Page 94 of Long Live the King

I said, “I regret the guardrail now, if we had seen this last night we would already be searchin’ for her… Lochinvar, this is where the trouble comes in, ye canna speculate — there are nae records, but we daena ken why — this daena mean she is lost for good.”

He looked like he was in shock. “Ye think we will find her?”

I said, “Aye. I feel certain her disappearance is connected tae Asgall Holdings and King Asgall?—”

Kaitlyn asked, “King Asgall?”

“Aye, we hae a new enemy, he owns a company in the twentieth century, he is a landowner all around the world, and he is a king of Scotland in the thirteenth century.”

Her face went pale. “A king, like you were a king?”

“Aye, tis uncomfortably similar tae my own history, tis either mimicry or subterfuge, either way he is causin’ a great deal of trouble.” He glanced at Lochinvar, who looked agitated. “But wewillfind her.”

“Like Donnan’s father found his sister? He didn’t, she was never found again! Lady Mairead said it, I heard it right here!”

I said, “Well, it wasn’t our family lookin’ for her. I will not rest. Are ye goin’ tae rest?”

“Nae.”

“Good.” I asked the computer projection, “Shew me Asgall Holdings and any connection tae Ashley McNeil, or her nickname Ash.”

The voice in the room responded, “There is no direct connection. The indirect connections are the Ash tree, represented as the Tree of Life on the brand logo of Asgall Holdings, one of the world’s oldest and most esteemed companies.”

There was a projection of a Celtic knot with a tree trunk in the middle, roots below, limbs above, knotted taegether.

The room’s voice continued, “According to a New York Times article from November 7, 1912, entitledThe Reclusive Land Baron and the Ash Tree, the branding of Asgall Holdings was designed to honor the wife of the Scottish King, Asgall I, who sat on the throne in the late thirteenth century.

Lochinvar had gone pale, he blinked. “I told her she was named after Yggdrasil, the Tree of Life, och nae, tis her.”

I asked, “We daena ken this yet, Lochinvar, we must continue tae look, there are inconsistencies and?—”

“Tis clear as day. Her name is Ash, like the tree, the tree in the Tree of Life. I told her she was the tree of life and she is calling herself —” His eyes went wide. “Dost ye think she is sending a message? She is telling us that she is there!”

I chewed my lip. “It might be, aye, I suppose...”

I asked the room, “Are there any marriage records for Asgall I or the founder of Asgall Holdings?”

The computer responded, “There are no known marriage records for Asgall I beyond a name, Ash, unknown surname. The records also show that the founder of Asgall Holdings had a wife and son.”

I said, “Names?”

The projection changed to a photograph of a woman with a young boy on her lap, in the back of a limo. She had her arm up blocking her face. “Is this the only photo?”

The voice said: Yes.

Then there appeared an obituary: Ash (no known last name), deceased at age twenty-five. Wife of reclusive land baron Asgall, CEO of Asgall Holdings. She leaves behind an infant son, Dominion Mac Asgall.

Lochinvar said, “Is that Ash — we found her? Och nae, she’s dead? I am too late?”

I said, “This is… this simply shows whatmighthappen. This was announced in the twentieth century, but…” I asked the computer tae shew me her burial place and found nae results. “This is all inconclusive.”

The kids ran around the room. The staff brought us drinks and snacks, those that had traveled were lying back on the cushions, recuperating. Lochinvar was up, pacing the room, filled with angst, while Quentin and I stood shoulder tae shoulder and I called out requests tae the computer.

Lochinvar asked, “How could she marry him?”

Kaitlyn said, “Are we even certain it’s her? This is likely a coincidence. The female name Ash must be fairly common.”

I had m’arms crossed on my chest and my mind spinning. I asked the room, “Shew me a photo of Dominion, son of Asgall,” and, “Show me the birth certificate of Dominion…” and then back tae the photo of the woman in the back of the limo. “Can ye tell if this is her?”

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