Page 50 of Highlander's Battle of Hearts

Chapter Twenty-One

Aindreas

“Aindreas?”

Aindreas felt someone shaking his shoulder, yet he couldn’t move, couldn’t blink. He could still see his father sitting in his chair, his gaze lifeless, blood dribbling from his mouth. One moment he was alive, and then next, he was gone.

“Aindreas?”

Why had he not known of his father’s illness? He searched his memories, recalling the trembling in his father’s hands, his pale flesh, the sweating on his brow. There were so many hints alluding to his disease, yet at the time, Aindreas hadn’t noticed them at all. Did his anger for the man blind him? Was he really so cruel as to dismiss his father’s health?

“Aindreas!”

He jumped, turning towards the sound, his eyes widening on the priest standing next to him, dressed in his dark robes. Looking around, he found himself inside the chapel, sitting at the pews with his hands clasped together as if in prayer. The eyes of Christ following him with each breath he took. He felt faint. He felt like he was going to be sick.

“Why are ye here, lad? Is something wrong?”

Aindreas shook his head. He couldn’t remember what had happened. He had opened his father’s study, shouting for help. The maid had dropped her platter of tea. The contents had spilled all over the floor. Looking down at his hands, he could see the blood still dripping from his palm where he had cut himself when he tried to help the servant. She had screamed when she saw his father dead in his chair.

And then what?

Aindreas’s eyes squinted as he tried to remember. He recalled grabbing a guard in the courtyard, demanding he find Tavis. Then Alisa had stepped forth, sending him to the chapel to bring the priest. If he had been in his right mind, he would have ignored her and rushed back to his father. However, he felt like a ghost, gliding from place to place, not knowing where he was going or what he should do next.

“Aindreas?”

The priest stared at him with worry, his hand on Aindreas’s shoulder. Aindreas opened his mouth, yet no words came forth. They were tied within his throat, refusing to leave.

“Do ye want to ask for forgiveness?”

Aindreas’s head bobbed up and down. The priest motioned towards the confessional, but he found himself unable to move from the pews. There were so many eyes watching him, commanding him to fulfill his father’s wishes.

But he couldn’t.

“The laird is dead,” Aindreas rushed out, his tongue feeling numb.

The priest blinked. He took a step back, a hand flying to his chest. “Laird MacBean is dead.”

Aindreas chuckled. He didn’t know what was funny. Honestly, he felt like he was going to vomit or burst into tears, but he couldn’t stop laughing, finding the whole situation absolutely demented. His father had died fighting with him. He had died, wanting to make everything right and yet demanding Aindreas do something he could not.

“Aindreas?”

Aindreas wiped away the tears falling from his eyes, smiling back at the priest, who appeared both shocked and worried.

“Where is yer father?”

Aindreas turned away from him, gazing up at the cross. His bottom lip quivered, and he bit it to keep himself from breaking down in front of the priest. “His study,” he whispered, unable to raise his voice any louder for fear it would break him.

“Then we should go to him, lad,” said the priest, grabbing Aindreas’s hand and tugging him away from the pew.

Aindreas shook his head, holding his ground while he stared up at the cross. “I will pray here a little longer,” he said softly.

He waited for the priest to admonish him, demand he tends to his father. He was happy when he felt the priest’s hand slip away, his steps growing distant as the door closed between them. Aindreas hung his head, not knowing what to do. He felt broken, like the whole world had tilted, and he was barely holding on.

“Father is dead,” he whispered to himself, finding it difficult to believe even though he knew it to be true.

The only man he had ever looked up to was dead. And they had been fighting. They had spent their last moments together arguing, and it tore Aindreas into pieces knowing that he had never apologized to his father; they had never forgiven each other for their ill words.

Aindreas rose from the pews, unable to handle the eyes of Christ watching him, judging him for his misdeeds. He wiped his eyes and stalked out of the chapel, telling himself he should return to his father’s study. There was too much to be done. He would need to plan the funeral, speak with Cambel before he left, and fix the final mistakes his father made before his passing.

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