Grimm sighed. "Nobody knew. Not one person had ever heard of him."
The Hawk cursed softly. So, the Comyn was keeping secrets, was he? "Talk," he commanded.
Grimm sighed. "She thinks she's from the future."
"I know Adrienne thinks that," Hawk said impatiently. "I sent you to discover what Lady Comyn had to say."
"That's who I meant," Grimm said flatly. "The Lady Comyn thinks Adrienne is from the future."
"What?" Hawk's dark brows winged incredulously. "What are you telling me, Grimm? Are you telling me the Lady Comyn claims Adrienne isn't her blood daughter?"
"Aye."
Hawk's boots hit the floor with a thump as the latent tension charging his veins became a living heat.
"Let me get this straight. Althea Comyn told you that Adrienne is not her daughter?"
"Aye."
Hawk froze. This was not what he had expected. In all his imaginings he had never once considered that his wife's fantasy might be shared by her mother. "Then exactly who does Lady Comyn think the lass is? Who the hell have I married?" Hawk yelled.
"She doesn't know."
"Does she have any ideas?" Sarcasm laced the Hawk's question. "Talk to me, man!"
"There's not much I can tell you, Hawk. And what I know…well, it's damned odd, the lot of it. It sure as hell wasn't what I expected. Ah, I heard such tales, Hawk, to test a man's faith in the natural world. If what they claim is true, hell, I don't know what a man can believe in anymore."
"Lady Comyn shares her daughter's delusions,"Hawk marveled.
"Nay, Hawk, not unless Althea Comyn and about a hundred other people do. Because that's how many saw her appear out of nowhere. I spoke with dozens, and they all told pretty much the same tale. The clan was sitting at banquet when all of the sudden a lass—Adrienne—appeared on the laird's lap, literally out of thin air. Some of the maids named her witch, but it was quickly hushed. It seemed the laird considered her a gift from the angels. The Lady Comyn said she saw something fall out of the oddly dressed woman's hand, and fought through the panic to get it. 'Twas the black queen she'd given me at the wedding, which I gave to you when we returned."
"I wondered why she'd sent that to me." Hawk rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.
"Lady Comyn said she thought it might become important later. She said that she thinks the chess piece is somehow bewitched."
"If so, that would be how she traveled through"—he broke off, unable to complete the thought. He'd seen many wonders in his life, and was not a man to completely discount the possibility of magic—what good Scotsman raised to believe in the wee folk would? But still…
"How she traveled through time," Grimm finished for him.
The two men stared at each other.
Hawk shook his head. "Do you believe…?"
"Do you?"
They looked at each other. They looked at the fire.
"No,"they both scoffed at the same time, studying the fire intently.
"She doesn't seem quite usual though, does she?" Grimm finally said. "I mean, she's unnaturally bright. Beautiful. And witty, ah, the stories she told me on the way back here from the Comyn keep. She's strong for a lass. And she does have odd sayings. Sometimes—I don't know if you've noticed—her brogue seems to fade in and out."
Hawk snorted. He had noticed. Her brogue had virtually disappeared when she'd lain ill from the poison, and she'd spoken in an odd accent he'd never heard before.
Grimm continued, almost to himself, "A lass like that could keep a man—" He broke off and looked sharply at the Hawk. Cleared his throat. "Lady Comyn knows who her daughter was, Hawk. Was is the key word there. Several of the maids confirmed Lydia's story that the real Janet is dead. The gossip is that she's dead by her father's hand. He had to marry someone to you. Lady Comyn said their clan will never breathe a word of the truth."
"I guess not,"Hawk snorted, if any of this is true, and I'm not saying it is, the Comyn knows James would destroy us both for it." The Hawk pondered that bitter thought a long moment, then discarded it as an unnecessary concern. The Comyn would assuredly swear Adrienne was Janet, as would every last man of the Douglas, if word of this ever got to the king in Edinburgh, for the existence of both their clans depended upon it. The Hawk could count on at least that much fealty from the self-serving Comyn.
"What did the laird himself have to say, Grimm?"
"Not a word. He would neither confirm she was his daughter, nor deny it. But I spoke with the Comyn's priest, who told me the same story as Lady Comyn. By the way, he was lighting the fat white praying candles for the soul of the late Janet," he added grimly. "So if there are delusions at the Comyn keep, they are mass and uniformly detailed, my friend."