“Adaira,” Jack whispered. She felt him take a gentle hold of her arm, turning her toward him. “Where are you going?”
She stared at Jack’s chest. She couldn’t tell if he was wearing his half coin. In fact, she had never seen it around his neck, wondering if it merely hid beneath his tunic or if he chose not to don it.
It didn’t matter.
She realized she would need to break their handfast. Jack had inadvertently bound himself to a Breccan. The truth was slowly eating through her, as if her past and her soul were a feast to ravage. Her mind reeled with the list of things she needed to do—should do—but her primary focus was getting Moray secure in the holding.
“I’m escorting the prisoner with Torin,” she said in a flat tone.
“Then let me come with you,” Jack said.
She didn’t want him beside her. She wanted a moment alone, to weep and rage in privacy. To sink into the pain of realizing her entire life had been a lie.
“Stay here with your mum and sister,” Adaira said, licking her lips. She felt parched. Cracked to her bones. “You should be with them after what happened this morning, and you need to rest. The worst of this is far from over.”
She mounted her horse and gathered the reins. She looked at Torin, who was waiting for her nod, and then they began to ride east, with Moray Breccan in the center of their tight formation.
Adaira felt Jack’s gaze. But she couldn’t bear to look behind and meet it.
Jack watched her ride away. He was numb, and the tonic was beginning to lose its edge. A throb drummed at his temples; his thoughts were overflowing.
He didn’t know what to do, but he knew he wanted to be with Adaira. He dragged his hands over his face, breathing into his palms as he considered chasing after her on foot.
“Jack.”
He turned when Sidra’s soft voice broke his thoughts. She was standing in the yard behind him, her dark brows slanted in concern. “I think your mum might be in a bit of shock. I set a kettle on the fire to boil and left a calming brew of tea, but I think you should sit with her until the worst passes.”
He hadn’t even been thinking about the impact of Moray’s confession on his mother. His mind had been wholly consumed by Adaira.
“Yes, of course,” he said, and hurried back inside.
The light was still dim, but he could see Mirin sitting on the floor before the hearth, as if her knees had become disjointed. Frae was fluttering around her, trying to get her up.
“Jack!” his sister cried. “Something’s wrong with Mum!”
“It’s all right, Frae,” Jack said. He gently eased Mirin up and into a chair. He glanced at Sidra, uncertain.
The healer reached for Frae’s hand and smiled. “Frae? Would you like to come to work with me today? I have two patients I need to see, not far from here. You can help me with the herbs, and then we can bring some food back for Jack and your mum.”
The fear in Frae’s face turned into awe. “Could I really, Sidra?”
“Yes, I would love to have you accompany me. That is, if your mum and brother agree?”
Jack looked at Mirin. Her face was pale, her eyes glazed. He didn’t think she’d heard a word Sidra had said.
“Yes,” he replied, forcing a smile. “I think that sounds nice, Frae. Fetch your plaid.”
Frae darted into the bedroom. Jack sagged in relief.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said as Sidra set two more vials in his hands.
“There’s no need to. These are for you. Take them when the pain returns,” she said, glancing at Mirin. “Keep your mother warm and calm. The tea will help.”
Frae bounded back into the chamber, shawl in hand. Jack knotted it at her collar before trailing the women to the door.
He had a moment of apprehension, letting Frae out of his sight. But he saw Sidra linking their fingers, her dog following them like a diligent guard.
“We’ll be back in two hours,” Sidra called to him.
He nodded. He waited until they had faded from sight before he shut the front door.
He exhaled against the wood. His exhaustion was rising, but there was no time to rest.
He believed Moray Breccan’s story. He believed every word, but Jack knew there were pieces still missing. Pieces only his mother held.
The kettle was hissing.
Jack removed it from the fire, adding the herbs Sidra had given him for tea. He poured two cups and brought one to Mirin, ensuring that her hands could hold it before he tucked a blanket over her knees.
He sat down in the chair across from her, waiting until she took a few sips.
She seemed to return to life, remembering herself. The color gradually blossomed on her cheeks, and he sighed in relief.
“Can I ask you something, Mum?”
Mirin looked at him. Her shoulders were still stooped, as if she was in pain. But her voice was clear when she spoke. “Yes, Jack.”
He drew in a shaky breath. He could smell the fragrance of the tea, the musty scent of the wool strung over her loom. He wondered how much this little cottage on the hill, built of stone and wood and thatch, had seen in its lifetime. He wondered what the walls would say if they could speak. What stories they guarded.
“On the night the Keeper of the Aithwood crossed the clan line with the Breccans’ daughter in his arms … he came to you,” Jack said. “My father brought Adaira to you.”
Mirin, eyes shining with tears and decades of secrets, whispered, “Yes.”
CHAPTER 26
Acrowd had gathered in Sloane.
The sight deepened Torin’s worry as he and the guard approached, Moray still bound in the midst of them. The entire ride, Adaira had refused to meet Torin’s gaze. He had glanced sidelong at her occasionally, tracing her profile. Her expression was like steel as they passed the city gates.
The moment the Breccan was seen in the streets, the people’s anger ignited.
Torin drew his horse to a halt, watching as Una Carlow pushed through the crowd.
“Is it true, laird?” Una’s voice cut through the air as she looked at Adaira. “Is it true you’re a daughter of the west? That you’re a Breccan by blood?”
Adaira seemed to blanch. At last, she glanced at Torin, and he was struck by a horrible realization.
He had opened the shutter in Jack’s bedroom during the debriefing, but in his fury, he had forgotten to close it. Moray’s story of Adaira’s origins must have slipped out that small crack, riding the wind. This was not the way Torin envisioned the clan learning the truth, and when more questions were shot at Adaira—questions laced with wariness and devastation—Torin swiftly turned his horse around to face his cousin.
“Escort Moray on to the dungeons,” he told the closest guard. “See to it that no harm comes to him.”
It was a mess as the guards moved forward with Moray, forcing the crowd to part. Adaira remained frozen and mounted on her horse, listening as the din rose around her. Torin wove his way to her side, his stallion nearly trampling a few people in the process.
The Elliott boys had approached her now. Eliza’s older brothers.
“You knew all along the Breccans were taking the lasses!” the younger Elliott boy shouted, veins pulsing in his temples. “You knew and were trading with our enemies in secret!”