And that Moira had lied to him.
The boy had Moira’s midnight-blue eyes, but all his other features were Duncan’s—including his bright red hair. Although Duncan’s hair was a deep auburn now, it had been that exact color when he was a bairn.
“Aye, I’m Ragnall.” The lad’s stance was stiff, his eyes cautious. “Who are you?”
Duncan was too stunned to speak for a moment, and then he was not sure how to answer. Finally, he said, “My name is Duncan. I play the pipes.”
He understood now that it was no coincidence that Moira’s husband had exploded in a murderous rage on the very night that Duncan arrived. When Sean saw Duncan, he must have come to the same conclusion that Duncan had just now.
“How old are ye?” Duncan asked, needing to confirm it.
“I’m eight,” the girl said, tilting her head and sending her curls bouncing again.
“And you?” Duncan asked Ragnall.
Ragnall paused, as if weighing whether to answer, before he said, “Six and a half.”
Duncan heard Moira’s voice in his head.Ragnall is five years old.She had purposefully deceived him, and she had continued the deceit every day since.
If Moira would lie to him about his son, she would lie about anything.
How could she do it?It was not for lack of opportunity that she’d failed to tell him the truth. Duncan thought of all the times she’d mentioned her son—and worse, all the hours she lay in his arms—and chose not to tell him.
How could Moira let him touch her in every intimate way and still keep this secret from him? When they made love, he had believed their souls touched, but now he could see that it was only his that was laid bare.
“What is your name?” Duncan asked the little girl.
“I’m Sarah,” the girl said with a bright smile.
“Someone downstairs was calling for ye,” Duncan said.
“Ach, that’s my nursemaid,” Sarah said and rolled her eyes.
Duncan would wager Sarah ran the poor woman ragged. “You’d best go to her.”
“Wait here,” Sarah said to Ragnall as she flew out the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Ragnall gazed up at him as if Duncan was a puzzle he was trying to solve.
“I’m a MacDonald,” Duncan said, “and a friend of your mother.”
“Where is she?” Ragnall asked, his eyes wide. “Is she safe?”
Ragnall looked so worried that Duncan instinctively put his hand on the lad’s head. An unexpected rush of warmth went through him. This was his son, a gift Moira would deny him no more.
“Your mother is safe with our clan at Dunscaith Castle,” Duncan said.
Ragnall studied him. “Ye could be lying.”
He was mistrustful for such a young lad. That was Sean’s doing.
“Come look out the window, and I’ll show ye that I speak the truth.” Duncan led the boy to one of the windows that faced the wide fields behind the castle and lifted him up on his knee.
“Look closely over there, to the southeast, at the edge of the field.” Duncan leaned close so that their heads just touched as he pointed. “Can ye see him? He’s there, crouching in the grass.”
The boy was quiet and squinted his eyes as he searched the distant field, then he sucked in his breath.
“Sàr!” The single word was so full of emotion that Duncan felt his own throat close.
