Page 39 of Conquer the Highlander

Certainly, the unknown female visitor was a mystery.

“Who are ye?” he finally asked.

The woman was wrapped from head to toe in a dark green velvet cloak with a fox lining. It was very expensive. When she turned to him, she was wearing a gown that was equally as expensive because when the cloak parted near the hemline of her dress, he could see jewels sewn into the pattern. But she had a hood over her head and a veil across the bottom part of her face, and her eyes glittered in the dim light.

“Hugh?” she asked.

She didn’t speak with a Scots brogue. To his ear, it was English.

The mystery grew.

“If ye think tae pull a dirk on me, I’ll not let ye get close enough,” he said steadily. “State yer name or get out. I’ve no time for games.”

“If you will close the door, I will tell you all you need to know.”

Hugh took a step inside the chamber and slammed the door in the face of his majordomo, hovering out in the hall.

“There,” he said. “Who are ye?”

Immediately, the veil came away and she pulled the hood from her head. She took a few steps towards him, but not too close. She didn’t want to spook him.

“Do you know me?” she asked.

Hugh thought he might. She had a familiar look to her, a pretty woman who had aged well. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I think so.”

“It has been a while,” she said. “At least twenty-five years, but you have changed little. You are still as handsome as I remember. I am Agnes, Duchess of Ayr.”

Hugh’s eyes widened at the revelation. “Of course,” he hissed. “Agnes, lass, I’ve not seen ye in ages. What are ye doing here? Where’s Ambrose?”

“He does not know I have come,” she said. “I can only stay a few moments because I am expected elsewhere. I told my husband I was going to visit my sister, who lives not far from here, but my true purpose was coming to speak with you, Hugh. There is something you must know.”

Hugh eyed her. “It must be important for ye tae have taken the trouble tae have come.”

“It is.”

He scratched his head. “Are ye tae tell me that yer husband is planning an offensive against me?” he said. “I already know, Agnes. He thinks I’ve allied myself with the Laird of the Isles.”

“How did you know that?”

Hugh sighed faintly. He didn’t want to say too much, concerned it would make it back to Ambrose. He couldn’t be sure that Agnes’ presence wasn’t a ploy.

“’Tis the rumor,” he said. “Everyone knows. Is that what ye’ve come tae tell me?”

She shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “I’ve come to speak with you about your son, Titus.”

That drew a reaction. “Titus?” he repeated. “Is he well? Has something happened?”

Hugh belied, in those panicked questions, how much he ached for his long-estranged son. It was something he kept well-hidden, a suppression that had become part of his fabric. That dull ache of longing, of hopelessness, was a constant in his life, only to be revived when Titus’ name was spoken as it was now.

His son.

Seeing his reaction, Agnes put up her hand, easing him. “Nay,” she said quickly. “He is well. You needn’t be troubled. But I want you to know something. When Ambrose told you that Titus wanted nothing to do with you, it was not the truth.”

Hugh stared at her in confusion. “What?” he finally said. “But… that is the way of things.”

“It is not the way of things. It is a lie.”

“What are ye saying?”