Jamie’s mouth curved into a wicked smile. “An eye for an eye.”
“Yes.”
“Then I am satisfied yer sire will know the depth of his misdeeds one day.”
“Which is why I wish to be a MacKay. I could never go home—not as my father’s son. Not as the spoiled prince I used to be.”
“But what of yer mother, sisters, and brothers?”
Once again Kuresh was forced to look away, out of shame and concern. A better son and brother would have fought to stay with his family. He should have fought to the death, challenged his father. “Regardless of my father’s sins, he loves my mother. More than any of his wives or concubines, even the youngest and most fertile cannot challenge his feelings for her.”
“Then ye believe her safe?”
“Yes.”
“Then I, too, am satisfied with yer decision. When ye are ready, come to the great hall.” Jamie gripped his captain’s forearm. “Ye are the brother I often prayed for as a lad.”
Kuresh watched Jamie disappear down the passageway. God strike him dead if he was making the wrong choice. He knew his future was his own. In the Highlands, any man could make a name for himself, gain wealth, a beautiful bride, have happiness. In his homeland, only power and noble blood brought happiness; most suffered under the greed of the princes who controlled everything.
Kuresh secured the brooch at his shoulder, holding his tartan in place. This is what he wanted. Undeniably, his deeply tanned skin and dark features set him apart from most Highlanders. But his nose was narrow and long, his eyes almond-shaped. He blended if he wished to. And spoke Gaelic as well as anyone, with only a hint of an accent. Commanding Jamie’s guards gave him the opportunity to earn respect and coin. Not to mention the lush hills and snow-capped mountains, the endless supply of fresh water, something his people fought and died for in the desert.
No matter what god the Highlanders worshipped, they had been blessed with a fertile homeland, able to support beasts of the field and vast crops. Trees dotted the landscape and bright flowers covered the land in rich colors as magnificent as the expensive carpets woven on the looms of his people. He gazed out the narrow window in his chamber, taking a deep breath, feasting on the air, admiring the place he called home.
“Aye,” he said aloud, choosing a word commonly used by the Highlanders. “Let every carved stone in the wall that surrounds my father’s palace turn to dust before I dare set foot through his gates again.”
All these years later, his father’s betrayal still festered inside him, still stung like a scorpion’s tail. Kuresh and two of his brothers had been traded for his father’s life to Laird Alex, Jamie’s cousin. He fisted his hands as he made his way to where his weapons were kept, on a long table by the chamber door. He fitted four dirks into their sheaths at his hips and thighs, then proudly encased his scimitar, the sword he chose to carry, one of the only remnants of his past life he kept with him every day.
He patted the handle of the superior weapon before he opened the door, letting in the sounds of celebration coming from the great hall below. Laird Jamie had told him nearly every servant and soldier, commoner and nobleman, had requested permission to attend his naming ceremony, a testament to the impact Kuresh’s loyal service had on this newly formed branch of Clan MacKay.
He closed the door and trekked down the narrow passageway to the stairs. Musicians were playing the lutes and harp, the women singing a lively song, one Kuresh recognized easily. Whenever the soldiers returned from battle in victory, the women often graced them with the spirit-lifting song. He smiled as he descended the stairs, met by applause and raised cups as he appeared at the archway opening into the hall.
Kuresh had a mind for detail, recalling faces easily. Some of the men present were unknown to him, but he trusted Laird Jamie’s judgement. Though he did not understand why strangers would wish to attend the ceremony. Born a prince, he never used his title in the Highlands, though some of the women he’d bedded liked to whisper it, for it gave them a thrill to think they had been loved by a man of royal blood. The thought made Kuresh laugh aloud. The women of the Highlands were beautiful, free in a way he had never imagined—hard on the outside, but as sweet and biddable as lambs on the inside.
Except for her…
His gaze stopped on Lady Miran. Taller than most women, she stood out in a crowd, the way he often did. Her golden hair and green eyes haunted him too often in the middle of the night. Twas when he imagined her sharp tongue, any feelings he held for her quickly dissipated. Or did they? She was dressed in a forest-green gown, her fine hair braided and coiled into a becoming style atop her head, and he could not help but stare admiringly. A gold chain adorned her slim neck and a matching chain belt hugged her waist and hips. He wet his dry lips, forcing his desire for her out of his mind. But it seemed too late, for his body always responded to her presence.
He’d purge that pain from his body later, either through bedding a willing maid or by taking a swim in the frigid loch.
“Prince Kuresh,” Laird Jamie called, rising from his seat at the high table. “Step forward, we have been waiting for ye.”
Why had his laird and friend chosen to call him a prince today? As he walked down the aisle that split the rectangular-shaped hall in half, with trestle tables lining both sides, the men standing bowed to him.
Kuresh reached the dais that contained the high table, where he sat most every night to eat. He bowed to Laird Jamie and Lady Helen. “You do me a great honor, my laird.”
Jamie grinned. “Ye do us the real honor. Tis why I reminded everyone of who ye used to be. Yer sacrifice will no’ be forgotten.” Then he motioned to the people. “See what admiration ye inspire?”
Kuresh once again looked about the room.
“Thank ye for saving my life,” Helen said with a smile. “Ye are a welcome addition to our household. A true leader and friend.”
Kuresh bowed; her words touched his heart.
“Tis the first time I know of a foreigner being welcomed into our clan. I can only assume, since there is a bylaw allowing for such a practice, that somewhere in our clan history, we welcomed strangers into our family.”
“I will not disappoint you.”
“Tis not my worry,” Jamie said. “I fear failing ye, for I have seen where ye come from, the palace ye lived in, the future ye gave up to come here.”
