“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

A crowd 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.