“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, whereis 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 hischest. “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. Dáiredied 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?”
