Chapter Two
The next morning,Kuresh stared at his reflection in the palm-sized looking glass he kept in his bedchamber. Was he truly ready to give up his Ottoman name, to embrace the ways of a Highlander? Though he favored his father in looks, he’d been blessed with his mother’s generous spirit and kind heart. He set the glass aside. He felt no connection to his old home. Of course he missed his family. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could conjure images of his mother, sisters, and three younger brothers. They’d often eaten together under the fruit trees in the courtyard. One of his favorite places.
He clenched his jaw as his father invaded his happy thoughts. The man had betrayed him, proven himself a coward. Kuresh opened his eyes. It was time to cast off the past. He grabbed his boots, slipped his feet inside, then laced them up. He straightened the collar of his favorite black tunic, a gift from Laird Alex last year. He wore thick, silver bands on each wrist and a matching chain around his neck, embellished with red garnets, symbols of his royal birthright in Constantinople.
Nothing would change his mind about becoming a MacKay. He’d earned it. Someone knocked on the door.
“Enter,” Kuresh called.
The door opened, and Jamie greeted him.
“I was not expecting you,” Kuresh said.
“I thought it wise to visit with ye before the ceremony. Tis not every day a man forsakes his home—especially a prince—and chooses to put on the armor of a Highlander.”
“Armor?” Kuresh snorted. “Ye fight half naked. Some bare-footed.”
“Aye.” Jamie smiled. “Tis why the English fear us.”
“Please…” Kuresh motioned to the ornate chair in front of the hearth, a prized piece of furniture he had brought to the Highlands from his old home. “Sit.”
Jamie accepted the offer. “This fabric…”
“Silk.”
“Not the kind we buy at the markets in Constantinople.”
“Nay. We are forbidden to sell the highest quality silks to foreigners, to nonbelievers—an offense punishable by death.”
Jamie ran his hands over the padded arm rests. “It feels like skin.”
Kuresh nodded. “My people have a deep appreciation for fine fabrics. Silk is preferred over any other. It keeps your body cool in the desert sun.”
Jamie leaned forward in the high-backed chair, touching the matching footstool. “Ye even rest yer feet upon it?”
“This chair and stool were gifted to me by my mother when I turned fifteen. We wear silk slippers in my mother’s palace, not heavy leather boots or shoes.”
“To live in such luxury…”
Kuresh stared at the floor.
“I am sorry, my friend. I dinna mean to dredge up old memories.”
“I do miss my mother. She is the best woman I have ever known, the best part of Constantinople.”
“If ye wanted to go back, I would understand, Kuresh. In fact, I encourage ye to do so. The Highlands are unforgiving to foreigners. Our people are superstitious and uneducated. Ye represent everything they fear most, the unknown.”
Kuresh sank into the chair next to Jamie and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you wish me to go?”
“Not in the way ye are thinking. I owe ye so much. A debt I’m afraid I canna ever repay. Restoring yer birthright is as close as I could ever come. Do ye understand what I’m saying?”
Kuresh stretched his legs out, digesting everything his laird had said. Yes, he had experienced his share of rejection in the Highlands, yet, it did not compare to the welcome he had received from most of the MacKays. Whether in Laird Alex’s house or in Jamie’s. This clan stood out from the rest. Perhaps even reminded him of his own family—with the exception of his father. Brave to a fault, hungry for success, desperately loyal to whatever cause they took up, fierce warriors, and unrelenting in their faith.
Kuresh smiled.
“What?” Jamie asked.
Kuresh’s gaze met Jamie’s. “We are more alike than you will ever know.”
