Finn grabbed the ax they used for chopping firewood, which was propped against a tree, then hefted it onto his shoulder and moved to a fallen tree not far away. There, he began to take out his anger on the wood, chopping it with so much force that he almost broke the ax several times.
He imagined that the tree was the face of Laird Donaldson, then the faces of every soldier on the battlefield, and the many other hateful men he had had to deal with over the years. His whole body throbbed with fury. He roared with every stroke he made; then, when he stopped to rest, he put his head in his hands. His mind was so full of misery and hatred he could hardly stand it.
Greta watched him, not feeling angry as she had the first time he had kissed her, but infinitely sorry for him. Clearly, Finn had some heavy burdens to carry that had forced him into leading this dangerous and destructive life; she sensed that it was not a life he would have chosen for himself, but although she was curious, she would never ask him about it. It was his own affair entirely, and if he had wanted her to know, he would have told her. Anyway, was she not trying to run away from him? She wanted nothing to do with him, she told herself.
Greta watched him, her whole body still vibrating from his kiss, while his impressive muscles flexed and relaxed with every blow of the ax. He was such a magnificent male animal that she could not help but want him, and although it confused her, she knew it was perfectly normal. However, she had never felt this way with any of the boys who had courted her before, and none of them had kissed her the way Finn had.
Presently, he stopped punishing the wood and stood up to stretch himself. His body was glistening with sweat, making his flesh look like polished oak, and Greta looked down at her hands to stop herself from gaping, then his shadow fell over her, and she looked up.
“I am sorry, Greta,” he said, wiping the sweat from his face. “I should never have talked tae ye like that.”
“Thank ye,” she murmured.
“I have tae tell ye some things about myself,” he said, sighing. He sat down beside her on the grass. “About how I came tae be livin’ this life.” He paused, then went on hurriedly: “When I was five years old, a gang o’ bandits came tae my village, an’ they ransacked it like we did tae yers.” His voice became hoarse, then he swallowed, and his eyes began to glisten with tears. When one dropped on his cheek, he did not bother to wipe it away but carried on speaking in a harsh, broken voice.
“My m-mother hid me an’ told me that everythin’ was goin’ tae be fine, but it was no’.” He sighed, cleared his throat, and went on. “They took everythin’ we had, an’ they took my mother as well. She was my whole world, an’ I never saw her again. The bandits took me into their gang an’ brought me up as their own. I knew nothin’ else, but I never stopped missin’ my mother, an’ I still do tae this day.”
“Do ye know what happened to her?” Greta asked. She leaned forward to wipe a tear from his face, noticing that he looked a little ashamed suddenly. Like most men, he thought it was only women who should weep. “Everybody needs to cry sometimes, even big strong men like you.” Her voice was very gentle.
Looking at her face, lips curved in a tender smile, Finn was reminded of the strong but gentle arms of his mother comforting him when he had fallen over when pursuing a little cat one day. He had cried sorely before she picked him up and kissed him tenderly.
“Hey, wee man,” she had said, hugging him. “Ye shouldnae chase that cat. Ye know he is a bad wee stick. He loves trippin’ people up.” Her eyes were full of love, and she laughed, making him laugh too.
It was something he had completely forgotten about until that moment, but how well he remembered it now. The softness of her body and the comforting feel of her breathing had been his security, but then he had only been five years old, a little, vulnerable boy.
Now he was a man, and that character trait was the only way Greta reminded him of her. He certainly had not desired his mother, but hers and Greta’s outlook on life was the same. They both had the same urge to protect and care for the innocent. It had been evident in the church, and it was still plain to see.
“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I never found out.”
“Did ye no’ hate the bandits?” Greta asked. “They took yer mother away from ye, an’ made ye homeless.”
“I was too young, an’ I needed a home,” he replied. “There was nothin’ left for me in the village. I could no’ have managed by myself, an’ this life is all I know now. I had tae become a monster tae survive.” He sighed, shook his head, then squared his shoulders. “No more feelin’ sorry for myself. Are yer folks still alive?”
Greta shook her head sadly. “A fever took them years ago,” she answered. “I have been on my own since I was sixteen, but I am used tae it.”
I will take care of you,he thought. The notion startled him, and he looked away from Greta to find some ale for them to share. He would not fall in love with her. He would not.
“I am sorry,” he murmured. “It is very hard tae lose the one ye love that way. “Ye have no brothers an’ sisters?” he asked.
“No, only me,” she answered. “My mother had two stillborn baby boys after me, then she could no’ have any more, so I am the only one who survived. An’ I will survive again,” she said grimly.
12
It was taking ages for the men to come back from the raid, and Finn was becoming concerned. Greta had gone down to the loch to wash, and as usual, he had gone with her to stand guard over her, keeping his back turned as he watched out for any trouble that might befall her. He had to admit that it was becoming more and more difficult for him not to turn and take a peek at her, and the temptation to turn around was almost overwhelming sometimes. However, he knew that if he did, he would have breached her trust yet again, so he concentrated on watching the rabbits in the woods, the clouds in the sky, and whatever else attracted his attention.
Finn was thinking of Greta’s words.Would ye no’ prefer a life o’ honor?she had asked. Damn! Of course he would! He did not enjoy stealing people’s hard-won possessions from them, but what else could he do? He knew no other way to make a living. Then he wondered if that was an excuse. He thought of all the other possibilities, honest ones, and realized that there were many.
I am big and strong,he thought.I could work in the fields, learn tae be a thatcher or a carpenter, or even a blacksmith. If I go on wi’ this life, when I am too old an’ feeble tae look after myself, I will have no children tae help me because no decent woman would marry a criminal like me.
And suddenly, he realized something else. He wanted a family, and for that, he needed to give up his life of crime,but could he do it?
He looked up to the sky, and although it was cloudy, Finn could see that the sun had already begun to dip toward the horizon, and he had expected the gang to be back by now. He was worried; Liam had begun to show a defiant, renegade streak lately, and it seemed as though he was taking some of the men with him. Yet he needed to have some sort of reassurance that the raid had been done properly, without excess brutality, and he could only get that from Liam. Yet what if he had simply run away and begun his own gang with what was left of Finn’s? It was definitely within the realm of possibility.
Liam could be utterly ruthless at times, and it had only been Finn’s occasional intervention that had saved lives when the bloodlust was upon him. They had both spent a short time in battle against the English after their leader died, so both knew what the madness of blood lust felt like.
However, due to his reluctance to kill and maim, Finn had always been regarded as an oddity, and many saw it as a weakness, but he thought that most of the time a threat was good enough to subdue any opposition, and death was not necessary.
Finn stood up, then remembered that Greta was behind him, so he waited impatiently until she came up and put her hand on his arm.