Page 38 of The Seer

“Donall Muir.” Laird Sinclair didn’t look surprised. Alasdair was told that Donall had been in his guard since a youth, but he’d never been fully trusted.

Donall entered, his face devoid of expression. “Laird,” he lowered his head. “I must speak to ye of a very private matter.”

When Alasdair did not move, the Laird motioned to him. “Alasdair will remain.”

Sinclair wasn’t stupid enough to send the guards away. Instead he called out, “Guards move away from the door but remain within shouting distance.”

Seeming satisfied, Donall looked to a chair. Laird Sinclair pretended not to notice. He stood. “What happens?”

“There are rumors that Guiles has died.” Donall assumed a stricken expression, his eyebrows pinched and the corners of his mouth downturned. “Ye will remain without an heir.”

“That is true. I have no other sons.”

Alasdair caught a gleam in Donall’s eyes before he lowered his gaze. “I am not worthy of course being bastard born. That said, ye can declare me yer son. As such, I can be yer heir.”

Laird Sinclair cleared his throat. “Yer mother continues to maintain I am yer father then?”

“It must be true. She has never wavered. There is a resemblance also, I have asked, and others agree.”

Laird Sinclair ran his hands over his face. “The time between when I lay with yer mother and yer birth was too far apart for ye to be my son. I have told ye this. Over a year passed.”

“Mother claims ye are mistaken. She says it was more than once.”

“Enough Donall. Ye are not my son. If ye were, I would not hesitate to claim ye. This is not the time to come to me demanding I declare that ye are. My true son is...”

“Dead.” Donall leaned forward, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth. “Ye need an heir. I am yer blood. Declare me yer son, or else...”

“Ye’ll have someone kill Dallis?”

The man stumbled backward, his face paling. “What? No. Why would I do that?”

“Because ye ordered the hapless man down in my dungeon to do it. What are ye holding over his head that he won’t speak against ye?”

Other than the sound of his breathing, Donall didn’t utter a word. It was easy to tell he was considering what his next move was.

“If ye will not declare me son, then I demand to marry Dallis.”

In truth he’d heard enough and let out a sigh of relief when Niven came through the doorway.

“It’s him. The farmer told us the truth upon hearing we had rescued his young son.” Nevin turned to Donall. “Ye had the farmer’s son and threatened to kill him if he didn’t help ye.”

“I am Laird Sinclair’s son. Ye cannot come against me.” Donall had moved closer to Laird Sinclair, but he was prepared for it.

When in one smooth motion, Donall unsheathed his sword and swung toward him, he found himself run through by Alasdair’s sword.

There was shock in Donall’s expression, as he stumbled backward and fell to the ground.

Laird Sinclair neared the man as he lay dying. “I don’t know who yer father is Donall. But it is not me.”

Donall’s mouth opened and closed and then his eyes went blank as death claimed him.

Chapter 13

Guiles tapped his fingers on the tabletop, his impatience was growing more and more with each minute that passed. Dallis had gone to fetch Fiona as he tried to come up with a way to explain why the truth had been kept from her.

She’d be furious, of that he had no doubt. Now that the truth was out, hopefully she’d understand.

It had been the longest days of his life, not able to see or speak to her. If nothing else, the entire episode had served to show him how much he did care for the fair Fiona.