The Highlander

Chapter Twenty Four

Finlay

When I woke the bed was cold. My lazy arm thudded against the bare mattress as I turned my body, my hand subconsciously searching for Rose's waist. When my hand felt nothing but the white cotton sheets I raised my heavy head to look upon the empty room.

My first thought was to the location of Rose, but a distant memory of a fleeting kiss on my lips led me to the conclusion she woke earlier and had left to venture and explore. Travelling on the road with me would be a strong contrast to being in a castle and I had no doubt that she would be discovering new things every second. I trusted my men to protect her (and our predicted child), yet I felt a tug inside me that made me long to be with her. I had noticed this soon after meeting her, but it had been dormant then, lately it's become active, exploding with emotion.

The window was open, its dark curtains shifting slightly in the wind. I noticed Rose's pale pink dressed was still discarded on the chair beside the dressing table, a pile of men's clothes laid beside it.

Pulling myself from the bed, I wandered over to dressing table, not caring about my nakedness as I stretched my arms high above my head. Pulling a white long shirt from the pile, I pulled it over my head before pulling the dark brown trousers on, tucking the shirt in. Both were slightly tight, outlining my muscular tone.

I shoved my boots on and swept my blue tartan cloak around my shoulders to protect my skin against the harsh nips of the cold wind. I bounded out of the room, closing the door with a soft click. Is I made my way down the multiple stairs I noticed the many paintings that lined the wall, some depicting battles from centuries ago and others of the McDowell family, including one of Clyde, his sister and parents from when he was wee lad.

It wasn't long before I found myself in front of the two large doors leading to the grand hall. The oak wood stood tall and dark, with two equally enormous warriors stood either side of the doors, long sharp spears in hand with swords strapped to their waists, their green plaid draped across their chest, identifying them from the McDowell clan.

Before I could step forward the two large doors opened seemingly by themselves and the strain of the weight reflected in the groaning sounds that erupted as the oak scraped against the hard stone floor.

Chatter met my ears as soon of the doors began to open. The sounds of laughter and merry cheer flittering through the air and a loud snigger and snort combination alerted me that old Uncle Brice McDowell had clambered out of his bed for breakfast. No doubt the smell of port and partially burnt toast somehow found their way to his nose, luring him from his chambers.

I walked forwards, listening to the buzz of conversation and the sounds of warriors practicing, picturing myself here when I was a wee lad, reliving the fond memories I held dear in my heart.

"Finlay! My lad come place yer arse next to me!" at the sound of Brice's overly loud shout I strode over to him, the smells of cooked food wafting to my nose. As much as I liked porridge, having grown up on it on the road with my dad, I didn't think I could put up with another day of it. This realisation caused me to sit down swiftly before finding my cutlery and scooping vast amounts of food on my plate.

"Slow down lad, otherwise ye'll make yerself sick!" Brice warned before saying reflectively, "how many years has it been since I said something like that? Too long."

"My uncle's right Finn," Clyde said from the top of the table. I looked up from shoving pieces of bread in my mouth to notice him for the first time. We were sat a long table, a bench stretching from one end to the other on either side. Clyde sat at the head of the table, his wife (I presumed) to his right and my self to his left with Brice beside me. Other people filled the rest of the bench, most dressed in warriors attire, swords leaning against the bench behind them, within grabbing distance, but a few were highly dressed.