The matter-of-fact way he addresses my lovability makes my breath hitch. I try to find the words to reply, but thankfully Callum continues. “Rosie, you could seek the wisest sage on the highest mountain, and still not have your answer. All I can tell you is what I saw.”
“Whatdidyou see? Like, what happened to Gregor?”
“Och, now there’s the crux of the tale. Gregor fell for Janet, sure enough. That’s why Donag hates your name so much.”
“Yeah, why is that?”
“Think on it. Your mother was mistress of Dunrose Castle. Come spring, roses grow thick along the bailey’souter walls. And Janet was never without some. Gregor would sneak off to meet her, and he’d always be carrying a rose upon his return.”
“I bet Donag loved that.”
“She had her own concerns, truth be told. Turned a blind eye until Janet rubbed it in her face. She’s a proud one, Donag is.”
“What did she do to rub it in her face?”
“Janet came for help in slipping Gregor’s child.”
“I’m not following. What do you mean,slipping?”
“To slip a bairn? It means to rid a babe from the belly.” He holds my gaze, then realizes he has to spell it out for me. “Gregor’s seed soon quickened inside Janet. And though your mother was fond of the man, she wasnae so fond she’d give up her life in the castle to bear his child.”
I process the fact that my mother was pregnant with another baby before she had me. Knowing her, I’m sure she didn’t blink at the thought of getting rid of a child she viewed as inconvenient.
“Are you telling me, my mother was stupid enough to ask Donag for help withthat?”
“No. Your mother was stupid enough to ask Donag forsoapwort. The only thing that’s used for is in the slipping of a bairn. But she wouldn’t have been able to get it from one of her own attendants—it might’ve raised questions. And Janet was not without enemies.”
“I’ll bet.” I consider his words. “But trust me, my mom’s not stupid. I’m sure she enjoyed rubbing it in Donag’s face.”
“Verra possible.”
“So? What happened next?”
He pauses, like he’s making his way to anending I might not like. “Well,” he says finally, “Donag isnae the only one who found out. When Campbell got wind that his bride had a MacGregor babe in her belly, he had Gregor killed.”
“Holy crap,” I exclaim. “Donag’s husband is deadbecause of Janet?”
Everything about this revelation chills me. This place, this time, it’s so violent. My married mother dallied with another woman’s husband, with no thought as to whether it might get him killed. It’s all so lawless and brutal.
“Poor Donag.” I shake my head, sickened. “No wonder she hates me. I’d hate me, too.”
“Donag doesnae hate you.” He pauses, and with a sad smile, adds, “Not overmuch, anyway.”
“How did Janet react? When they killed Gregor?”
I want Callum to say she railed against the injustice, cried for her dead lover. But I can guess the real answer, and it turns my stomach. I can certainly picture my mother crying and railing, but mostly because she’d have hated being denied a favorite plaything.
“She didnae know. By the time Gregor swung from the hanging tree, she was already gone.”
“Whoa. Stop.”
I sit up so fast my vision swims, heather stalks crackling beneath my palms. “My mother doesn’t know Gregor is dead?”
Callum doesn’t answer, but his silence speaks volumes. The wind whips strands of hair across my face, and I brush them away with trembling fingers as nineteen years of memories suddenly shift and realign. Every time my mother stared out our living room window on stormy nights, lost in thought.
How she kept a rose pressed between the pages of a book, its petals long since faded. I always thought it was just another one of her affectations, another pretty thing she collected and forgot.
But what if she never forgot?
