Page 6 of Highlander's Battle of Hearts

Chapter Three

Aindreas

“The father, the son, the holy spirit, amen,” Aindreas muttered while moving his hands across his body.

He rose from his seat within the confessional and parted the crimson curtains. Looking around the room, he found the chapel’s pews empty. Morning mass had ended nearly an hour ago, and he had spoken with the priest, confessing his sins and receiving his punishment. If it weren’t for his pride and his wrath, he assumed he wouldn’t need to attend, yet every day those mortal sins grew stronger within his heart, making it more difficult for him to forgive his father’s transgressions.

Aindreas’s gaze landed on the glass panes decorating either side of the church’s walls. They lingered on the images for a brief moment, admiring the depiction of Christ dressed in all white with red rays circling from behind as he held out his arms to his people. Staring at the image, Aindreas felt both guilty and frustrated.

How had Christ followed his father’s words so easily? he wondered while clenching his jaw, feeling anger seep once more into his heart at his father’s leaving. Three days had passed since anyone had seen the Laird MacBean, and there was no sign of his whereabouts. Aindreas was beginning to worry his father had fallen along his journey. The man was old. It wasn’t inconceivable, which made Aindreas even more frustrated by the fact his father hadn’t taken any soldiers with him on his trip. The old man acted as if they weren’t on the verge of war. There could be MacAlisters hiding in the woods or boars scaring the horses. There was also a torrential downpour of rain just the other day, which could have held up his father. Aindreas was tempted to send out a search party, but the fool had spoken to no one as to where he had intended to journey.

With a frustrated sigh, Aindreas bowed his head to the cross at the front of the chapel before briskly walking towards the door, wondering if Marcus was in the mood for a sparring match. He needed to keep his mind off his father and on the upcoming Cambel visit. If he played his cards right, he could be married to Sorcha by the end of the summer, and everything would be well and sorted.

As he reached for the door’s metal handle, it flew open, nearly hitting Aindreas’s hand. The door bounded against the wall while Aindreas stepped back in alarm as Marcus’s body took up the whole entrance to the chapel. His friend’s face looked shocked, as if he had seen an apparition within the castle’s walls. Aindreas feared for the worst, wondering if his father’s body was found off the dirt path. At the thought, pain seized his heart, stabbing through him and making it difficult to breathe.

“Sir,” Marcus gasped, wiping away the sweat dripping down his brow. “Yer father has returned.”

Aindreas blinked, and all thoughts of worry left him as anger flooded back through him. If the old fool had just told someone where he had gone off to, he wouldn’t have to feel so concerned, Aindreas thought while pushing Marcus to the side. He brushed past his friend and stepped onto the small dirt path leading towards the courtyard, wanting to give his father a piece of his mind; about how at his age he shouldn’t be traveling on his own, or he should at least tell his only son about his journeys rather than his nephew. There were so many things he wanted to yell at his father, but when he stepped into the courtyard, all thought left him. He paused, his mouth hanging open while he watched his father dismount his black stallion. The old fool looked worn and exhausted, yet he still held his head high while handing the reins to the stable master.

And he wasn’t alone.

Aindreas’ eyebrows furrowed while he watched his father reach for the cloaked person on the brown mare, lifting them down and onto the cobblestones. The hood of their green cloak fell at the movement, displaying a head full of long raven hair. Her ears peeked out from the silky locks, making Aindreas wonder if his father had kidnapped one of the fae folk. The dress she wore seemed old and hung off her body as if the garment was made for someone else. Emerald eyes scanned the area, appearing frightened and worried. They completely stopped his heart, and Aindreas felt breathless as he stared at the creature before him. From where he stood, her skin was like porcelain; her face stolen from the angels of the heavens.

As her eyes landed on him, Aindreas quickly turned so his back was facing her. He didn’t know what he was doing or why he felt the need to hide. All he knew was something inside him boiled underneath that gaze, something he shouldn’t be feeling towards a commoner at all. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched his father place a hand on the base of her back and gently nudge her towards the keep.

He frowned. His gaze narrowed on that old speckled hand. The more he stared, the more his stomach churned. It was only a simple touch, yet Aindreas felt anger boil once more within him, and he didn’t know what he would do first: be sick all over the courtyard at the thought his father was with a woman younger than his son, or grab his father and insist he disposes of her at once.

Aindreas shook his head, rubbing his eyes. He wondered if he was seeing correctly, but he still found his father’s hand on the woman’s back when he reopened them. It was such a tender gesture. One Aindreas had given to many women residing in the surrounding villages. Still, he couldn’t believe his eyes. His father had brought a woman of the night to the castle. So much for being an angel, he thought while his hands fisted. Now that his mother rested in the ground, his father thought this was the perfect time to move his mistress into the castle.

And apparently, his father liked them young, possibly even pitiful looking, given her attire. His eyes raked over her body, staring shrewdly at the simple, brown dress. A yellow-stained apron was tied around her waist. The torn hem hung beneath her frazzled cloak. The cloth appeared clean yet hardly tailored for a lady. Everything about her reeked of poverty. Aindreas wondered if pitiful-looking creatures were to his father’s taste as he found himself slowly following them towards the keep.

If his father truly believed he could live happily ever after with his mistress while Aindreas still lived and breathed, he had another thing coming. There was no way he would permit such an arrangement. Aindreas’s hands shook as he followed them through the doors, ignoring the questioning looks of guards and servants passing him. His scowl darkened, realizing why his father hadn’t spoken of his journey.

For why would he tell his son he was collecting his mistress?

If he could even be called the laird’s son...

Aindreas paused at the entrance to the great hall, watching his father introduce the woman to the village speakers standing at the center. They dipped their heads into a polite bow, their eyes assessing her while a smile graced their lips.

His father wanted to introduce his mistress to those of the castle, then so be it. Aindreas straightened his back and smoothed his tartan. He smiled cruelly and stepped towards the pair, watching his father slowly turn, his eyes widening upon him.

“Aindreas,” Laird MacBean said while turning towards him. “There ye are. There is someone I want ye to meet.” He nudged the woman at his side, and she turned, smiling softly up at him. “This is Miss Blair. She will be staying with us from here on. Blair, this is my son, Aindreas.”

Aindreas watched Blair grab her skirts and dip into an awkward curtsy, one unpracticed and lacking grace. “It’s a pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Aindreas.”

He hated the way she said his name; he hated the way her voice sent shivers down his spine. It was soothing as if calling for him to touch her. Her eyes stared up at him innocently, nearly fooling him once more. Yet, he couldn’t stop his heart slamming in his chest and the warmth spreading through him under her gaze.

“Son, is it now, Father?” Aindreas chuckled bitterly. “Wouldn’t ye think a father would tell his only son where he was off to and what he was doing?”

Laird MacBean scoffed. “I am a laird, lad. I don’t have to tell ye anything.”

“Yet, ye felt the need to tell Daniel.”

Laird MacBean sighed, tilting his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose, as he often did when he had enough of Aindreas. “Lad, I am still laird of this castle, and as such, I don’t have to explain my actions to ye.”

“Ye do when we have the alliance with the Cambels to concern ourselves with.”

The laird inhaled, sounding like a hiss as his gaze darkened into a scowl. “Do not tell me ye wrote them without my permission.”

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