“But…”
He shook his head and moved his attention to the water. “My father isna buried in the kirk.”
Why speak of his sire now? Out of respect for the man she knew and loved, she decided to indulge Alex. “Why not?”
“The northern clans embrace their Viking roots. It is easy for a warrior to gaze across the sea and imagine his kinsmen sailing here on a longship in ancient times.”
“Aye,” she said. “My father did the same. The tall tales he told at feasts about the Northmen, their brutality and fearlessness, filled by childhood dreams. How many cups of ale have been raised to honor one of England’s worst enemies?”
“Enough to inspire my sire to demand a burial like one of those bloody Northmen.”
She looked at Alex in shock. “What do ye mean?”
“His body was washed and dressed and then placed on a ceremonial boat strewn with heather and bells. His shield and sword were placed within his cold grip, bowls of incense lit and set about him. Then the women cried thecoronach, recalling his greatest battles as his captains pushed the boat to sea. Upon Mathe’s signal, a lone archer shot a fiery arrow at the vessel, setting it afire. Twas a warrior’s burial, Keely, but not a Christian one. And Father Michael canna tell me if he’s in Heaven or Hades.”
“Dear God…”
He continued with his story. “Mathe described the ceremony to me, but I couldna believe my sire would stray from tradition. He believed in God, but after reading his missives…” Alex showed her a stack of letters. “I’m not sure which god he worshipped.”
Her heart bled for him, for no one wanted their father’s soul to be lost. “His service to yer clan, his benevolence, and unwavering belief in justice have saved him. God has many names and forms, does he not? Ye’ve learned that on yer adventures.”
Alex scratched his head. “And where did ye gain such wisdom, lass?”
“Years spent in the Sutherland library reading every manuscript I could get my hands on.”
He frowned at the mention of his enemy’s name, but his expression returned to normal quickly. “I doona know why I shared this story with ye. My father admired ye, Keely, even loved ye as a daughter, I think. He mentions ye many times in his letters.”
“I miss yer father, Alex. Perhaps we wouldna be here if he was still laird.”
“But he isna.”
“Nay, he isna,” she agreed. Is this what he wanted to see her about? To reminisce about things that would never be? For a brief moment she wanted to touch his face, to offer comfort, because she could see the pain in his eyes, the regret etched on his handsome face. “Where did the missives come from?”
“My secretary found them among my father’s things. When I left for Constantinople, the ship I sailed on stopped in Rome first. I spent months there and met Petro de’ Medici. I hired him as an interpreter. We’ve been together ever since.”
“A valued friend?”
“More like a brother.”
“I am happy ye found such a companion.”
Alex nodded. “And have ye found such an ally?”
“Only one.”
“A man?” His eyes narrowed.
“Nay.”
“Then who?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“There will be no retaliation if ye give an answer I doona like.”
“Helen Sutherland.”
Alex closed his eyes and drew in a stiff breath. “I know nothing about the woman.”
