Page 85 of Highland Crown
Every time he thought of them, he wiped them away and recalled the hard face of his mother, Anne Mackintosh.
“When did I first arrive at Dalmigavie?” he asked again, his tone sharper than before.
“You were almost four years of age when your mother sent you to us.”
Four. No wonder he didn’t belong. Hewasan outsider. The words finally sank in.Sent.He was sent here.
The thick walls of the past were crumbling around him, stone by stone, allowing long-forgotten memories to filter through like sunlight through colored glass.
Mon fils, mon bébé. Je suis ta maman. The gentle murmur of the words was in his head. He couldn’t shake them or make them go away. Cinaed had always known French. He spoke the language like someone born to it.
The face of a fair young woman with curls that hung around her face came to his mind.
Je suis ta maman. I am your mother.
“Whois my mother? Who sent me here?”
“I’ll not speak of her. She’ll be the one to tell you who she is. How and why she gave you up is not for me to be telling either. But I’ll tell you this, my sister Anne was no more blood kin to you than that horse you rode in on.”
He wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t. Anne Mackintosh’s coolness, her lack of affection made sense to him now. He was raised by others. By the clan. She never called him “son.” The only time he recalled her being kind to him was on her deathbed, when she’d handed him the ring.
His real mother was alive. Alive. In his mind, he ran down a dark tunnel, trying to find the light, trying to recall memories. He wanted to remember her face.
“But you won’t have long to wait. She’s making arrangements to come to the Highlands, though I know it’ll be difficult to manage, considering who she is. But she’s determined to meet you.”
Cinaed ran his hand over his face, fighting to pullback the curtain still stretched across his memory. But the darkness wouldn’t lift.
“What of my father? Was he a Mackintosh?”
Lachlan shook his head and leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. “I’ve had to wait years until I could reveal the truth to you. But I believe the time has come.”
His curiosity was aroused. But none of this mattered. He had his own life. He had Isabella. His past had no hold on him. Whatever “truth” this man was about to throw at him, it was only a thistle seed in the wind.
“You are…”
Cinaed knew who he was. As a child he’d wanted to know more, but a father’s name meant nothing to him now.
“Your true name is Cinaed James Stuart.” He paused, letting the sound fade from the air. “You are the only male alive descended directly from our Bonnie Prince.”
Cinaed stared, not comprehending. His father was a sailor. He’d been lost at sea before Cinaed was born.
This was foolishness. The ravings of a man too long here in the mountains. Cinaed knew the history, the same as all Highlanders knew it. Bonnie Prince Charlie died in exile, and his only acknowledged heir was his daughter, Charlotte. She, too, was already dead.
“I don’t believe you.”
The old man shrugged. “Your father, Jamie, was a bastard, a year older than Charlotte, born and raised in secret.”
Lachlan wore the smile of a man who’d just bestowed on him the most precious gift on earth. But Cinaed felt no richer for it. He had a thousand questions—not the least of which was why his so-called father’s existencewas a secret, with only Lachlan Mackintosh privy to it. But his greatest wish was to walk out of this lodge and leave this nonsense behind.
Cinaed had seen enough Highlanders, displaced from their homes and their land. He knew how far people would go, how desperately they would cling to a misbegotten belief, to keep their hope alive.
“I don’t believe it,” he repeated.
Lachlan sat back and shook his head. His sad smile told Cinaed he was not surprised by his reaction.
“Where is the ring you were given?”
“My wife is wearing it. My mother, your sister, gave it to me.”
