I looked at Kade, whose eyes glimmered along with the rest of him. “I have asked for Stella’s hand, and her father has agreed to it,” he confirmed.
“Preparations are already underway,” Wilkie said. “Laird Morrison is pleased with the match, and Knox has accepted that it’s a reasonable alternative. He’s sanctioned our marriage, Roses.” He paused, and his voice lowered further. “With the alliance secure, he will allow me to indulge our mother’s final wish. We’ll be wed tonight, lass.”
Everything but Wilkie momentarily dissolved from my immediate awareness. Even in the face of death, it was a moment of true awakening. If I was to live, I couldlive. That my warrior would dedicate himselfto me in this way left me not only with a sense of relief but of billowing awe. He wantedmeover his own lairdship and army. He had chosen me, a servant, over every and any woman of noble blood throughout Scotland. My heart could not contain all the love I felt for him in that moment; its beat felt heated and up-tempo from the rush, infusing my body and my world with a worshipful serenity. A bird chattered. A cloud gleamed white. Kade sparkled like the savior that he was. I only hoped we would live long enough to be able to thank him and to appreciate the importance and outcome of his sacrifice.
And Wilkie. His very black hair reflected shards of blue and white from the rays of the day. His eyes, in the brightness of the morning, matched the color of the autumn sky and shone with vigor and devotion.
I am following my heart, to you.
But we were surrounded on all sides and held at knifepoint. Oh, how I wished Kade had made his appearance in Laird Mackenzie’s den just minutes earlier than he had! I wished I had waited in Wilkie’s chambers for him. I wished the guards had stopped my desertion. I wished Wilkie and Kade had reached me before the Ogilvie party had discovered my whereabouts. But it was too late for regrets. Before we could live, we would need to fight.
And I, almost forgetting myself, had a sacrifice of my own to make. There would be no more hiding, no more secrets. “Warrior,” I said. “I need to tell you—”
“Enough!” Dougal barked at me, cutting me off. He turned to Wilkie. “As touching as this all is, I’m afraidyour plans are out of the question. We need to be on our way. We have a captive to deliver. Ogilvie has usout hunting night and day for this very lass, using valuable men to scour the Highlands, climbing walls and staging raids. ’Tis all becoming fairly tedious, I can assure you of that. Not a mere kitchen servant, after all, is she.” Mimicking a melodic noble accent, as though impersonating Laird Ogilvie, he said, “‘The king’s issue. Bring her to me immediately, or die.’” He chuckled, the sound sinister and unnerving.
Wilkie glowered, but his brain appeared to be working on a number of levels. He addressed Dougal. “What did you say?” This was followed immediately and aggressively with, “What’s your meaning, soldier?‘The king’sissue’?”
Dougal laughed uproariously at Wilkie’s question. “I’m surprised you didn’t discover it for yourself, if you’re as smitten as you claim to be. You must be losing your touch, Mackenzie.”
Obviously highly secure in his estimations of his soldiers’ abilities and apparently amused by Wilkie’s ignorance, Dougal said to my aggressor, whose name I didn’t know: “Show him the mark. Between her shoulder blades, Ogilvie said.”
“Don’t be daft, Dougal,” growled the man whose sword was still held to my throat. “Shut your mouth, you fool.”
But Dougal was enjoying his advantage and wanted to revel in it further. “There’s no harm in it, Gregor. There’s six of us and two of them. ’Tis no contest. Let him realize what’s just slipped through his lucky Mackenzie fingers.” An ominous chuckle rumbled in his chest at the thought. “Apparently, Mackenzie, your luck has run out.”
The man who held me—Gregor—reluctantlyobeyed. He turned me, removing his sword’s touch from my throat yet keeping it firmly in range to strike easily, and roughly yanked the cloth of my tunic down my shoulder to reveal my tattoo.
Wilkie lowered his sword and stepped closer and was permitted by Ogilvie’s men to inspect the inked mark for himself. I gasped when his fingertips touched my skin.
He whispered, disbelieving, “It can’t be.”
“Oh, but itis,” Dougal confirmed cheerfully. “She will ensure great wealth for Laird Ogilvie—andhis highest-ranking officers.”
What Ogilvie’s men were insinuating seemed too wildly preposterous to comprehend. The possibility refused to even settle. My elation at Wilkie and Kade’s arrival was being overwhelmed by panic. I had heard Dougal’s statement, but the meaning of his words stayed buried beneath the years of careful secrecy, of hiding, always, my hated inked mark. And now it was revealed for all to see. The sunlight seemed to burn me where my skin was bared.
Even if there was a small chance that we could fight these Ogilvie warriors off and escape to the safety of Kinloch, there was no way Wilkie would want me now. I knew what I was: a witch. It was a reality I had privately lived with for most of my life, and I could not believe otherwise, not yet. The weight of my secret had been held for too long and was too ingrained to lightly dismiss. I closed my eyes, hanging my head in shame, and waited for Wilkie’s reaction.
But instead of repulsion in his voice, I heard amazement. Where there should have been fearful disgust, there was wonder and a hint of questioning respect.
“How have I never noticed this?” Wilkie’s hand reached to cup my jaw, tilting my face up to him. And his eyes were as vibrant as the sky above him. “Roses? Did you know of this mark?”
I couldn’t speak, but I nodded with only the slightest movement.
“Why?Why did you never show this to me?” he asked.
My voice was barely above a whisper. “I—I was afraid to.”
“You didn’t think I might want to know you have the seal of King William inked to your shoulder?” he asked, incredulous.
My mind was whirling, struggling with lies and truths and all that had happened and all thatwashappening. “What?”
“Do you know what thismeans,Roses?”
Understanding was, in fact, beginning to edge into my consciousness, overriding the fear, the shame, the loss.
Gregor was getting impatient. Apparently, he was ready to claim his reward for my deliverance, and sooner rather than later. “Itmeansthat the lass is the lost child of King William. The one he searches for. The key to the king’s estate at Ossian Lochs.”
“We were told that the king’s lost child was a lad,” Kade said.
