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 intheir chambers.
Shadows from several large oaks swallowed Rónán, along with Stephan MacQuistan and the other Templars as they made their way up the rockysweep of land.
With each step, Rónán’s nerveswound 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.”
He nodded. “’Tis excellent to hear the earl is regaining his health.” Stephan’s gaze shifted to Lord Torridan. “And yourson, my lord?”
“Thanks to God, this nighthe has awoken.”
Rónán released a sigh, thankful he lived.
Lord Torridan’s brows twisted together in confusion. “How did you know? Though Bran captains the ship you sailed with, he didna know Kieran was injured.”
Caught off-balance by the question, Rónán looked around, realized Lathir and Lord Torridan hadn’t seen him as he stood in the shadows. Drawing a deep breath, he stepped into the wavering torchlight. “Because I informed Lord Dunsmore, my lord.”
Disbelief glittered in Lathir’s eyes. Her body swayed, and the noble’s face paled. On shaky legs, she rushed toward him; Rónán met her halfway, caught her shoulders, wanting her with his every breath.
Tears streaming down her face, she curled her fingers on his chest. “You are alive!”
Rónán gave her hand a gentle squeeze, wanting to tell her how much he loved her. “W–why…” He cleared his throat. “Why would you think otherwise?”
“One of the guards who fought with you as we were escaping rode back,” she choked out, “and explained you were surrounded by the Earl of Ardgar’s knights.”
All this time she’d been terrified that he was dead. God’s truth. Never had he meant to cause her such pain. “Knights I managed to evade for two days until I was trapped on the cliffs.” He shoved back the surge of emotion. “’Twas where Lord Dunsmore and his men, along with Bran’s, found me after they seized Murchadh Castle.”
Lord Torridan shook his head. “’Tis hard to believe!”
“Aye.” Tears pooled in Lathir’s eyes.“Are you hurt?”
Tenderness filled Rónán. “Naughtof importance.”
With a bluster, Bran swaggered forward. “He almost died, but the ladis too ornery.”
Lord Torridan cleared his throat, and Rónán was shocked to see emotion welling on the powerful lord’s face. Why? He’d overheard that Kieran was alive and well. “What is wrong?”
“Naught. Everything is right,” the noble’s voice broke at the last as he dismounted, then stepped toward him. “You see, this night I learned that you arena Rónán O’Connor, but Dáire McKelan, my firstborn. A son I was told had died at birth.”
His son? Rónán stared at the lord, whose height and build matched his own, struggled to accept his words. He glanced around, found his Templar brothers’ expressions ranging from shock to amazement much like, no doubt, what was reflected on his face.
Though he wished ’twas true as it would grant him the dream of a family, of being wanted, he refused to lie. “I dinna know why you believe such,” Rónán forced out, “but ’tis untrue. Iam an orphan.”
“Nay,” Torridan stated, his voice rough with emotion. “You were stolen moments after your birth by my healer. Your lineage is proven by your birthmark.”
Rónán frowned.“My birthmark?”
A fragile smile danced on Lathir’s lips as her tear-filled eyes brightened. “On the outside of your upper thigh. Show him.”
Stephan, as the other Templars, crowded in.
’Twas absurd. Heat swept Rónán’s face as within the waver of golden torchlight, he lowered his trews slightly, exposing the uneven brown patch of skin like a smeared line a thumb’s width, the end fading into a curl.
