“My father?” Breena’s jaw slipped, disbelief slamming into her. She stared at her “uncle,” the misery on his face telling her he spoke true. “The O’Doherty of Buncrana?”
“Him and no other, lass. Your blood is royal.” Dermot O’Doherty nodded, glancing at Grim and Archie. “We’re a land of warring and rival kings and kinglets, lords and many lesser chieftains who’d crawl and fight their way through the devil’s own belly to gain more land and wealth and titles. The O’Doherty of Buncrana”—he looked again at Breena—“lost many wives and children through intrigues and treachery. When Breena, his youngest, was born, he vowed to spare her such a fate. She was given to a trusted village family in Inishowen. They were paid well to raise her as their own, far from Buncrana and its threats to her safety.
“My wife and I were sent along to keep an eye on her, protecting her from afar.” He pulled a hand down over his face, his voice gruff. “We came to love her as if she were indeed our niece. In truth, we love her more than that. She is as a child to us, the one we never had.”
“So my lady wife is a lord’s daughter.” Grim didn’t sound surprised.
Breena glanced at him, sure she’d seen his lips twitch.
But when she looked again, his face was as solemn as Dermot O’Doherty’s.
“She is more than a lord’s daughter, sir.” Her Uncle Dermot drew himself up, respectfully. “Lady Breena is a princess.”
“Mercy!” Breena’s eyes flew wide. She swayed, her knees almost buckling. In truth, she should have realized this was coming.
She knew of the Buncrana lords, their wealth and lofty status. The strings of titles and privilege that stretched back into the darkest mists of time. The O’Dohertys of that line were a proud and noble race.
“So I have always suspected.” Grim was smiling, his lips definitely twitching now.
“She is a special lass. Anyone can see it.” Archie’s chest swelled and he held his head so high Breena feared he’d drown on the falling snow.
“I feel faint.” Breena did, gladly leaning into Grim’s side, needing his strength and warmth. She could only stare at Dermot O’Doherty, wondering how all this could be. “I don’t understand how you survived the raid. It was terrible.”
“So it was, aye.” He held her gaze, the memory clearly grieving him. “You know I’d ne’er let aught happen to you, no’ if I could help it. I even grabbed a coracle and rowed after you. But I couldn’t overtake the galley bearing you away. Back ashore, I stayed as long as I could and I cut down as many of the jackals as my sword would kill. When nothing remained for me to do, I rode with your aunt to Buncrana. She was injured and needed tending. I also had to inform my liege, your true father, of the attack.
“I saw the men who took you and knew I could track them, bringing you home.” He paused, drew a long breath. “It took longer than I’d have hoped to find you. And”—he glanced at Grim—“I regret I have disturbing tidings.”
“My aunt is ill?” Breena felt her heart clutch. She would always think of Aunt Mell as family.
If the older woman was dying, she’d ask Grim to accompany her to Ireland.
“It has naught to do with Mell.” Again, Uncle Dermot appeared uncomfortable. “Your father has arranged a marriage for you. He’s promised you to an O’Carroll chief’s son. They’re a powerful family with vast lands and strong holdings in Offaly, far to the south of Inishowen, where your father believes you’ll be safe and prosper.”
He took another deep breath and finished, “I am to deliver you to O’Carroll at once.”
Breena bristled.
A chill colder than the swirling snow seeped into her bones, closing her heart to the sire she’d never known. “My father has no wish to see me? He doesn’t care to set eyes on me before he marries me for land and allies?” She slipped her hand into Grim’s, lacing their fingers, not needing his strength, but giving him hers.
From the corner of her eye, she’d seen the smile slip from his face, watched the color drain from his features, his expression turn to stone.
He feared to lose her.
That such a worry struck him so powerfully only made her love him more. So she tightened her grip on his hand, willing him to feel her devotion. Just as she’d taken such comfort in their joined hands, as he’d lain so close beside her, sleeping, when they’d spent the night in the sumptuous bedchamber at MacGregor Tower.
They’d enjoy every night of their lives together.