He paused a moment under the archway, then breathed deeply and entered the room.
The great Lion of Kinloch was seated on a stool, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together, his head bowed down. When he heard Lachlan enter, he looked up. Lachlan froze on the spot.
Very little about his cousin had changed. He still had the same thick, tawny mane of hair; his pale blue eyes were as icy and forbidding as ever. Apparently, even the joys of fatherhood had not softened the steel in his eyes. It was part of who he was, Lachlan supposed, and his lioness would never try to change him. It was part of his allure, as far as she was concerned. She had always admired his ferocity.
“I didn’t believe it when they said it was you,” Angus said, rising to his full, towering height. “I heard the horns blaring from the village and thought we were under attack. Maybe we are, for all I know. They say you brought Raonaid and that she is here now, in my home, eating my food, drinking my wine. I am half-tempted to call for my guards and lock you up as a traitor.”
“I do not deny it,” Lachlan replied. “I have brought her here, but not to cause trouble. She is here to lift the curse.”
A dark shadow of condemnation passed across Angus’s golden features. “She convinced you that the only way to lift it was for you to bring herhere? And you believed her? She is a cunning witch who conspired to have me hanged, Lachlan. What were you thinking?”
Lachlan strode forward. “That’s not how it was. I practically had to kidnap her to get her here, and you have not given me a chance to explain.”
Angus made a visible effort to calm himself by resting his hand on the hilt of his sword and crossing to the other side of the solar. “Go ahead then. Explain.”
Lachlan worked to gather his thoughts, to put them together into some form that made sense.
“You have not yet seen her,” he said, “but I am almost certain that the woman who rode through the gates with me today is Raonaid.”
Angus faced him with a grimace. “Almostcertain? What are you telling me? That she denies being the oracle? That she claims to be someone else?”
“I know it sounds ridiculous, but aye, she has been deemed the lost Drumloch heiress. Do you know of whom I speak?”
“Of course I know,” Angus replied, striding forward. “Before she went missing she was to become one of the wealthiest women in Scotland. Her father was a great war hero. He died at Sherrifmuir.”
“Aye, that’s correct, and she has been missing for five years. But last spring, she finally reappeared in a farmer’s stable in Italy, and was taken to a convent, where it was discovered that she had no memory of her former life. Her grandmother, the dowager countess, insisted that she was Catherine Montgomery, and I heard tales of her discovery. From the descriptions and rumors about her being an imposter, I had to see for myself that she was in fact the true heiress.”
Angus moved closer, both curious and suspicious. “You believed that she was Raonaid, masquerading as Catherine Montgomery, in order to steal the inheritance?”
Angus had always been swift to put two and two together. “That’s right. At first, I believed it was a clever ruse. If anyone could pull off such a deception, it would be Raonaid. But after spending time with her since leaving Drumloch Manor, I’ve had my doubts. Now I don’t know what to believe. She’s had visions, you see. I witnessed one myself. But she is not the venomous, conniving creature I remember, and I think she may be telling the truth about having lost all memory of her former life. Which is part of my problem, for she does not remember anything about the curse.”
Angus began to pace back and forth across the brightly lit room. Then he paused and regarded Lachlan with curiosity. “Gwendolen said you thought Scotland was at peace.”
Lachlan shifted uneasily. He was Angus’s former Laird of War and had always kept abreast of political developments, but over the past year he had become so absorbed in his own personal affairs, he had ignored the rest of the world and its politics.
“Are wenotat peace?” he asked, feeling rather ridiculous to be so completely uninformed.
Angus went to the sideboard and poured two glasses of whisky. “There have been rumors of another rebellion, which is why your story seems like a bit of a lark.”
“What sort of rumors? And what do they have to do with my situation?” Lachlan accepted the glass his cousin held out.
“According to my spies, and confirmed by my friend Duncan MacLean, there is another Jacobite uprising in the works. Plans have been afoot all summer long.”
“Who is behind it?” Lachlan asked, feeling a surge of annoyance, for his countrymen had fought too many deadly battles, all to restore the Stuart King to the throne of England. Too much blood had been spilled. He was sick of it, and like Angus, he wanted peace.
“My mortal enemy and brother-in-law,” Angus replied, “Murdoch MacEwen—with his lover at his side.” Angus swallowed his whisky in a single gulp, then bared his teeth at the fire blazing down his gullet.
“Who is his lover?” Lachlan asked as a dark tremor of apprehension moved through him.
“I have been told he has become enraptured by a beautiful mystic who is encouraging him to raise his sword again for Scotland, and fight for the old king. She is promising him that by doing so, he will gain great power and fortune.”
Lachlan frowned. “And you believe this beautiful mystic is Raonaid?”
“Who else could it be?” Angus replied. “They know each other. She gave him what he needed to enter my castle three years ago and put a noose around my neck—all in the name of the Stuart cause.”
“But are theytogether?” Lachlan asked, feeling the fires of his passion rising explosively. “Sharing a bed, I mean?”
The image of it plowed straight through his tremulous self-control. Raonaid and Murdoch? Lovers? He clenched his teeth together and fought to keep his breathing under control.Bloody hell! It could not be true.
