Jeannie put her hand on his arm. The old woman noted the gesture and looked back and forth between them.
“What happened?” Duncan asked, his voice emotionless.
“She slipped and fell off a cliff onto the rocks below. It was a terrible tragedy.”
Ten years ago. “About the same time as my father died,” he noted.
The old woman nodded. “Aye, we’d just heard that he’d fallen in battle. News of your troubles had not reached us.” He heard the implied “Thank God.” “When did you return?” she asked.
“A couple months ago.”
“You’ve been exonerated?”
He and Jeannie exchanged a look. “Not exactly,” he explained. “That is why we are here.”
“Is there anything you can tell us about her?” Jeannie asked.
A slight wariness appeared in Mary MacDonald’s eyes. “Why don’t you tell me what you know.”
Duncan answered. “That she was a nursemaid to the present laird’s children, that she had an affair with my father, and that she left me with my father not long after I was born,” he couldn’t quite keep the edge from his voice.
“Do not judge your mother too harshly, lad. ’Twas not easy for her to do what she did. My brother would have killed you had he discovered what she’d done. The MacDonalds and Campbells were locked in a vicious blood feud.”
The vehemence in her voice took him aback. But from what he’d heard of the old laird he did not doubt her. The old MacDonald chief had a well-earned reputation as a harsh and merciless leader. “She must have been a favored nursemaid.”
A strange look crossed her face. “Aye. Your mother was a special lass. Everyone loved her.”
Yet she’d given away her child and never looked back.
Jeannie seemed to sense his thoughts and moved to get them back on course. “Can you think of any reason why Duncan’s father would send him to find her? It was his dying wish.”
The old woman held Duncan’s gaze for a long moment before turning back to Jeannie, a sad look on her wrinkled face. “I can’t think of anything.” She paused. “I’m sorry, I wish I could be more help.”
It was no more than Duncan expected, but it did not lessen the disappointment. One more road had led him nowhere. Sooner or later (and he suspected the former), he was going to have to deal with the very real possibility that there was simply no proof to be found.
Chapter 21
They’d stayed only a short while longer, declining Lady MacDonald’s offer of a glass of claret and cakes, in favor of returning to the inn. Duncan was anxious to leave the MacDonald stronghold—not wanting to chance running into the laird—and Jeannie couldn’t blame him. Any hope of learning something important had died ten years ago.
It seemed strange and sadly ironic that both his parents had died within months of one another. She’d wanted to question Lady MacDonald further, but it was clear the subject was a painful one for the old woman, as it was for Duncan.
Not that you would know it by looking at him. She glanced over at him, so big and strong riding atop the powerful black horse, utterly in command, his handsome face devoid of emotion as he spoke in low tones with Conall. But the stoic façade did not fool her. She’d seen the flash of pain in his eyes when Lady MacDonald had spoken of his mother’s death.
Jeannie’s heart went out to him. She, too, had lost her mother without being able to say good-bye. Worse, she knew, was the lost opportunity to confront the person who’d caused so much pain.
It was only a few hours past midday, but already the light had begun to wane as they navigated the narrow path back to the village, which consisted of a handful of buildings that had sprung up around the port. Duncan seemed preoccupied and for once Jeannie was not inclined to disturb him. Did he blame her for delving into a painful past unnecessarily?
She didn’t blame him if he did. By the time they reached the inn, her stomach was tied in knots. She’d been so certain they would find something. Now she just felt foolish—impulsive—having dragged them across the sea on a silly madcap adventure. It felt distinctly like something her mother would have done. Shame crawled up her cheeks.
Duncan had a quick conversation with the men—she assumed giving them instructions for the evening—before joining her and leading her to the small private chamber he’d secured for her, for them, she hoped.
The inn was more of a large cottage—a two-story stone building with a thatched roof that hadn’t been built with men of Duncan’s build in mind. With his broad, muscular shoulders, he could barely negotiate the narrow wooden staircase up to the second floor. They reached a small landing where it appeared that three very small partitioned chambers had been created from one space. Fortunately, the room he’d selected for her was in the back, overlooking the port. It was also the most private. He had to duck his head through the doorway as he showed her inside, putting down the small bag of belongings she’d brought with her on a side table.
The room was barely functional—only a small bed, side table with basin and chair—but appeared clean.
“If you’d like, I can send for a bath,” he offered.
She nodded, biting her lip. Did he mean to leave?
