‘You want more? I married you falsely. I’m not the man you were meant to marry. I’m a liarand a thief, and I’ve known it from the moment my father stared at that blunt sword in my left hand and demanded I change it. You deserve an honest man. Your clan deserves a true leader.’
‘They deserve you.’
‘Did you know I wasn’t Finley’s son when you married me?’
‘I was guessing.’
He was glad he was sitting. ‘You married me anyway. Here all this time... I came here not to find out my name, I came here to see if the records held who my true father was. Do you realise, I’ve been guessing all these years? I wanted you to know my fears.
‘My mother is kind, but I don’t think she knows what to do with me. My father, however, never approved of me. When I was young, I thought it was because of trivial things like using my left hand. As I got older, taller, broader, I began to believe my mother wasn’t faithful. That I wasn’t my father’s son and that is why he never approved of me.
‘Do you know what a relief it is, that you guessed as well? It shows I’m not unfounded in my wonderings. Do you know what that—? You’ve gone pale. Is this too much?’
She shook her head, her eyes pleading withhim, and any relief he felt was gone. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’
‘Left-handedness is rare, Rory,’ she said slowly, almost quietly. ‘But I know one person in McCrieff clan with it.’
‘McCrieff clan! You’re saying the man my mother laid with wasn’t a Lochmore?’ The drumming of his fingers wasn’t enough to centre him. Instead, he slapped the table with his entire hand. ‘And so that is why I was named after a McCrieff baby?’
McCrieffs and Lochmores tightly bordered each other. They also reeved and fought and squabbled for years. If he had another father, the likelihood he came from McCrieffs was the most possible. ‘So I’m partially a McCrieff, that might be good fortune. Unless my father is yours?’
‘No.’
Something alarming flooded through him. Ailsa looked ready to flee, fight, or be sick. She’d hadn’t looked like that when he held a sword point to her neck. Her pale expression and the pain in those wide eyes were enough for him to stand before she said the rest.
‘You know who my father is,’ he said. ‘Who my mother laid with that wasn’t Finley, Chief of Lochmore?’
‘Rory, there’s more to this—’
‘Tell me!’
‘It’s Hamish,’ she whispered.
One moment, two, until staying and standing wasn’t an option any more. Before he’d even thought he was halfway up the stairs and out the door.
Chapter Eighteen
How did he get to this point? Rory asked himself. He’d stormed out of the crypt, hatred and betrayal roaring through him, and hadn’t seen his mother until she’d grabbed his arm.
His mother was quiet and reserved, but her fingers had gripped and yanked him out of his thoughts of the past and into the present.
When he’d registered who it was, he’d waited for her to speak. He was more than ready to hear her. Hamish his father, if true, meant he didn’t know this woman at all. Had she lain with him willingly or had he raped her?
But she gave a gentle smile and, once she’d held his attention, released his arm and requested he attend evening meal.
Of all the subjects to talk of, food wasn’t one of them. Shock must have been his response for he’d agreed.
Before another was spoken, she’d left. For one terrible moment, he’d wanted to run after her, to demand answers. But out in the open wasn’t the time.
Food. Evening meal. This was the first night the Lochmores could greet and congratulate him and his wife. For Ailsa’s sake, regardless of what was disclosed and shared in that crypt, he’d be there.
So that’s how he got here, sitting at the High Table, wondering if leeks with rosemary would be served. But there were no leeks and nothing was garnished or flavoured with rosemary. A tiny detail that meant the missives he’d sent to home had been read.
And he sat next to his wife. She’d arrived in the Hall, stunning him with her beauty. Her hair was plaited and intricately bound and she wore a soft green gown, the fabric so fine it shone. To show respect both for Lochmores and McCrieffs she had taken pains with her appearance.
He wished he had done the same, but he hadn’t returned to his rooms. Needing to gain control of his thoughts, he couldn’t go where he would be found. Instead, he’d wandered the village outskirts. A few tenants greeted him, but most stayed away.
Hamish was his father? He was a hated man,who’d decided to poison his own clansmen. Finley had met with him many times and never trusted him.
