The general rounded on Ciaran, jowls wobbling with the outrage that had doubtless struck terror into countless raw recruits. But before Scargill could lambaste Ciaran for his impertinence, the general froze, glaring at Ciaran, as if seeing him for the very first time. The man's eyes all but tumbled out of his head. When the officer spoke, his voice was low, dangerous. "This is the man you are so certain is an accursed Irish smuggler, Redmayne?" he demanded.
The captain stiffened. "I caught him in the smuggler's lair, there with the cargo. He confessed."
"My husband has been confused lately," Fallon leaped forward, her face achingly earnest. "He only went into the labyrinth because he thought perhaps one of the smuggler's men might recognize him. You see, I found him wandering near the castle. He didn't know who he was. He'd taken a blow to the head, and I-I found him, took care of him. No one in Glenceo had ever seen him before."
"That would have been difficult, considering that the man had been at sea for the last twenty years," the general grated.
"Twenty years?" Fallon echoed.
"His ship went down six months ago. He was the only man who escaped alive."
"You know who I am?" Ciaran could scarce breathe.
"I met you a month ago. You'd just come ashore in Dublin. You were having trouble with the horse you'd hired. Seems you'd forgotten how to ride after so long at sea."
"But I... I don't remember—"
"I hadn't talked to you five minutes before I realized you were Gordon Butler's son. Your father was a schoolmate of mine."
"Butler?" He heard Fallon's stunned gasp, felt her grasp his numb fingers.
"At first I thought you were the younger son, Phineas, I think his name was. A worthless whelp, by all accounts. One Gordon risked everything for. When I realized you were James, the elder son—I could scarce believe my eyes. It only proves that sometimes justice triumphs in spite of all odds."
"This is impossible," Ciaran said.
Scargill's eyes narrowed. "You really don't remember, do you?"
"Nothing," Ciaran rasped. "If you could—could tell me anything that might make it clearer."
"I know more than most men. You see, I was with Gordon during a wild holiday in Kerry when he met your mother. Your parents never should have wed. The match was doomed from the start. Gordon was handsome as the devil, but brutish when he'd had too much to drink. Your mother, so sheltered and gentle, her nose always poked in books. The marriage was annulled within three months. Gordon claimed it had never been consummated. They parted ways. He had no idea he'd conceived a son until eight years later."
Ciaran remembered the fierce lines of his father's face the day he'd dragged him from his mother's arms.
"Then my father wanted me?"
"Wanted you? Wanted to make you disappear, more like. He'd remarried soon after the annulment, had a second son he adored. When he discovered your mother's secret, he realized that you were the legal heir to all he possessed."
Ciaran struggled to grasp the general's words, the tale that meshed with what little he remembered of his past. But he had come back, hadn't he? When he was newly grown into a man, he'd returned to find his mother dead. And afterward, what had happened? Heartsick, had he returned to the only life he could remember? At sea? And what had he left behind? His mother's grave and a father and brother who hated him.
"Phineas... Phineas Butler—" he tried to put it in words, failed.
"He is—was—your half brother," Scargill insisted.
Then why had he been so certain he'd always been alone? Ciaran wondered. Why couldn't he remember?
"Ciaran, is it possible..." Fallon stammered. "Your name—your real name... your past—"
"No! This can't be!" If Scargill had announced Ciaran was the son of the Celtic sea god Redmayne couldn't have looked more stunned. "Sir, you have to be mistaken!"
The general bristled. "I most assuredly am not."
"General, sir, you're claiming this man is English?" Redmayne choked out in disbelief. English. The word struck Ciaran like a lance. English—Mary Fallon's enemy by blood. He stiffened, his worst fears coming true. Scargill must be mistaken. He winced as he felt Fallon's hand fall away from his.
"Do you dare to doubt my word, captain?" Scargill scowled.
"No! Of course not, sir, but—"
"Mr. Butler and I exchanged bits of knowledge about ancient weaponry. It seems he had quite a collection he'd gathered from some castle ruin before his father stole him away."
