Page 3 of Owned by the Scarred Laird

The man jerked back, then let out a breath that was almost a laugh, dry and humorless. “I am nae talkin’ about a maid, lass.” He said it as if the misunderstanding were an inconvenience. “I am talking about Lady Siobhan O’Donell.” He looked around at the three of them, taking in their faces. “Yer mother. The real one.”

Jenny’s grip on Chloe’s arm loosened slightly.

She felt the blood drain from her face.

Lady Siobhan O’Donell?

How is this even possible?

2

“What? Moira Mullen is me mother,” Chloe declared desperately.

The name the man spoke was a title belonging to a world of stone keeps and silken banners. It did not belong here, amid the smell of tallow and the familiar ache of hard labor.

She felt Jenny’s fingers slacken on her arm, and that loss of contact felt like falling. All these years, her identity had been a simple, sturdy thing—a girl of the village, a daughter of a maid.

Now, with a few dry words, this stranger was trying to unmake her.

Me mother is someone else?

Images shifted to the woman who had raised her, the face she had kissed goodnight, the hands that had bandaged her knees. That was her mother.

For a long moment, nobody spoke. Then the man reached into his coat and pulled out a ring. He held it up between two fingers. Heavy gold with a crest pressed into it, symbolizing a legacy passed down through generations.

“The O’Donell seal.” He set it on the table beside him. Then came the letter, folded and waxed, with the seal matching the ring exactly. He placed it next to the ring and stepped back. “Written by me wife before she died. In her own hand.”

Thomas picked up the letter. His face gave nothing away as he read it. Jenny read over his shoulder, and Chloe watched the color shift in Jenny’s cheeks.

“She was unwell,” the man said. “For years. Her mind…” He paused, and his voice dropped just enough to sound like a man choosing his words carefully over grief. “She made decisions I was never told about. I didnae ken about Chloe until recently, when me wife’s lady maid came forward after her passin’. I came as soon as I could.”

Thomas set the letter down. His eyes met the stranger’s with a cool gaze. “And ye expect us to simply hand her over?”

“I expect ye to recognize what’s in front of ye. That seal. That letter. Me daughter is Lady Chloe O’Donell by birth, and she has a home, a clan, and a name waitin’ for her.” He looked at Chloe. “I am nae askin’ yer permission, Lord Thomas. I am tellin’ ye, as a courtesy, what is already decided.”

Jenny’s face was tight. She was thinking fast; Chloe could see it, running through everything available to her and finding its edges.

A sudden, sharp spark of resentment flared through the numbness. She wanted Jenny or Thomas to scoff and throw the man out into the cold.

Instead, Thomas spoke carefully. “We’ll need time to verify this.”

“Ye have until mornin’.” The man’s response was instant. He picked up his ring and slid it back onto his finger. “I’ve ridden three days. I will stay the night at an inn, and we leave at first light.” He looked around the hall once more, already done with the conversation. “See that she’s ready.”

He walked toward the guest corridor without waiting for an answer, his guards falling in around him.

The hall went quiet.

Chloe looked at Thomas. There was something in his face she had never seen there before. He looked back at her, and his jaw was tight, his eyes steady but dark. A man who had run out of moves and knew it.

Jenny reached over and took her hand.

“We’ll think of somethin’,” she said.

Chloe looked at the way Jenny would not meet her eyes, and the hollow space in her chest widened. Jenny was not thinking of a way to disprove the man; she was looking for a way to soften the blow of a truth she knew was undeniable.

“Nay.”

The entire room turned to look at her. The man stopped walking.