly. “No. That’s not possible.” His father had been absent, indifferent. And McConnell? His contempt for the English had been clear. For years, Thomas had thought, hadknown,exactly where these men stood.

And yet, here they were.

Bridget’s voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and incredulous. “But you… youhatedhim,” she accused, gesturing toward Huntington. “You blamed him for everything—”

McConnell sighed, his expression softening. “I never hated him, Bridget. I hated what happened. I hated the suffering. But your mother—” His throat worked for a moment before he continued. “She made me promise not to let hatred blind me to the good in men. Huntington had power. I had knowledge. Separately, we could do nothing. Together, we could help.”

Thomas exhaled slowly, his thoughts still catching up to the truth unfolding before him. “And you never thought to tell us?” The words came out sharper than intended, but his father met his gaze without flinching.

“Because it was too dangerous.”

McConnell nodded. “The Order had already taken too much from our people. We couldn’t risk them turning their attention to you and Bridget. Keeping you in the dark kept you safe.”

Bridget stiffened. “So you just decided for us?”

McConnell’s eyes softened, but his voice remained firm. “Aye, lass. And I’d do it again if it meant keeping you alive.”

Huntington sighed. “It wasn’t an easy decision. But we knew the burden of what we were doing. We chose to carry it alone.”

Thomas exhaled again, but this time it came with a bitter smile. “All those years I thought you were distant out of disapproval. Turns out, you were just hiding secrets.”

Huntington stepped forward, his gaze steady. “I may not have shown it, Thomas, but I was always proud of the man you became. That strength came from within you.”

Later, when the others had left the room, Thomas remained behind.

Bridget lingered near the door, watching him. “You’re taking this better than I would.”

He shook his head slowly. “I’m not. I just… I’ve spent so long resenting him. I don’t know what to do with this version of the truth.”

Bridget stepped closer, not touching him, just close enough to share the silence. “Maybe you don’t have to do anything with it. Not yet.”

“Maybe.” He glanced at her. “But I know one thing.”

“What’s that?”

He gave a ghost of a smile. “If my father and McConnell conspired to bring us together… I can’t find it in me to be angry about that.”

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