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“He knew you were beautiful. And bright. And that you had a tendency to be stubborn.”
“I am not stubborn.”
Lucas coughed. “Uh, uh—I think this conversation should wait for another time.”
“He also knew,” Felix said, ignoring his grandson, “that you loved his land and you would do anything to restore it and keep it wild and free.”
Alyssa shook off Lucas’s encircling arm and moved nearer the bed. “It wasn’t his land, it was my mother’s!”
Felix’s smile faded. “No,” he said gently, “it was his.”
“It was hers! Hers and my real father’s. And when my real father died—”
“Alyssa. I assume you came here to learn why Aloysius did what he did. Why he sold the land to me—and why he added that stipulation. Am I correct?”
“Absolutely correct.”
“Then, you came here for the truth.”
“I know the truth, Prince Felix.”
“No. You do not.” His tone gentled. “I pleaded with Aloysius to tell you but he kept saying the time wasn’t right. I think it was the only thing about which he was not courageous.”
“Grandfather.” Lucas hesitated. “You’ve been very ill. Perhaps we should leave and let you rest. We can have this talk another time.”
“Who knows if there will be another time, Lucas? I have lived a long life. I am ready for whatever comes next but I don’t want to move on to that remaining adventure without telling this girl, and you, what you both need to know.”
Lucas moved beside Alyssa and put his arm around her again.
“Only if she wishes to hear it,” he said, tilting her face to his. “Amada? The choice is yours. Do you want to hear more?”
Alyssa looked into her lover’s eyes. Every instinct warned her that whatever came next would change her life but as long as she had Lucas with her, she was ready for anything.
“Yes. I want to hear the rest.”
Lucas bent his head and kissed her. Then he smiled, touched his thumb to her lip and turned to Felix.
“What is it we need to know, Grandfather?”
Felix hesitated. Then he cleared his throat.
“What did your mother tell you about your real father, Alyssa?”
“Only that he died when I was two.”
“And his name was?”
“I don’t see what this…” She sighed. “Montero. Eduardo Montero.”
“And yet,” Felix said softly, “you are named for the man you call your adoptive father. For Aloysius McDonough.”
“Named for him? Just because his name starts with the same letters as mine hardly means that I—”
“My dear child. Montero was your mother’s maiden name. Aloysius was your real father.”
“No! He adopted me when he married my mother.”
“He and your mother were lovers. Her family was rich and traced its lineage back to the conquistadores. His was poor.” Felix smiled. “He said he could trace his lineage back to the Irish potato famine, and the great-great-grandfather who boarded one of the coffin ships for New York.”
