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Kieran set the cloth and soap aside, draped his arms over the side of the tub, and shook his head. “I dinnae. He is dead. As are my mother and older brother.”

She leaned forward.

“We spoke to a woman as old, if not older, than the healer, who remembered my disappearance well. I’d gone to the battle, as did many, but since my mother died in childbirth and both my brother and father in the battle, when I did not return, none looked for me in earnest.”

“You are certain ‘twas you?”

“I am. The boy, she said, had a burn from his father’s smithy here.” Kieran lifted his uninjured arm. Just beneath his elbow there was a mark from what appeared to have once been a bad burn. “We spoke to others who knew of the boy, but tracked down this woman in particular as she was rumored to have once lived beside the blacksmith and his family. Her knowledge of this scar was the precise kind of information we’d hoped for to confirm ‘twas me the others spoke of.”

Maisie did not seem pleased. “The healer would have known as much. She likely treated you. And yet, said naught.”

“Indeed. I’ve thought the same.”

“This woman does not know the boy was you?”

“Nay. She inquired, of course, as to the reason for our questions, but answered them freely even though we remained evasive.”

He let Maisie consider the information he’d had all day.

“Your family. All dead.”

“Not all. She said there was a sister, an aunt who worked as a kitchen maid for the chief and his family. Though she no longer serves in the castle, we plan to question him on the morrow.”

“The MacKinlay chief?”

“Aye.”

“Lady Avelina’s brother.”

“The very one.”

“Your enemy.”

He shrugged. “Once my enemy, aye. But the blacksmith was indeed a member of Clan MacKinlay, which means I was once too.”

“Is he old enough to know of this kitchen maid? He is of a similar age as his sister, is he not?”

“He is,” Kieran acknowledged. “But we’re told my father’s sister—”

“Your aunt.”

He had difficulty referring to these people as family despite learning the truth of it that day. “My aunt,” he said. “Served there for many years, apparently. Until recently.”

“Where has she gone now?”

“‘Tis the precise question we aim to have answered. Having Lina with us should make the task easier. Her brother may hate me and Niall, but I do believe he will give his sister the answers she seeks.”

“You are the son of a blacksmith,” she mused. “And had a brother.”

She mourned for men she did not know. It was very much like Maisie to do so. “I have a brother still,” he said.

Maisie smiled. “You do. And perhaps an aunt who is alive.”

“Perhaps. Most importantly, as the son of a blacksmith, and a MacKinlay, I can never become my brother’s second in command. If I ever wanted such a thing,” he added, still uncertain if he could forgive his adopted father, and mother, for their deceit.

“You are sad about that.”

“Not sad, lass. But concerned it may matter to you, as my future wife.”