by Diana Cosby
Dark bruises of purple and black came into view.
His father grunted. “The wound is healing well.”
“Aye. Thank God there are nay signs of infection.” Lathir started to set the old bandage aside, stilled.
On the outside of his upper outer thigh lay an uneven brown path of skin, like a smeared line a thumb’s width, the end fading into a curl.
Her fingers fisted on the cloth as she stared at the discolored skin.
“What is wrong?”
Heart pounding, she glanced over. “T–the mark on his upper thigh.”
The frown on his brow smoothed. “’Tis naught but a birthmark, one all within my family carry,” he said with pride.
She stilled. “All?”
“Aye.”
“Have you ever heard of anyone outside your family carrying the same birthmark?”
“Never.” His hesitated. “Why are you asking?”
The immensity of this moment shaking her, Lathir fought for calm, failed. “Lord Torridan, Sir Rónán has the same birthmark on his outer thigh.”
“Impossible,” the earl blustered.
“’Tis there. I saw it.” She paused. “How old is Kieran?”
At the earl’s reply, air rushed from her as the full impact of the revelation sank in. Legs unsteady, she collapsed into the chair as her chest tightened. “My lord,” she forced out, “Rónán is almost two years older. And when I first met Kieran, as he stood alongside Rónán, I couldna help but see similarities between them.”
The noble’s knuckles whitened as he clutched the bed. “God in heaven, are you saying that you think Rónán is my son?”
“I believe ’tis a possibility. In addition to having similarities with Kieran, Rónán has your grayish-green eyes and brown hair.”
His face raw with emotion, the noble shook his head in disbelief. “It canna be. Imag informed my wife and I that my son had died shortly after his birth.”
She damned the old pain she’d brought up, more so as Kieran lay injured before them, but after the horrific youth Rónán had endured, to learn that he had a family, one who had loved him, ’twas worth the risk.
Lathir gave a slow exhale. “But you never saw the babe?”
“Nay.”
“I swear to you,” she rasped, “Rónán bears the same birthmark.”
“I am not doubting you, lass,” he said, his face growing red with fury. “By God, I will summon my healer and get to the bottom of whatever trickery is about!” Body tense, he strode to the door, jerked it open, faced the guard stationed outside. “Bring Imag here immediately!”
Chapter Seventeen
Fury pouring through her, Lathir glanced out the window of Kieran’s chamber to where snow meandered earthward in the dismal gloom. If Imag had indeed stolen Rónán as a babe, Lathir had little pity for the consequences Lord Torridan’s healer would face. The audacity of abducting a woman’s babe, of casting a child who was wanted and loved into a brutal life was unthinkable.
Lord Torridan paced to the hearth, then glared at the door. “By God, where is my healer!”
The quick tap of steps from outside the chamber grew.
He stiffened, appeared every inch the ruler of the realm of Tír Connail.
A sharp knock sounded at the entry.
The earl drew himself to his full height, folding his arms across his chest. “Enter.”
The door opened and the guard escorted a slim, older woman inside. Worry lining her face, she rushed to Kieran.
The noble lay unmoving.
Brows drawn in confusion, she faced the earl. “My lord, the guard said ’twas urgent, though, sadly, I see naught has changed with your son’s condition.”
“Kieran’s health isna the reason you are here,” he snapped. “’Tis about my first son, Dáire McKelan.”
“I dinna understand, my lord. Dáire died at birth.”
“Then why—” Lowering his arms, eyes narrowed, Lord Torridan stalked toward her, halted several paces away. “Why does the knight, Sir Rónán, carry the Torridan birthmark?”
Imag shook her head, but Lathir caught a flicker of fear, one she would have missed had she not been watching the woman closely. Her heart ached for the misery Lord Torridan’s family had suffered at the healer’s treachery.
“I dinna know.” The healer hesitated. “Are you sure the birthmark is the same shape?”
“I saw both,” Lathir stated, outraged that the healer would dare continue to lie, wanting to shake her until she admitted the truth.
“Nor,” the earl said between clenched teeth, his face red with fury, “has it escaped my notice that Sir Rónán is almost two years older than Kieran.”
Breath coming fast, Imag’s face paled. She darted a glance toward the entry.
“You will be caught before you are halfway across the chamber,” Lord Torridan warned.
Tears plopped down the healer’s cheeks, wobbled on her chin before spilling onto her simple brown garb. Body trembling, she dropped to her knees. “Have mercy on me, my lord.”
“Tell me!” he shouted.
“I–I never…” She gulped several broken breaths. “I–I never meant any harm.”
If possible, the earl’s face grew redder. “You abducted my son!”
“’Twas wrong of me, my lord,” she sobbed. “and I deeply regret my actions.”
“I dinna give a damn about your regrets.” He stepped closer, towered over her pathetic form. “Tell me why!”
“I–I was young and foolish, my lord.” She wiped red-rimmed eyes. “My head was turned by a man loyal to the Earl of Ardgar.”
Torridan’s nostrils flared. “My enemy?”
“T–the man told me that he loved me, wanted to marry me, wanted to take me away to where we could both live happy lives. But”—she sniffed—“that he had little coin.”
On a curse, the earl seized her garb. Knuckles white, he hauled her to but a breath before his face. “What does his lack of coin have to do with Dáire’s disappearance!”
Imag’s throat worked in frantic swallows. “He said Lord Ardgar would pay gold for your child once it was born.”
Veins popped on the noble’s brow, angry, dark purple lines tinged with red as his eyes narrowed to merciless slits. “You sold my son to our enemy?”
Face stained with tears, her breath stumbling out, she shook her head. “The man I loved swore the babe wouldna be harmed. He explained that once Lord Ardgar attacked and seized your castle, ’twould be simpler if you had nay heirs.”
“Did you ever care about the horrific life you sentenced Dáire to?” Lathir demanded. “Care that because of your selfishness and greed, for years he was mistreated and suffered daily at the hands of a monster?”
“He suffered?” Fresh tears flooded her cheeks. “I swear I never knew, my lady. As I said, the man I loved assured me the babe would be well cared for.”
Lathir’s hand tightened around the hilt of her sgian dubh, aching to draw it, to serve justice. “And where,” she hissed with disgust, “is this man you loved? Why are you not with him now?”
“Once I had given him the babe, he took it away and never returned. Terrified Lord Torridan would discover what I had done, I made up the story that Dáire had died at birth and I had buried him. Please, my lord,” she whimpered. “I beg of you, have mercy on me.”
“Mercy?” the noble roared. “Guard, take Imag to the dungeon where she is to remain for the rest of her miserable life!”
Fear flared in her eyes. “Nay, my lord. Please do not let me die there!”
“Punishment you deserve after sentencing my son to a life in Hades!” he roared.
The guard reached for her.
Face ashen, with a cry, she bolted through the open door.
The guard ran into the corridor. “She has ru
n up to the turret.” His mouth flattened. “She willna escape, my lord, that I swear.”
Against the fading slap of boots down the hallway, Lathir secured her dagger, rushed to the entry.
A distant door thudded closed.
Moments later, a scream sounded from the courtyard.
Lathir ran to the window.
Imag’s body lay sprawled on the ground.
Jaw tight, Lathir angled her jaw. “What anger and heartbreak you have caused with your duplicity. Mayhap God can forgive you, but I never will.”
Fists clenched, Lord Torridan stepped up to her side. “Amen.”
* * * *
Hours later, seated in the chair beside Kieran’s bed, his chamber illuminated by candles and the flames in the hearth, Lathir drew the blanket tighter around her. The tension thrumming through her far from eased by the scent of new rushes or the soft crackle of the fire.
Rónán—nay, Dáire McKelan—as the eldest son of Lord Torridan, was first in line to become the next Earl of Torridan. Had it not been for the healer’s treachery, they would have wed.
Heart aching, she stared at Kieran. And Dáire’s younger brother could have married the woman he loved.
The door scraped open. Expression weary, Lord Torridan entered, paused. “’Tis late. You should be abed.”
“After today’s events, I doubt if I could sleep.”
“Indeed.” On a tired sigh, he walked over. “Has my son tried to open his eyes?”
“Nay.”
He settled in a nearby chair. “I didna see you at the evening meal.”
She shrugged. “I couldna eat.”
“I can have a guard bring you—”
“I thank you, but I am not hungry.” Lathir scanned Kieran’s face, hoping to catch a flicker of his lids. After losing Rónán—no, Dáire—she prayed Kieran’s condition didn’t deteriorate and Lord Torridan lose his remaining child.
Face pale, he closed his eyes. His lips moved as he whispered a prayer, and Lathir bowed her head, pressed her hands together, and silently followed along.
On a broken sob, the noble’s body began to shake. “Bedamned!” He wiped his eyes. “I stand here praying my son will live, and somehow try to accept that his brother, who I believed had died at birth, lived. More, was abused, horribly.”
Tears clogging her throat, aching at his heartbreak, she crossed to him. “But you didna know, couldn’t.”
Stricken eyes met hers.
“Dáire grew into a fine man,” she said, her voice breaking. “One whom you would have been proud to know.”
He gave a shaky nod. “From the brief time that we spent together, I discerned he was a man to respect. I curse that he was taken from me before I learned the truth.”
Throat burning with tears, she lay her hand upon his Lord Torridan’s arm, needing to give him something to cling to. “Your son was of the Brotherhood.”
Surprise flickered in red-rimmed eyes. “A Knight Templar?”
“Aye, a man who’d earned notice and respect from King Robert. The reason Dáire was chosen to sail with my father and me to Ireland, to bring the arms my father has hidden to our king. Sit, let me tell you all I know.”
“I–-I…” He gave a rough breath. “I would like that.”
A while later, flames crackled in the hearth as Lathir finished telling him what she knew about his eldest son, the pride on Lord Torridan’s face a humbling gift.
“I–I thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I know you will wed for duty, buy I regret it willna be to Dáire, who will always hold your heart.”
Throat thick with emotion, she struggled to accept she’d never see Dáire again. “Though I dinna love Kieran, he is a fine man. I swear to you, I will be a good wife.”
“Aye, I will be proud to have you join our family.” Weary eyes shifted to his son, widened, then filled with tears. “Kieran?”
Lathir glanced over. Confusion shimmered in her betrothed’s eyes as he held his father’s gaze. “W–where am I?” he rasped.
“Thank God you are awake!” His father leaned over and gave his son a fierce hug, then sat back. “You are in Wynshire Castle. While freeing Lord Sionn from Murchadh Castle, you were seriously hurt. As the healer treated your injury, you fell unconscious. You havena woken since.”
Kieran tried to move, grimaced.
Lathir helped him sit up. “You will be weak. Thank God you are awake.”
“Your father?”
“Because of your help,” she said, forcing a smile, “he is alive. And if his grumbles are any indication, healing well.” She filled a goblet with wine. “Here, your throat must be dry.”
Once Kieran finished a long drink, she set the goblet aside. “How many days have I been asleep?”
“Almost a sennight,” his father replied.
“No doubt you are hungry.” Lathir stood. “I will bring you a warm meal.” And leave them time to talk.
“I thank you. I could eat.”
A smile lit his father’s face. “Half a boar, no doubt.”
Elation that Kieran was awake warred with grief that she’d never again see Rónán, no, Dáire. Her heart in her throat, she crossed the chamber, opened the door.
“Lathir.”
At the compassion in Lord Torridan’s voice, she turned. “Aye.”
“While you are away, I will tell Kieran about Dáire.”
Tears burned her eyes and she nodded. Before she began to weep, she hurried into the corridor.
* * * *
A while later, satisfaction filled Lathir as Kieran finished the last of the stew, then a slice of thick-cut bread slathered with butter. Since he’d awoken, his color had returned. With the healing of his wounds, he should be well soon.
The church bell began to ring, and Lathir froze. Pulse racing, she turned to Lord Torridan. “I am expecting nay one.”
Jaw set, the noble stood. “Nor I.”
Please God let it not be an attack. She ran to the window. Framed within the fading wash of orange-red filling the sky as the sun sank on the horizon, three cogs sailed shoreward.
She gasped. “The first ship is Bran’s.”
“Aye,” the earl said as he stepped beside her, “but I dinna recognize the other two.”
Hands upon the cool stone, she took in the vessels sailing in the pirate ship’s wake, then relaxed. “Nor I. As they travel with Bran, though, they are men who will bring us nay harm.”
“I agree. After all he has done to aid us, I trust him, regardless if he is a pirate.”
“One,” Kieran said, “who is loyal to King Robert.”
His father nodded to his son. “He is that. I will meet them.”
“As my father is asleep, I shall go with you.” Lathir glanced toward Kieran. “I will ask the healer to stay with you while I am gone.”
“’Tis unnecessary. I shall be fine.” Kieran yawned. “Nay doubt I will be asleep before you reach the gatehouse.”
A short while later, within the wavering of torchlight, Lathir kept pace at the earl’s side.
He rode through the gatehouse, as when they first met, accompanied by his knights. Though Lord Torridan suspected no trouble, he’d insisted on taking precautions.
However wonderful to see Bran, ’twould evoke painful memories of Dáire. Tugging her cape tight against the bite of cold, she guided her mount toward shore.
In the distance, outlined within the last wisps of the fading sunset, men climbed down a rope ladder dangling from cog to a small boat.
She squinted. “In the fading light, I canna make out which of the men is Bran.”
“Nor I.”
The ship dropping an anchor next to Bran’s lowered a small boat. A ladder thudded as it unfurled down the side, and several men scrambled to the small craft.
Mouth g
rim, Lord Torridan halted at the shore’s edge. “Whoever ’tis, we will soon learn.”
* * * *
Heart ready to burst, Rónán made out Lathir’s figure in the last shimmers of sunset entwined with the torchlight as she stood on shore. How he’d envisioned this moment, wanting to embrace her, tell her that he loved her and would never leave her. An ache built in his chest. Words, with her betrothed to Lord Craigshyre, he could never say.
Had he not promised King Robert to retrieve the much-needed arms from Lord Sionn, he would have remained at Murchadh Castle and allowed Stephan to inform Lathir that he lived. In the end, seeing her, aware that she loved and wanted him, would do naught but cause them both further heartache.
Rónán had dismissed Stephan’s understanding offer to remain onboard. Regardless of the hurt, he was here. He wouldna hide like a coward. However difficult to sail away, he would be thankful for his time with Lathir while at her stronghold.
The soft curl of waves spilled along the shoreline as the hull scraped the crush of small rocks. Water splashed as he, along with his Templar brothers, jumped out. The brisk air, rich with the tang of cold and turf spilled past as they pulled the dinghy farther up the beach.
On a hard swallow, he fell in with his friends as they started toward Lathir and Lord Torridan astride their mounts. Stepping over stones, he searched for Kieran and Lord Sionn. Nor was he surprised by their absence. Given their injuries, both would still be recovering in their chambers.
Shadows from several large oaks swallowed Rónán, along with Stephan MacQuistan and the other Templars as they made their way up the rocky sweep of land.
With each step, Rónán’s nerves wound tighter.
Several paces before the powerful noble, Lord Dunsmore halted. “Lord Torridan.”
A favorite adviser to King Robert, Rónán wasn’t surprised Stephan knew the ruler of the realm of Tír Connail.
“Lord Dunsmore—” Lord Torridan nodded to Lathir. “May I introduce to you my son’s betrothed, Lady Lathir.”
“Lord Dunsmore, I regret the circumstance, but ’tis good to see you again.” She glanced toward Lord Torridan. “We met briefly at St Andrews.” Lathir faced Stephan. “I regret that my father isna here. He was injured and is recovering. Nay doubt once he awakens in the morning, he will be wanting to speak with you.”
