“I so want to believe that, but I can’t help but wonder how.” She shook her head. “Who do we trust to tell us the truth?”
Royden worried when his wife sat drinking the hot brew and not saying a word. He expected her to be voicing her thoughts, bouncing them around to see if any could be pieced together and made sense of or discarded as nonsense. Her silence unnerved him, since she rarely kept quiet.
Finally, he could take no more. “You are far too quiet, wife.”
Oria sighed. “I am at a loss.”
“You’ve run out of words?” he teased and he was glad he got a smile from her and that she returned the tease.
“You wish.”
“Never,” he said with a hardy laugh. “I love when we talk. I used to talk with you in my dreams. Have conversations in my mind with you. It’s such a pleasure to finally be able to truly talk with you.”
Oria’s eyes brightened. “I did the same. I would talk with you in my head night after night.”
“What did we talk about?”
“I would tell you about my day, make light of some things that happened, and always I would tell you how much I loved you and missed you and how I couldn’t wait until you returned home to me and we would build a life together.”
Tears filled her eyes and Royden pulled her into his arms. “I heard your words, Oria. Every night I heard you tell me you loved me and missed me and I said the same to you. Our love helped us then and it will help us now. We’ll see this problem through together.”
Oria hugged him and kept her face pressed against his chest. It was warm and hard, his scent comforting as well as the strong, steady beat of his heart. She wanted to linger there in his arms. Actually, she wouldn’t have minded if they snuck off to their bedchamber and got lost in making love. It was the one time her mind was so consumed with passion that there was no room for other thoughts. But that wouldn’t do right now. She needed to address this problem. She needed to find the truth.
She reluctantly and slowly moved out of her husband’s arms, though she could feel his reluctance to let her go. He held her firm and she was about to surrender to the comfort his embrace offered when she heard the creak of the Great Hall door opening.
“I’m sorry to disturb,” Aine said, looking hesitant to approach.
Oria sat straight, though didn’t move completely out of her husband’s arms, which pleased Royden. He wanted everyone to know how strong their love was for each other.
“Not at all,” Oria encouraged. “What brings you to the keep?”
“Ross told me that you spoke with him about your da,” Aine said, measuring her words as she went.
“Do you know something?” Oria asked eagerly and was disappointed when Aine shook her head, though hope returned when she spoke.
“I don’t, but I might know someone who does.”
“Who?” Oria asked, excitement in not only her response but her eyes that widened at the news.
“Do you remember Old Henry, Mistress Oria?” Aine asked.
Oria nodded. “I do, I had hoped to talk with him when I was at the MacGlennen keep, but I never got the chance.”
“Old Henry is a good man. He wanted to come here with you. But so many families wanted to go with you, he felt it was only right the younger ones went before him. Anyway, I lose myself when I should be telling you that if anyone would know anything about your da, Old Henry would. He and your da talked often. I think it was because Old Henry was around when your grandfather was alive and your da could talk to him about old times and family. Many believe Old Henry knows all the MacGlennen secrets or so the wagging tongues say. I would agree, though, since he’s never been one to reveal much of what anyone says to him. I don’t know if this helps, but Ross said I should tell you.”
“It helps greatly, Aine, and I’m glad you told me,” Oria said.
Oria turned to her husband after Aine left. “I need to talk with Henry.”
“Why don’t I have him brought here,” Royden suggested, knowing if he saw Firth again, he’d kill him.
“Trevor might object, which would delay me being able to talk with Henry.” She never called him Old Henry, having grown accustomed to hearing her da simply call him Henry.
“The man is of no value to Trevor. I don’t see any reason why he would object to Old Henry coming here,” Royden argued.
“What if he does out of spite? You beat him in a sword match and people lined up to leave there, then you slashed Firth’s face. I don’t think he’s going to be too keen on obliging you.”
She had a point and it was important they find out the truth about her da before the rumors grew so large they couldn’t be stopped.
“We’ll go tomorrow,” he said.
She smiled with glee though it faded fast. “You won’t make trouble with Firth?”
“I won’t make trouble, but I will inquire about the man and if he’s still there I’ll make certain he keeps his distance from you.”
Oria hoped that was so, but the scowl on her husband’s face warned otherwise.
Oria was impatient to speak with Henry. The weather had delayed their visit for three days, the rain appearing as if it would never end. Concern for Demelza had Wren joining them and Parlan as well.
Oria and her husband were surprised when Trevor greeted them with enthusiasm.
“I’m so glad you’ve come. I was going to send for Wren today since my wife isn’t feeling well,” Trevor said, after rushing down the keep steps upon their arrival.
“I’m feeling fine, Trevor. You worry too much,” Demelza called out from the top of the keep steps.
“Don’t you dare come down those stairs,” Trevor ordered.
Wren hurried up the stairs when it appeared that Demelza wasn’t about to obey her husband and together they entered the keep.
Royden thought it a perfect time to inquire about Firth, seeing Trevor relieved that Wren hadn’t hesitated to go to his wife.
“Where is Firth?” Royden asked, though he was aware it sounded more like a demand.
“Not that it concerns you, but since you generously share your healer with me I’ll tell you he was sent away and he won’t be returning,” Trevor said.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Royden said and saw the relief on his wife’s face.
“I’d like to visit with some of the people while you and my husband talk,” Oria said, seeking permission this time so she didn’t hinder her chance to speak with Henry.
“No one else from this clan leaves here today,” Trevor ordered sharply.
That didn’t sit well with Oria, knowing Henry had wanted to go with her, and she couldn’t hold her tongue. “There is only one person I wish to take with me today and he’s an old man. He has nothing to offer you. He knew my grandfather. He belongs with me.”
“Old Henry,” Trevor said, shaking his head after realizing who she referred to. “My wife has taken a liking to him. He talks with her when others won’t.” He shook his head again. “I can’t let you take him, at least not now. Maybe after the bairn is born.”
Oria was disappointed but she could understand his reasoning.
“Go and talk with him. He is treated well here and does not suffer at my hands, none of your clansmen do,” Trevor said. “I should say they do better since my wife has convinced me they all aren’t meant to be warriors.”
Oria was glad to hear that, but she also heard his annoyance that he had yet to win favor with the clan. She couldn’t feel sorry for him. He had robbed her of her clan, of her family, though she was grateful that her clan hadn’t been mistreated. Still, he was a stranger to them.
“Henry still resides in the cottage that has been his home for as long as I can remember?” Oria asked.
“He does,” Trevor confirmed.
She took hold of Royden’s wrist above where his hand would have been. He would think she did it to show Trevor that his lost limb didn’t disturb her in the least, but that wasn’t so. She often took hold of his arm the
re, as if she actually was holding his hand and it always pleased him, more so now. Though she hadn’t done it on purpose, he was glad Trevor had seen her do so, glad that he saw that she wasn’t repulsed by it. That the loss of his hand made no difference to her.
“Henry’s cottage sits off by itself some, nearer to the woods than the other cottages. Anyone can point you to it,” she said.
Royden nodded again, pleased that his wife let him know where she’d be and that she wouldn’t be far. He watched her walk off and waited until he saw the direction she went, then he turned to follow Trevor up the steps.
“While we enjoy some fine wine, you can tell me what truly brought you here today,” Trevor said and continued up the steps.
Royden decided then that it would be a good time to confront the man about Oria’s da.
“Mistress Oria, you’re a sight for these old eyes that are glad they can still see a beautiful woman,” Old Henry said as he struggled to get off the bench he’d been sitting on in front of his cottage.
“Sit, Henry, please sit. I’ll join you,” Oria said, rushing to his side and keeping a hand to his arm so he would remain seated, she joined him on the bench.
“How are you doing, Henry?” she asked. His many wrinkles attested to his advanced age, though he had worn those wrinkles for as long as she could remember. He had always worn a smile, just like he did now. He never had a bad word for anyone. He was the most peaceful soul she’d ever known.
He chuckled. “I must be doing good since I’ve lived long, so long that I can’t remember how old I am.” He chuckled again.
She laughed lightly and placed her hand gently on his arm. “I heard you wanted to come home with me. I’ll see about that.”
“I appreciate that, I truly do, Mistress Oria, but I think I’ll stay here. I’ve lived my entire life here and it’s not so bad. We’re treated better than at first. Besides, the new mistress is in need of a friend. She visits me every day and we talk. She makes sure I have plenty to eat. She’s a sweet, kind woman like you, though a bit lonely. She’d miss me if I left and I’d miss her and the others who come and talk with me.”
“I agree with you, Demelza is a sweet, kind woman,” Oria said, glad that Henry was content. “If that’s what you wish, Henry, so be it.”
“Is something wrong, Mistress Oria. You seem troubled,” Old Henry said.
There were no hiding things from Henry, which was probably why people talked with him. They also confided in him since he never repeated a word of what anyone told him.
“Something does trouble me, Henry,” Oria said. “I know my da trusted you and talked with you often, you being the oldest member of the clan and knowing him since he was a wee lad. When I discovered tongues wagging about my da, I thought you might know something about it.”
He nodded his head, his smile fading.
“You’ve heard?” she asked, saddened to see his smile disappear and worried what it might mean.
“I have and sadly I expected it.”
“You did? Why?” Oria asked.
“Because your da confessed all to me and I knew that time would not keep his secret.”
Royden took a seat in Trevor’s solar as did Parlan. He’d been here often enough through the years, though it had changed some since the last time. It was obvious a different man occupied it now and if he had time he’d inquire about the many different weapons hanging on the walls. But he wanted answers to questions that couldn’t wait.
“Did William MacGlennen betray his people and help the Beast?” Royden asked.
“That’s a question I can’t answer,” Trevor said.
“Or you refuse to answer,” Royden corrected.
“No. I believe it’s a question Wolf would prefer to answer.”
Royden leaned forward in his chair. “Wolf is the one known as the Beast?”
“He is,” Trevor confirmed.
“What an appropriate name for one referred to as the Beast,” Royden said, wondering why Trevor chose now to relieve the man’s name to him.
“Wolf takes pride in his birth name. It’s the name of an old, respected tribe and he does it proud.”
“From your prospective he may, but not from mine,” Royden said again, wondering why he divulged more information about the man that had caused so much damage and loss to his clan. “I believe it would be wiser if you told me about William MacGlennen’s connection to Wolf?”
“Why do you believe there’s a connection between the two?” Trevor questioned.
Parlan answered, “Because nothing else makes sense. William was a man of his word. He would never betray his clan. But wagging tongues always start with a grain of truth to them. What did William have that Wolf wanted?”
Chapter 27
Oria was eager yet afraid to ask Henry. She believed her da a good, honorable man and no one would persuade her otherwise. Her concern was that the lies had been allowed to go on unchecked and no amount of the truth would save her da’s good name.
“What did my da confess?” Oria asked, her heart beating wildly.
Old Henry took her hand. His aged hand didn’t hold the strength it once did, but he used what he had left to give her hand a comforting squeeze. “Your parents aren’t your true parents.”
Oria stared at Henry. Had she heard him correctly? She shook her head. “Did you say my parents aren’t my true parents?”
Old Henry bobbed his head. “I did.”
“That’s nonsense,” Oria said. Why would he make such an outlandish remark? When she saw the sadness deepen on his face, her stomach knotted.
“I promised I’d breathe not a word of what your da told me. But, like the wise man he was, he knew the time would come when you needed to know and he made me swear I would tell you all if I outlived him. Before I do, I want you to know that to your mum and da, you were their daughter and they loved you so much.”
Tears welled in Oria’s eyes and she almost stopped him from telling her the truth, but like her da had known, she also knew—she couldn’t hide from the truth.
Old Henry kept hold of her hand. “Your mum had suffered three miscarriages. The fourth time she learned she was with child, she was doing well. When she was eight months along, she started feeling ill. Your da learned of an exceptional healer at least a week’s time from here. Your da thought to bring the healer here, but her clan would not permit it, though invited your mum and da to go there. They did.” Henry got teary-eyed. “She delivered the bairn but it never drew a breath and the healer told her she’d never carry another child. They both thought it a miracle when on their return home they came upon a merchant with a bairn who was no more than a few weeks old. He told them the bairn’s mother had perished from an illness and he couldn’t tend the bairn and offered to sell the wee lass to them. He did, however, warn them that the mother had been a Norseman slave. They immediately paid the merchant and gladly took you from him. The timing was perfect. When they arrived home, your da proudly announced his wife had given birth to a beautiful, wee lass, and we all celebrated.”
Oria sat staring at Henry. This couldn’t be true. This was a bad dream—a nightmare. It had to be. How could she have gone to bed last night and woke this morning a different woman?
The thought had her asking, “I’m not a Scot?”
The way Old Henry squeezed her hand again and the tears that clouded his eyes told her there was much more to the story.
“Your da was told you are the image of your true mum.”
“Someone recognized me?” Her heart felt like it slammed against her chest. “Trevor?”
Old Henry nodded. “Trevor was scouting the area and came across you here. He met a few times with your father in the dark of night, and asked about you. Your da denied it at first, insisting you were his daughter. Trevor didn’t believe him and told him how a slave woman had abducted the daughter of a chieftain of a powerful Norse tribe. They were never able to find the child until now. Trevor told your da there was no denying who y
ou were and he threatened to snatch you away from him as you’d been snatched away from your true family. Your da finally admitted the truth. I think your da felt guilty when he learned the truth. All those years, he believed your mum dead and that he was protecting you. But knowing you were stolen from your true parents disturbed him.”
Oria didn’t know what to think. Lies upon lies, secrets upon secrets. Promises upon promises. Was there truth to anything? At least one of the questions about her da had been solved. The dark figure he’d met with had been Trevor. It had nothing to do with betraying the clan and that brought a small bit of relief to her.
“So I’m not a Scot, I’m a Norsewoman?”
Old Henry looked hesitant to continue.
“Please, Henry, I need to know,” Oria encouraged, though wondered if her painful heart could take much more.
“You’re the daughter of a Norsewoman from a powerful tribe that once owned this land and all the land around it,” Old Henry said.
Shock almost robbed her of her breath as an unbelievable thought slammed into her. It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t be, she silently told her. Why then did it seem like a piece to the puzzle had suddenly fallen into place?
Oria shook her head. “Tell me it isn’t so, Henry, tell me Demelza isn’t my sister and—God help me—please tell me the Beast isn’t my brother.”
A tear slipped down Old Henry’s cheek. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”
This couldn’t get any worse. Good Lord, her brother was responsible for all the suffering brought on the clans and worse, he had been the one responsible for tearing Royden and her apart.
“Your da was warned not to let you wed Royden,” Old Henry said. “But he knew how much you loved Royden, always loved him, and he wanted you happy and safe. His only thought was to keep you safe and with the one person he knew would protect you with his life.”
“Royden,” Oria said as pieces to the puzzle continued to connect. “That was why my da wanted so many chieftains and some of their warriors at my wedding. He wasn’t betraying them. He needed their help. He feared an imminent attack.” She shut her eyes, holding back tears and the horrific memory of that day. “Chieftain Galvin Macara and his son Bayne were fearless warriors. That’s why he was upset when Galvin refused to go to the wedding.”
Pledged to a Highlander: Highland Promise Trilogy (Book 1) Page 26