Gunnar.
The coldness bled from Trahern’s heart and through his veins, fear snaking up into his throat. “No. It’s not true.”
Annle folded her hands on her lap. “TheLochlannachwoman came to us, long ago. She gave birth to a son the very night after Saraid gave birth. But your mother’s child was sickly. He came too soon, and there was nothing I could do to save him.”
Annle reached out for Trahern’s hand. “I know you can guess what your mother did. The woman was bleeding, and she died that night. Saraid took you and raised you as her own.”
He wanted to deny it, to give all the reasons why it couldn’t be true. But his physical appearance didn’t lie. His height and his features were not like his brothers.
You’re a Lochlannach, Áron had accused. Trahern’s jaw tightened, hating the thought that it could be true. Even Gunnar believed he was one of them, from the moment Trahern had tried to kill the man. His eyes had been blinded to the truth, it seemed.
He wanted to drive his fist into a wall, anything to burn off the reckless anger rising inside. But Annle’s delicate hand held firm, squeezing his palm.
He forced himself to take a breath. “You said the woman didn’t come from Gall Tír.”
“She wasn’t one of the Hardrata tribe,” Annle agreed. “She’d fled their settlement, begging us for sanctuary.”
“What happened to her, after she died?”
Annle’s quiet smile held amusement. “You know that she didn’t truly disappear. We buried her along the sea cliff, and covered the place with stones.”
The healer took his hand. “The woman may have given birth to you, but Saraid gave you a home and a family. You may not be a MacEgan by blood, but—“ She reached out and touched his heart. “You are here, where it counts.”
Trahern didn’t hear the rest of what she said, words of consolation and words trying to explain the lies. He’d always believed that Saraid and Duncan were his parents. And his mother had treated him as though he were her own flesh.
“Did my father know?”
Annle nodded. “He did. But they chose to treat you as their own son, a precious gift in the midst of Saraid’s tragedy.” The old healer patted his hand. “Don’t let it bother you, Trahern.”
But it did. Not only would he never know his true parents, but his family ties had been dissolved with a single revelation. He wasn’t a MacEgan. And knowing the truth was like a knife slashing through his heart.
He bid farewell to Annle, but he was numb to the celebration going on around him. He saw Connor laughing with his wife Aileen, and his brother waved.
No. No longer his brother. He wasLochlannach, of the same blood as his enemy.
He kept walking, away from the crowd. Right now, he couldn’t seem to grasp what had happened or what he should do with the information.
Behind him, he heard quiet footsteps following. He continued back to the castle, knowing who it was. But right now, he had no idea what he could say to Morren.
“Trahern?” she called out to him, when he reached the spiral stairs. “Is everything all right?”
No, it wasn’t. But he could only lift his shoulders in a shrug. “I just need to be alone for a time.” Long enough to decide what he should do about Annle’s confession. It was as if someone had swept his past clean, destroying his family.
Morren moved closer, concern etched in her eyes. “Something happened since I spoke with you last. After you left Annle’s hut, you looked upset.”
“It has nothing to do with the raiders,” he reassured her. “You can go and join the others.”
Morren took a step up, passing him until she stood above him on the stairs. She reached out to touch his cheek, her face lined with concern. “You’re still my friend, Trahern. Tell me.”
He wanted to deny her again. He ought to hold his silence, not troubling her with his errant thoughts. And yet, Morren’s calm presence steadied him. She knew him as no other woman did and would not cast any judgment.
“Come.” Trahern took her hand and led her up the winding stairs until they reached the family chambers. He opened one of the doors and invited her inside. Turmoil and uncertainty shadowed his mind as he wondered how to begin. She didn’t push for answers but simply waited.
“Annle told me . . . a story about my mother,” he admitted. “It bothered me to hear it.”
He explained what he’d learned about the infant Saraid had lost and how she had raised him as her own.
“I know she loved me,” he admitted. “And I grew up believing I had five brothers.”
