Once Upon a Highland Christmas(39)

“And you were dead, uncle. Everyone was.” Breena blinked and dashed at her cheek, for she couldn’t seem to stop the tears. “No one was left. I was there, I remember.”

“Aye, well…” Her uncle ran a hand through his hair, looking shamed for the first time she could remember. “That wasn’t quite the way of it.”

“Then tell me how it was.” Breena slipped her arms around him again and rested her head against his shoulder. Whatever had happened, she knew he’d done nothing wrong. “You said Aunt Mell also survived. That she’s well and back in Ireland? Did you build a new house at Inishowen?

“I know yours was burnt.” She tried not to remember too vividly. “I saw the flames.”

Uncle Dermot broke away from her, looking even more uncomfortable. “Your Aunt Mell isn’t at Inishowen. Few folk are, for so little remained. I left your aunt at the O’Doherty Keep in Buncrana. That’s where I’ve been staying as well, lass. Leastways before I set off for these wild parts to find you.”

“But why there?” Breena frowned, puzzled. “The Keep at Buncrana is the home of the Lords of Inishowen.”

“So it is, aye.” Her uncle went back to the rampart wall, braced his hands on a merlon as he stared out into the swirling clouds and mist. “I am the Lord’s captain of guards, Breena.”

He turned around, his face both sad and proud. “That, I have e’er been. Buncrana has aye been my true home.”

“What?” Breena blinked, sure she’d misheard him. “You can’t be the Lord of Inishowen’s captain.” She shook her head, a strange rushing in her ears. “You’re my uncle, the village smith.”

“Ach, lass, I wish it’d ne’er have come to this, though I knew it would someday.” His words rang true, his regret real enough to send chills all through her, breaking her heart. “I’m no’ even your uncle, my wife not your aunt. Though I swear to you on my immortal soul and that of my mother’s that we love you as much as if you were our niece in truth.

“More than that.” He tipped his head back to stare up at the heavens, releasing a long exhalation. “My wife and I love you like a daughter. Surely you know that?”

Breena did, but just now she felt only pain.

She staggered backward, placed cold hands to her cheeks. “I don’t understand. Please help me do so.”

It was then she saw Grim and Archie step from the shadows of the stair tower, both men coming to stand beside her. Grim looked fierce, a warrior ready to ride into battle. And Archie, bless him, just looked confused.

“Who are you to my wife?” Grim slid his arm around her shoulders, pulled her close against him. He used the edge of his wolfskin cloak to shield her from the sleet and snow. “Breena and I are wed. I’ll no’ have you distressing her, no’ matter who you are and what you are to her.”

“Your wife?” The Irishman looked at Breena, then Grim and Archie. Shock visibly swept through him, his eyes rounding. But then he frowned, looking indeed like a mighty lord’s captain of the guards. “That cannot be.”

“I say you it is.” Grim tightened his arm around her, his voice hard. “We wed in the old way, just days ago. As an Irishman, you’ll ken such a ceremony is binding, our vows set in stone.”

“Aye, he has the rights of it.” Archie clutched his cloak about him, his thin hair flying in the wind. “They’re wed, they are. And”—he spluttered, his agitation clear—“Duncreag is her home now. If you’ve come to fetch her, you can hie yourself back to Donegal. It’s here she stays and nowhere else.

“With her husband, mind.” He folded his arms, nodded once to Breena and Grim.

Uncle Dermot, for Breena would always think of him that way, looked more unhappy than ever. “I regret I did come to retrieve her,” he admitted. “On my liege lord’s orders. But”—his gaze went from one of them to the other—“I would’ve made the journey anyway, to find her. I’ve aye wanted the best for her. I still do, even if she doubts me.”

“Just who are you then?” Grim’s tone was firm, his face still hard.

“He is the Lord of Inishowen’s captain of the guards.” Breena glanced at Grim. “Until this moment, I believed he was my uncle, the village blacksmith.”

Grim nodded. “Aye, we spoke of him. He’s the man who treated you better than your own father.”

“That man wasn’t her father.” Dermot O’Doherty’s gaze locked on Breena’s. “The Lord of Inishowen is Breena’s sire.”