Highland Jewel (Highland Heroes #1)

Chapter 29

“Me laird! Me laird!" Hannah pounded on the door of Leith's temporary bedchamber, her heart in her throat.

He appeared in an instant, a plaid clutched about his waist, his great chest heaving with panic, his sharp eyes gleaming in anticipation of her words. "Fiona?" he questioned, his mind scrambling to assemble thoughts. She had seemed to be recovering so well, but...

"Aye, me laird," said Hannah, but there was no time to say more for already he was rushing down the hall, one white-knuckled hand gripping the blanket at his hip.

Ranald still slept in the doorway. Leith vaulted over him in an instant, pushing the door inward. "Where is she?" he demanded, his gaze storming about the room.

"Gone, me laird."

"Gone?" The word was choked from his throat.

"Aye." Hannah squeezing her hands together, suddenly fearful of this man who ruled their lives. "She has flown. All alone. I could na stop her."

"Why?" He reviewed every word he had spoken to her, every detail that might give him a clue to her thoughts.

"She but said there was sommat she must do," Hannah exclaimed, wringing her hands.

"Sommat she must do?" Leith grabbed Hannah's arms. "What? What must she do?"

"I dunna know. She didna say, but insisted she must go. I begged her to stay, me laird, for she is na yet mended. Please... If anything should happen to her..." Hannah covered her face with splayed fingers. "Please—"

"Hannah!" Leith snapped, shaking her. "Where did she go? Which way?"

"I dunna ken," Hannah cried. "She rode the black horse. I couldna see her past—"

"Which way?" Leith roared, his face contorted with rage.

"West! West, I think. But I couldna see far for 'twas dark. She may have turned. I—"

"West," he said, his grip loosening. “Toward the MacAulays."

Hannah's jaw dropped as she shook her head in firm denial. "She is na a spy for the MacAulays," she insisted. "She loves us. She would na—"

"Hannah!" Leith shook her again, his tone flat. "Go to the stable. See that Beinn is saddled. Do ye hear?"

She swallowed hard, her face white, her body shaking.

"Do ye hear, lass?" he shouted.

"Aye." She nodded woodenly. "But me laird, I fear Harlow has ... taken yer stallion."

"Harlow?" Within Leith's chest his heart stopped dead. "What say ye?"

"I begged him," she said. "I begged him to follow her. To keep her safe. He said yer stallion would follow her mare. That—"

"Brother!" called Roderic, running down the hall. "What is it?"

"Fiona! She is gone. See that a horse is readied," Leith ordered.

Rose had been riding for three hours or more. She winced, covering her wound with her right hand. Pain shook her with sharp tremors. But she could not stop. Perhaps she should have tried a straighter course toward the bridge that would take her to MacAulay Hold, but it had been dark as pitch when she'd started out, and she'd been uncertain she could find it without following the river.

But what if Creag Burn was not the watercourse that led to MacAulay land? What if the bridge she had traversed with Leith had been on another burn?

Doubt shook her resolve. Perhaps she was a fool to fly from the safety of Glen Creag on account of a fearsome dream. But... No. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the emotions again. Something drew her to the MacAulay's side. She was needed and she could not delay.

Maise tossed her head and pranced a bit. The movement sharpened the pain in Rose's shoulder, but she touched her heels to the mare's sides and hurried on.

Behind her the sky paled with the arrival of the sun. Birds tested their voices in their first morning songs as she urged Maise into a ground-eating trot.

Another ridge, another valley. Where was that damned bridge?

From far behind, Rose thought she heard the deep-throated trumpet of a stallion.

Someone followed. But who? It did not matter, for whoever it was, she must flee before it was too late.

The sun rose, sparkling off the dew below her mare's sweeping hooves. Down a steep grade now, and there—off to her right, just a quarter mile away—was the bridge. And past that, no more than a mile, would be MacAulay Hold.

Good God!

Harlow halted Beinn at the hill's crest.

Lady Fiona was headed toward the bridge to MacAulay Hold. But then, she was the old laird's daughter.

And yet he'd heard the tale of the old man's addled state. What MacAulay would care if she died? Mayhap she would be mistaken for just another Forbes. But no—not just another Forbes. The wife of the Forbes! The woman who would bear his heirs and therefore was a strong threat to them.

She would not be safe at MacAulay Hold. He must stop her.

But there! Off to the right! A man! Bow raised!

No! Not sweet Fiona! She must not die!

Harlow wrenched his bow from his shoulder to fit an arrow to the sinew.

"Jesu!" Leith breathed, astride his bay mount, seeing Harlow at the hill's crest, bow bent. Nay, Jesul he pleaded, and, sweeping up his own bow, he set his arrow to flight just a heartbeat after Harlow's.

He saw it pierce the lad's side, saw the boy's body jerk, nearly falling from his horse. But Harlow did not fall. Instead he gripped Beinn's mane and turned to disappear below the hill.

"Nay!" Leith shrieked, his soul aching with the certainty of Harlow's quest to kill the lady he loved more than life. "Nay!" he railed again, kicking his mount into a gallop and thundering up the rise.

He saw Harlow for only a fleeting moment before he was hidden from sight again. Beneath him, Leith's mount heaved for breath. Far ahead a black horse emerged from a copse. "Rose." He whispered her name. She was there, bent low over her mare's dark mane, her hair hidden beneath a Forbes plaid. She was alive. Still alive.

But there. Harlow rode on—following her like a hound with Beinn's great strides closing the distance.

Please, ]esu! Leith prayed, and took the downhill grade at a dead run. The bay stumbled, half-sliding down the slope.

To the right, a movement caught Leith's eyes. What? A man? A large body teetered to its feet.

A wounded man? But who? How? Harlow's arrow?

No time to learn the truth! No time to stop.

Sweet Jesu, protect her!

She was a quarter mile ahead. No more. He had to stop her. He could not fail his Hannah. But the pain. It speared outward from the arrow, gripping Harlow in dark waves. He could not stop. Must save Fiona. Must prove his mettle. Beneath him the white stallion labored, his heart pounding, his great body lathered, his nostrils wide and flaring.

A rock ahead. The huge stallion swerved. Harlow swayed, his splayed hand cradling the arrow that pierced him, his fortitude slipping and suddenly he was gone, sliding beneath the animal's churning hooves.

Rose pulled Maise to a halt before the MacAulay's gate. Above the timbers a man heralded her.

"I must see Laird Ian MacAulay!" she called desperately.

"Nay," answered the man, canting his head in an attempt to see beneath the plaid that covered hers. "Na one sees the auld laird these days."

"Not even the laird's own?" she called, and reaching up, she swept the shawl from her head.

"God!" gasped the man. Sunlight sparkled like unquenched flame from the woman's loosed hair. Her chin was uplifted, her voice strong and sure in the still morn. " Tis auld Ian's lady."

"Nay," breathed his partner, awe making his voice rasp. "'Tis his daughter returned from afar."

"Or mayhap na kin at all, but a trickster sent from our enemies."

"Nay," said the other. "Ye canna look upon her face and deny that she came from any but Lady Elizabeth. She is the exact image of the auld laird's first wife."

There was a moment of breathless silence before the gate swung open.

No hesitation. No delay. Rose was through, her heart racing along with Maise's hoofbeats over the hard-packed earth. Past a small boy and his sister. Past an unhitched dog cart. She slid from the mare's back and in a moment was through the thick doors of the hall.

Faces turned to her. Jaws dropped, but she stopped for nothing, driven by the aching need that drew her toward Ian's chamber.

"MacAulay," she breathed, rushing on.

A man stepped before her, blocking her way, but she dodged him, hurrying across the floor and throwing open a door.

Ian MacAulay sat bolt upright in the midst of his velvet-draped bed.

"Father." Rose breathed the single word, forgetting the lies she had told. Forgetting everything but this one moment—her head filled with eerie sensations she could no longer deny. Men streamed in behind her, reaching for her.

"Nay!" Ian said, lifting one hand and startling them with the strength of his voice. "Nay." He shook his head. "Leave us."

Ahead, Beinn stood with trailing reins. Harlow lay not far away, crumpled on the earth. But Leith had no time to stop, to question, to learn the truth, for the woman who held his soul was now inside MacAulay Hold.

Pressing the bay onward, Leith thundered up to the timber gate.

Huge hooves skidded to a halt, sliding in the churned earth.

"Let me enter," ordered Leith, his tone low and even, his expression somber and hard.

"Nay," returned the man who stood above the wall, his lance lowered toward Leith's chest. "I have told ye afore. Na Forbes is welcome here."

"Let me in." Beneath him the stallion lifted impatient hooves in a slow, cadenced dance.

"Nay," called the lance man. "I willna allow—"

But he never completed his sentence for Leith had no time to waste. He spurred his mount forward and with three desperate swipes of Leith's arm, the gate fell, severed and bent. With a roar, Leith pressed the bay on. The stallion reared, charging the break. Wood splintered, flying in all directions, and they were through, racing along the course Rose had taken only minutes before, but now there was another beside him—Roderic, his face a mask of determination "I am with ye, brother."

Vaulting from his mount's back, Leith flew to the door of the hall.

"Me lady!" He roared the words like a challenge. "If ye have harmed a hair on her head, me axe shall na be stilled till this keep floats in blood."

Warriors pivoted toward him, hands reaching for weapons.

"Hold!" commanded a wavering voice.

Heads turned.

Ian MacAulay stood in the doorway of his bedchamber. And beside him, hale and straight and lovely, was Fiona Rose.

Relief sluiced through Leith's war-ready system, calming his fighting instincts, quieting the killing rage.

"I will have her back," he said, his voice barely audible, but his expression so dark his intent was obvious.

"He broke through the gate, me laird," announced the guard, rushing in.

"Then I shall see him out!" challenged another, drawing his blade.

"Nay!" called Ian in a stronger voice. “There shall be na blood shed here this day."

"Me laird." Dugald hurried down the steps toward them. "Ye have only just regained yer speech. Ye must save yer strength."

"Save it?" Ian smiled, though only one corner of his mouth lifted. "For what?" He paused, straightening his back and seeming to grow younger as they watched. "What could be more important than the return of me own daughter to MacAulay Hold?"

"With respect, me laird," Dugald said stiffly, his gaze shifting to Rose's face, "there is na proof that she be yer true daughter. Indeed, Murial swears that she is na."

"Murial." Ian nodded slowly. "I fear her hatred for the Forbes has infected ye with its poison, Dugald. Too long has she mourned her brother Owen's death. Tis past, and time to make a new future—a future where the Forbes and the MacAulays are again friends."

"Nay!" choked Dugald. "Too much has passed between us. There shall never be peace."

"Aye," said Ian, his expression somber. "For the sake of me daughter, Fiona, there shall be."

"We know na if she be indeed yer kin," spat Dugald. "But we do know that she is a Forbes—living with the verra man who kilt me brother by marriage!"

Leith tightened his grip on his axe. "I didna kill Owen," he said. "But the other is true. Fiona is indeed a Forbes now." It was far too late to back away from the lies now. "Though she was once a MacAulay."

"Lies!" Dugald shouted, fists clenched. "All lies from the mouth of a filthy—"

"Quiet!" Ian roared, then paled, looking weak as Rose gripped his arm to help him remain upright. "Dugald," he said finally, his tone softened, his head shaking sadly. "Have ye na eyes? Or be ye too young to recall the lass's mother?"

Dugald's gaze turned slowly to Rose, his expression hard, his jaw clenched.

Beneath his glare Rose refused to flinch. Reality had faded into a blur, so that she was no longer sure what was a lie and what was truth, but she had proclaimed herself to be the old laird's daughter, and now she must play out the game. Holding herself straight as a lance, her chin lifted, she spoke. "I am Fiona MacAulay, daughter to Elizabeth and Laird Ian."

"Nay!" Dugald snarled. "Ye are an imposter, brought here for Forbes' devious purposes. To—"

"'Tis na true." Ian shook his head, his voice firm with conviction, stopping Dugald's words. "Forbes has brought her for me purposes. At me request."

"Me laird." Dugald took a short step backward, his tone baffled, his scowl dark. "Why?"

Ian's old eyes softened. "I could na afford to lose ye to this mission, Dugald," he said, "for me health was fast failing. I needed ye here with our people. Thus..." He shifted his gaze to Leith and shrugged. "I asked Forbes." He smiled, looking younger. "A test of sorts, mayhap, to judge how dearly he wished for peace between us. And indeed ..." He motioned toward Rose, who stood as still as a statue. "He must have wanted it a great deal, for he has dared much to bring her to me."

The old eyes drifted to Leith. "Have ye not, Laird Forbes?"

Leith watched the MacAulay with narrow-eyed caution. How much did the old man know? How much did he guess? Though he had lost his ability to speak for a time, he was not a senile old fool, but a wizened, crafty bastard with something up his sleeve. Did he accept Rose as his daughter, or was he simply pretending that he did?

Dugald's gaze flew to Rose again. "Forbes searched far indeed, but mayhap he but searched for a woman who looked like yer lady of auld. One to trick even ye, knowing how ye longed for that child. He only tries now to make ye the fool, for there is na proof."

"Laird Forbes has found the jeweled brooch I gave the lass' mother. He brought it here to me along with the wee plaid the bairn was wrapped in when she was taken from this hold."

Dugald scowled, shaking his head. "The Forbes are a devious lot and could have found a way to deceive us. There is na proof."

So there was the truth. Laid bare—exactly as Leith saw it. He braced his feet, his heavy thighs taut, his right hand on the dark handle of his battle-axe.

But Ian's voice came, startling them all.

"Ah, there ye are wrong, young Dugald, for indeed—there is proof."

Rose swallowed a gasp, spinning her wide gaze to Leith.

"Proof?" Dugald took a step forward. "Proof, me laird?"

"Aye." Ian nodded, motioning Rose nearer. "And with the proof will come the beginning of a lasting peace between the Forbes and the MacAulays. Na more shall blood be shed. Na more shall we fear for our lives or the lives of our—"

"Nay!" screamed a woman, and suddenly she was behind Rose, her arm encircling her slim neck, her dirk poised at Rose's exposed throat.

Panic and shock surged through Rose like heady wine, weakening her knees, numbing her senses.

Death! She could feel it like a tangible thing.

"She shall die!" shrieked Murial, her knuckles white against the dirk's handle. "She shall die to avenge me brother's death! Me Owen." Her voice was hysterical. Her trembling hands were tight and hard against Rose's neck. "Ye killed him," she wailed at Leith.

"Nay." Leith kept his voice soft, placating, but his heart beat with painful strokes against his ribs. ]esu, do not let her die, he prayed. Take me instead. "I didna kill yer brother."

"Liar!"

He raised his empty hand, palm outward. "I dunna deny that I wished him dead, Lady Murial, for I thought he had defiled me sister. Indeed ..." He nodded solemnly, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "I did wish him dead. In truth, I had me hands about his neck. But I didna kill him." He straightened slightly, flexing his hands. “Though he asked me to."

"Lies! All lies!" Murial shrieked, pulling Rose backward slightly. "Ye would have us believe he would shame us all with his death."

"Nay," denied Leith, daring one step forward. "I dunna ken how he died, only that I was na the cause. I could na." His voice was low, one hand outstretched. “For I knew then that his love for Eleanor was deep. I could na kill him—as ye canna kill Fiona."

"I shall!"

"Murial," Ian said, his face pale as he stood helplessly looking on, "ye canna..." For a moment he lost the necessary words, but they came to him in a moment. "Ye canna kill her, any more than ye could kill me last night."

Murial blanched, and though she stumbled backward a step, she dragged Rose with her, her hand still tight on the dirk and her wide gaze on Ian.

Silence settled in the hall as their eyes met.

"Aye," Ian said, his voice low. "I ken yer purpose in me room last night for I felt yer intent. As did me daughter. And thus her arrival here this morn."

"Nay," Murial whispered.

"Ye knew that if I fully recovered I would ensure peace between the Forbes and the MacAulays. Ye feared that, for ye know she is me daughter in truth."

"Nay."

"Aye. And that is why ye planned to kill me last night."

"I could na kill ye, me laird. But we canna have peace. Because of the Forbes, me Owen is gone. He must be avenged." Murial sobbed. "She will die!"

"I'll kill the lad!" Roderic's voice thundered throughout the hall and suddenly he stepped forward, his own dirk pressed to the throat of a child who'd wandered too near.

"David!" cried Murial, her voice breaking.

"Tis na me way to harm an innocent," growled Roderic, his face hard above young David's fair head. "But for the lady's life, I will." He pressed the blade harder.

"No!" cried Rose. "Please, Roderic, I beg of you, let the boy go. He's done naught to deserve to die." Her face was pale and tilted painfully back away from Murial's dirk, but she managed the words. "Let this feud end with me."

Pain thudded hollowly in Leith's chest. Sweet Jesu! "No!"

Roderic tightened his grip, his gaze caught on Rose's wide eyes.

"Please," she whispered again.

Roderic's hands relaxed, letting the boy slip, unharmed, to his feet.

"Mama."

"David!" Murial gasped, and, dropping the dirk, she stumbled forward to embrace her son.

Rose gasped for breath, trying to still the tremor in her limbs.

Leith's heart bumped to life. Sweet Jesu, she was free. She was safe. But from behind him Silken snarled. He whirled to see Dermid, claymore in hand, ready to lunge.

Leith's axe flew, true and hard, plowing into Dermid's midsection with a sickening thud, forcing him back against the wall like a felled tree.

He lay there, half-upright with his back against the wall, his sword beside him, his bearded face twisted in a grimace of hate and pain. From his chest a broken arrow protruded. "I should have kilt the bitch that first time." He coughed, clutching his gut where the thick blade of Leith's axe was embedded. "Should've kilt her like I kilt yer sister." His eyes, hard and flinty, flitted to Leith. "That slut." He coughed again. "Saw her with the MacAulay lad." He chuckled, but the sound gurgled in his throat. "They paid to keep me from tellin'. But she tired of that... game. Threatened to tell ye." Bloody fingers curled spasmodically. "Strangled her, I did. Tossed her from the cliff.

"The lad," he gasped with a weak shake of his head. "He used to go there to mourn her. Besotted with the... bitch." His eyes rolled back for a moment, blood frothing at the corner of his mouth. "He accused me of her death." Coughing again, weaker now. "So I kilt him too. Fought—like a bastard MacAulay. But I bested him. Pushed him from the same cliff." A crazed grimace twisted his face. "Should have been... grateful... that I sent them off... to be ... together." He chuckled, but the sound was horrible, ending in a garbled last gasp.

The hall was silent.

"Leith." It was Rose who spoke, stumbling into his arms.

He encircled her in his strength, pulling her close.

"I am sorry," she whispered, her cheek pressed to his chest. "So sorry. Poor Eleanor. Poor Owen."

"Nay, lass." He kissed her brow, his eyes closed, his great arms locked about her. "Nay, me love, dunna mourn her now, for the truth is out. She is at peace. We shall return home."

“This is her home." Murial MacAulay straightened, her son cradled in her arms. "She is Ian's daughter."

Dugald's face was pale and strained as he came forward to lay a broad hand on his son's small arm. "How do ye know this, wife?"

Her eyes were fixed on Rose. "I know. I knew her when she first came here, felt her spirit..." She lifted her hand toward her temple. "I knew she must die," Murial whispered. "I went to Forbes' land to kill her. She was picking flowers as I watched her. We draw each other, for she has the MacAulay gift. I could feel it like a strong wind. She came up the hill, but..." She shifted her gaze to the wildcat that stood in the hall's entrance. “The cat warned her of me presence, and ... I couldna kill her anyhow. Na then. Na now."

"But Dermid could." Leith said the words quietly, still holding Rose tightly to his chest.

"Aye." Murial nodded once. "Dermid could. He has long been a spy for me and promised to do the deed."

“Then it was he who pierced her with the arrow?" questioned Leith, his voice little more than a whisper as the enormity of his own actions settled in his mind. "And na Harlow."

"Aye," said Murial. "I felt her wound when the arrow pierced her flesh." She touched her own shoulder, wincing with the movement, then drawing herself from her reverie, shrugged at the men's wary expressions. "We are kinswomen," she said softly. "In our blood, but more so in our souls." Her eyes lifted again to Rose's. "I dunna ask yer forgiveness." Her eyes were deep with sorrow. "For I loved Owen so."

Rose felt the woman's emotions like a stinging slap, knew the pain as if it were her own. "Eleanor loves him deeply," she whispered.

Murial smiled, her expression misty and wan. "Ye have strong sight indeed, to feel a woman's thoughts from beyond her grave."

"You know it is true," murmured Rose, the eerie feelings so strong that she could no longer deny the forces that empowered her.

Murial closed her eyes, letting the need for revenge drain from her. "Aye," she said finally. "She loved him. As did we all."

'They would want peace," added Rose softly. "For the MacAulays. For the Forbes."

"Peace is a fragile thing," whispered Murial. "And hard it is to hold."

"But worth the effort if one can but find and nurture it."

"Aye," said Dugald. "Well worth the effort, is it na, me Murial?"

"Aye." She met his eyes over their son's head. "That it is."

Purest happiness sparked in old Ian's eyes. “Then let there be peace," he declared. "Peace between me daughter and me nephew's wife. Peace between our tribes. And now it seems..." He looked to Leith's wary face. "All that is left is to prove yer lady's identity." He lifted his hand, motioning to Rose again. "Lass, if ye will permit me to lift yer hair."

Rose felt as if her breath had long ago left her lungs and that her heart could not beat for the pressure in her chest. She raised her eyes to Leith, knowing fear showed in their depths.

"There is na longer need for a feud betwixt us, Ian," Leith said, his voice low, his embrace unrelenting. "The man responsible for our sorrow is dead. The lass is na needed to forge a peace."

Ian lifted his brows and his eyes twinkled. "Could it be ye doubt the lass?" he questioned, then motioned again. "I wonder now if ye have tried to play me false."

Rose's grip was tight on Leith's arms, but Ian motioned again so that she stepped from the Forbes' embrace to stand before the old man.

"Dunna fear, lass," he said softly, touching her arm with his open palm as he looked into her wide amethyst eyes. "Ye have the MacAulay spirit if na me blood. But come. Let me look." He smiled outright. "I dunna fear the outcome," he said softly, "for I too have some sight."

"Me bairn ..." he said more loudly, addressing the crowd at large but most specifically Leith, who stood with every sinew taut, every muscle ready to launch himself into battle. "Me bairn had a patch of dark skin." He took Rose's hand, holding it gently. "The shape of a cloud, it was," he said, and, pulling her close, he gathered her heavy hair in both hands and pulled it aside, revealing the back of her slim, elegant neck—and the dark cloud that marred it.

Gasps echoed about the hall.

"What?" Rose asked.

Murmurs. Silence. More murmurs.

"What is it?" she demanded, her brow lifting in irritation as she twisted about in an attempt to look behind her.

Ian let her hair drop. "Ye have the beauty of yer dame, lass, and the temper of yer sire." He laughed, then bent to kiss her cheek. "Would that I could pity me son by marriage for what ye have inherited from birth."

Rose's jaw dropped slightly. Her head shook once. What of the accusations? The denials? "But-b..." she began, but Leith was across the room before her first word was out, gathering her in his arms and shushing her against his chest.

"Tis a miracle of God," he whispered, his own voice breathy with awe. "Tis a miracle. We can but accept—"

"Ye shall drop yer weapons, Forbes." The words rang from outside the hall.

"I but come to speak to me brothers," answered a voice Rose well remembered.

"Drop them," ordered the first man.

There was a clatter of steel and then the sound of hurrying feet.

"Leith!" Colin called, his gaze skimming the assemblage and settling on his liege. "Leith," he said again, with relief now. "And... me lady." He smiled at Rose, displaying every whit of that unforgettable charisma. "We have come as fast as ever we could."

Rose frowned in bewilderment.

Colin smiled, raising his brows as if challenging her to ask the questions she longed to voice. Before she uttered a word, however, he reached behind him and drew forth a bonny, dark-haired woman.

"Ye will remember me bride." He smiled crookedly. "Devona of Millshire."

"Devona," Rose said, blinking once and finding no other words.

"Yer bride?" questioned Leith, his expression somber, but a little more certain than Rose's.

"Aye." Colin shrugged, pulling his wife possessively to his chest. " 'Twas a long and slow journey to her homeland. There was little she could do but..." He paused, smiling wickedly as Devona's face pinkened and the crowd waited in silence. "…but grow to love me," he finished matter-of-factly, then laughed. "Though she tried to do otherwise."

"Poor lass," commented Roderic, at which there were chuckles and amused nods.

"My lady," Devona said finally, stepping tentatively forward, her hand deep within the pocket of her gown. "I have something for you." She pulled a rolled note from her pocket. "Tis a message from the abbess."

"Message?" Rose could seem to make no sense of such a riotously unsteady world. "From the abbess?" The parchment was crisp in her hand and unrolled with a gentle crackling.

Rose's hands shook. The tiny, fair hairs along her forearms rose, bristling with the eerie feelings, and for a moment she could not read the script, could not look down or draw her eyes from Leith's deep gaze.

"Dunna fear," he murmured gently. "I am with ye."

She smiled ever so slightly, and then shifted her eyes to read. The words ran together, making no sense, and she read again and again, until she felt weak and drained with the news—the new knowledge that was not truly new at all, that her heart had perhaps known for all time.

"Lass?" Leith questioned, touching her pale face.

"The abbess," Rose began weakly. "It seems she knows the truth of my birth. I am told I arrived as an infant in my mother's arms. I was wrapped in a Scottish plaid, but my mother was very ill." Tears welled in her eyes as her voice dropped to a whisper. "Before she died of the fever she begged the abbess to keep my presence a secret, lest my father come to take me back. And so..." She shrugged in disbelief. "I was given to the Gunthers upon the death of their own daughter, who was buried in my place. And I am..." She shook her head slowly, feeling all reality crumble about her. "I am Fiona," she breathed, holding Leith's gaze in a desperate appeal for logic. "Fiona Rose MacAulay."

"Did I na say it was so?" Ian chuckled, his tone light with pleasure, his eyes settling on Leith's stunned face as he finally laughed aloud. "But then, ye already knew that, did ye na, Laird Forbes?"