“You ordered?—”
“Yes, you see, he had kidnapped a member of the royal family. So, I daresay your executioners were far more appropriate for the likes of him.”
“The royal family…”
“I thank God that my sister is safe now, though I do not know how long her recovery may take. She seems overcome.” His eyes were wet. “Perhaps now she would sit?” He waved a hand and Duncan hurried to bring her a chair.
“Your sister?” Images flashed in her head. The royal carriage, the white bed, the purple gown… Then the image of Sander, standing on a galloping horse, winning their silly little race yet again. Of Angus calling him his little prince…
She vaguely felt two large hands on her, gently pressing her into the chair. Bemused, she watched the king come to her, fall before her on his knees, and take her hands in his.
More images…
Leith MacPherson taking Sander away. To Lochahearn? Of course, where he would have played toy soldiers with his son…
She turned to Tearloch. She had to know. “Why…why did your father tell us he was dead?”
“He didnae, love. We received a missive that claimed Sander’s sister, Kenna, had died of a fever. We should have questioned it. Forgive us, we did not.”
King Malcolm grinned. “Would you like to hear a story, Kenna?”
A blanket of warm tingles fell on her shoulders and filled her, restarting her heart. “I have missed my brother’s stories.” She put her hands to the sides of his face. “Sander. Oh, Sander, can it really be you?”
The blonde was gone from his hair, but she vaguely remembered her father had the same dark golden brown the king now wore.
“Sander, you are the King of Scotland!” She laughed. “You were always dominating. I should have known then.”
“Hush, now.” He took one of her hands and kissed her palm. “Once there was a wonderful king named Duncan.”
“Father was the king? I remember him pretending to be, to make us laugh. We were small then.”
“Aye. Duncan had three children. When Duncan was murdered by Macbeth, our mother took her youngest, Donalbane, and went to England with our uncle Siward. Since I was Duncan’s heir, I could no’ be leavin’ Scottish soil, so I was taken in by one of my father’s loyal men to be hidden from Macbeth. I was told never to reveal my full name, or the name of our father. My sister and I were very close, so she was allowed to stay with me.”
“Very close,” Kenna said sleepily. She shook herself and took a deep breath to keep alert, but she was failing. Tearloch’s armscame to rest on her shoulders. His voice rumbled through her bones when he spoke.
“Go on, Yer Majesty.”
“When I turned twelve, according to my mother’s wishes, I was taken by Leith MacPherson, the Kingmaker, to train as a warrior. I was given no choice.”
Tearloch spoke again. “How did ye learn I was The MacPherson?”
“Balloch told me.”
Sander cleared his throat. “It was Gair Balloch who told us about a beauty with red hair named Kenna Carlisle who still lived with Agatha as of ten years ago. We knew then we’d been lied to. I sent my best man to fetch you, but I should have gone after you myself. I would have known you in an instant.”
“If you still had your blond hair, I would have known you on the dock.” A thought struck. “Oh, my!”
“What is it? I can deal with anything. I am the king.”
“I realize I have a great deal of apologizing to do.”
“To whom?”
“To God. You see, I could never forgive Him for letting you die.”
“Yes, well. I cannae help after all.” He kissed her hand and got to his feet. “It is your wedding day, sister. We should all sleep for a few hours. So you can rest easy, I will keep Tearloch here with me.”
The men lined up against the wall were heartily amused, and their laughter drew Kenna’s attention. She put her hands on her hips as she moved toward the door.
