Highlanders Collection. Ann Lethbridge

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      Tavis removed his garments, washed as best he could so he didn’t befoul the clean sheets and fell on to the bed in exhaustion. Though he expected to lie awake and think about all that had been said and done, the next thing he knew, the sun was shining through the open shutters.

      And he wondered if Ciara yet slept.

      Though she had expected to spend the night dreading the morn, her body, mind and heart had been too drained to do anything but collapse into the hold of sleep. She woke as she usually did when in her own bed, with her younger brother and sister pouncing on her and begging for news. This time, their questions went on endlessly until her mother entered and intervened, ordering the young ones to give Ciara a chance to wake.

      The love that shone in her mother’s eyes this morn was overshadowed by fear and guilt, so Ciara knew the reckoning was close at hand. Tempted to pull the bedcovers over her head and claim illness, she understood she was long past such antics and could not avoid, did not wish to avoid, learning the truth of her and her mother’s past.

      In truth, Ciara wanted answers almost as much as she dreaded getting them. She remained in bed long enough to hear her siblings being hustled out of the cottage with instructions to visit their aunt and cousins in the keep. She was debating her approach when her mother entered, carrying a steaming mug in each hand.

      ‘Duncan did not know if you wished to speak only to me or to both of us,’ she began.

      From the way her mother’s hands shook, Ciara worried that they would both be doused with hot liquid. She pushed back the covers, climbed from the bed and took them from her, placing them on the table near her bed.

      ‘Should he be present? I have no idea of what to expect, so you are the better judge of it.’

      ‘Duncan,’ she said, raising her voice ever so much. Her stepfather must have stood at the ready, for he entered in only a moment.

      ‘Good morning,’ he said, walking over and kissing her on the forehead as he always did. The tears started even then. ‘Did you get any rest?’

      ‘Aye,’ she said, wiping the first of what she knew would be many tears from her eyes.

      Her mother sat on the edge of her bed while she chose the chair. Duncan stood near the door in the stance she’d seen countless times before—the negotiator ready to listen and evaluate. Ciara had thought about what to ask first all the way home from Perthshire, but now, when faced with the situation, she could not form a single question. Duncan cleared his throat and nodded to her mother.

      ‘Ciara, first I need you to understand that what is said between us here today can go no further. You cannot share what we say with anyone, not James, not even Tavis or Elizabeth. And I must have your sworn word that you will keep this all secret.’

      ‘No one else knows?’ she asked. ‘The laird? Uncle Rurik?’

      ‘They may have their suspicions and Jocelyn knows some of it, but only Duncan, my brother Iain and I know the truth that I am going to share with you.’ Stunned at this disclosure, Ciara nodded.

      ‘Nay, Ciara. We need you to speak the words giving your sworn oath. This goes beyond a family matter, it affects a number of clans, treaties, reputations and innocent lives,’ Duncan explained. ‘Say the words.’

      He always did that during negotiations on a treaty or agreement—both parties, all parties, needed to speak the words about what they were agreeing to so there was no question that they understood the arrangements. And it always ended with their sworn oath, spoken and written.

      ‘Aye, Father. I swear that I will not share whatever you tell me this day with anyone. I will not speak of it with anyone, even Uncle Iain, if that is your wish?’ Duncan nodded to Marian and Ciara steeled herself for what was coming.

      ‘You heard the old rumours, then?’ her mother asked. ‘The ones calling me the Robertson Har …’ She could not say the words, so Ciara nodded. ‘They are not true, Ciara. I came to my marriage bed with Duncan a virgin, though no one could know it.’

      ‘But you had me before you married him,’ she said. ‘I had five years when you …’ Her mother took her hand and held it.

      ‘Although you are my daughter in spirit and in heart and in every way important, I did not give birth to you, sweetling.’

      If Ciara thought hearing the rumours unsettled her, this sent her reeling. Her bedchamber dimmed and began to swirl before her eyes. Sucking in a deep breath, she squeezed her eyes closed and hoped the dizziness would pass.

      ‘Ciara. Ciara!’ Duncan said loudly, tapping on her cheek. She forced her eyes open and found him standing with the mug of tea in front of her face. ‘Drink this.’ He held it at her mouth and tipped it, so she had no choice but to take it in. Within the tea hid a good measure of whisky and she drank it down.

      ‘Then who …?’ she managed to squeak out. No matter what else the rumours said, they had never questioned that she was the daughter of Marian Robertson.

      ‘My dearest friend and sister by marriage died giving birth to you. She placed you in my arms and begged me to protect you and care for you.’

      ‘Beitris? Uncle Iain’s wife?’ she asked. ‘How could that be?’ There were several glances exchanged between them before her mother spoke again.

      ‘My father was going to shame her for …’ Her mother paused and could not say whatever she’d planned to. She tried several more times, but her tears flowed heavily. She looked to Duncan now, pleading silently for him to continue since she could not.

      ‘Beitris and Iain could not conceive a child together. They tried for years and lost at least two babes. So, in desperation, she agreed when he brought others to their bed.’

      Plain, simple words that tore her world apart and destroyed every part of her being.

      Ciara could usually come up with questions to clarify issues or to explain situations, but she was completely dumbfounded by this news. Her uncle could be her father. Her mother was not the woman who gave her life. No one was who she thought they were, including her. But this was only the beginning and she closed her eyes against the rest.

      ‘The old laird, Devil take his soul, was determined to shame Beitris and to protect his heir. Marian could keep you if she would take the attention and the shame on herself. She did it for you, for her friend.’ The disgust was clear in his voice. ‘The old laird announced to all that while Beitris and her babe died in childbirth, Marian took men to her bed and shamed her family. He called her a whore and cast her out.’ Duncan paused then and she opened her eyes to see him tightening his fists again and again. ‘The word and story spread across the Highlands, hiding the real truth.’

      ‘The only honourable thing the old bastard did was to make the arrangements he’d sworn to do and you and Marian were sent away to kin on the other side of Robertson lands.’

      Her mother, nay, her aunt … nay. No matter the story. No matter the way it had happened, the woman sitting before her, torn by these admissions of the past, was her mother. And now she took a breath and spoke.

      ‘I raised you and thanked God every day that I was blessed with you, Ciara. If I carried any shame, I knew it was not true. It was worth any cost I needed to pay to raise СКАЧАТЬ