Page 79 of Bride of the Wicked Laird
“But ye found out she was most likely here, at Kiessimul Castle.”
“That is what has brought me here today. I have prayed that ye can set me mind tae rest and tell me that me daughter lives and is safe here wi’ ye.”
“Ye ken that the Laird Murchadh has made more than one attempt tae end her life? That is why she was hidden away at the Priory on Iona. Tae try and keep her safe from him.”
Dùghall shook his head. “I didnae ken such a thing fer certain but imagined that was the case. He is a monster. I’d put naething past him. The life of a wee lass would mean nothing tae him…”
It was at that moment, before Everard had even begun to think of whether it would be within the realm of sanity to allow Dùghall to meet Davina now, that the door burst open and she swept into the room, her sweet Feather clutched in her arms. Her hair was still a storm of wild curls down her back, she carried her trug full of flowers – daffodils, bluebells, buttercups and a scattering of the last of the snowdrops. He’d never seen her look so full of joy and never had she seemed more beautiful.
As she caught sight of Dùghall, she froze. Her greeting died on her lip as she looked from Everard to the MacKinnon, who had risen to his feet and turned toward her as she’d stepped into the solar.
MacKinnon seemed to stagger, reaching a hand to support himself on the back of the armchair. “Sorcha…” He fell back into the seat, ashen-faced, and snatched a bracing gulp of whisky, as Davina hurried forward.
“I apologize fer interrupting, I thought ye gentlemen where elsewhere… are ye all right, sir?” Her voice was filled with concern for the man who was so clearly unwell.
“Me apologies, lass. Fer one moment there it was yer maither I saw walk through that door.”
Davina threw him a look puzzlement. “Did ye ken me maither, the Lady Sorcha MacKinnon?”
“Come sit, me love.” Everard stood so that Davina could take his chair and crossed the room to bring another seat to the fireplace.
“There’s a story tae tell, me sweet Davina. Gird yer patience, fer ‘tis a long and winding tale, but one I believe ye’ll warm tae.”
Looking mystified, she gazed from Everard to Dùghall as she settled into her seat.
Everard lowered himself into the other chair next to Davina, and leaning forward, took both her hands in his. Beside them, Dùghall MacKinnon, was breathing slowly, as if attempting to calm himself before speaking again.
“There is something I must say tae ye both.” Everard glanced at Dùghall. “After I’ve said me piece, I will let ye tell the Lady Davina yer story and how it is entwined with that of Sorcha Comyn, who became Sorcha MacKinnon.”
Still holding Davina’s fingers curled in his hand, he took a deep steadying breath and it exhaled slowly.
“I have recently discovered that the lad who took ye tae the Priory at Iona was yerhalf-brother,Tòrr MacKinnon.”
“Mebraither,surely, dearest.”
“Nay lass, that is what I must tell ye before the Laird Dùghall begins his tale. The monstrous Laird Murchadh MacKinnon is nay yer rightful faither.”
She gasped, her hand flying to her heart. “But…”
“I’ll say naught further now, yet I ken this tae be true. The man who treated ye so cruelly isnay yer faither.”
“But how…. who…?” She trailed off as Everard raised a hand.
“Now,” he said quietly, “I leave it tae ye, Laird Dùghall, tae tell the story of yerself and Sorcha and the love ye had fer each other.”
Folding his arms, he sat back in his chair. He was concerned for Davina, yet the time had at last come when all the pieces of her puzzling life must be brought together to make the whole.
Dùghall’s tale began when he, as a lad, was sent as a squire to Freuchie Castle.
Davina’s eyes sparkled when Dùghall described the lass who had won his heart from their first meeting. He glanced up at her as he spoke. “I see ye in her. Ye’ve the same green-flecked, golden eyes, the same glorious tresses.” He smiled faintly.
As his story progressed Davina’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, how sad!” she exclaimed when Dùghall told her how Sorcha’s father had insisted on a wedding to unite the power of the MacKinnons of Mull with the Comyn Clan.
At that point, Dùghall rose to his feet and stood by the fire, his shoulder against the mantel. “’Tis hard fer me tae tell this.” He turned his eyes to the flames, his chest rising and falling steadily before he swiveled to meet Davina’s gaze.
“I resolved tae leave Scotland, fer me love was lost and me heart broken. But I longed tae set me eyes on me true heart’s love one more time afore I travelled tae France, and perhaps tae convince her tae flee with me.”
Davina dabbed her tears with a linen cloth as she listened to the story of the last meeting between Sorcha and Dùghall, and his despair at the thought of never seeing his beloved again. He made it clear that when it came to the time of Davina’s birth, it was impossible for Murchadh to be her father as, counting back the months during which Sorcha was with child, Murchadh had been absent for some time in the court of the English King.
