“Aye.”

When the woman opened the door wider, Alex ducked his head and stepped inside. He found himself in a low-ceilinged room lit by a single, smoky lamp. There was no one in it but the two of them.

“Where is the Countess?” he asked, though he had realized as he walked down the close that Sabine would never ruin her delicate slippers coming to this desperate place.

“I never saw the lady,” the woman said. “Her maid said ye would be the one to pay me.”

One brings deceit.

“Their ship has sailed?” Alex asked, though he already knew it had.

The woman nodded. “Aye, at dawn.”

“And the child?”

“I have her, but ye must pay me first.”

Sabine had known that, regardless of whether the girl was his or not, Alex would not be able to leave a child in this squalid place with no one to care for her. At least, he hoped Sabine had known that when she abandoned her daughter.

A ragged strip of cloth hung over the doorway to a connecting room, and he suspected the child was there. Though Alex could have fetched her himself, the woman deserved her pay. He dropped the coins into her waiting palm.

His heart raced as the woman disappeared into the blackness behind the curtain. What in God’s name was wrong with him? He was fearless sailing into a squall or charging into battle, and yet an unfamiliar frisson of terror traveled up his knees over meeting a wee bairn.

Before he had time to prepare himself, the woman flipped back the cloth and reentered the room leading a child by the hand. Sabine’s gift to him.

Alex had never lacked for words in his life, but he was too stunned to speak. Looking at the child, he had the oddest sensation that he was seeing a feminine version of himself as a wee lad. Her hair was the same white-blond his had been as a bairn, and she was long-legged as a newborn colt.

“She’s a strange child,” the woman said. “Can’t speak a word.”

“Maybe she has nothing to say to ye.” Alex noticed how dirty the child was, and a horrible thought occurred to him. “How long have ye kept her here?”

“Since she was brought to me a couple of months ago,” the woman said. “As ye can see, I’ve taken good care of her.”

God have mercy. The child must have been here since Sabine arrived in Edinburgh. That had probably sucked the words right out of the poor wee thing. Alex remembered how desperate he had felt in that cell after just a couple of hours, and he could have wept for the child.

Alex dropped to his knee to have a closer look at her. Eyes the same shade of green met his. Though her face was heart-shaped, rather than square-jawed like his, she had a delicate version of his straight nose and his generous mouth with its full bottom lip.

Alex heard the woman leave, but he did not take his eyes off the child. He had a strange compulsion to touch her. He smiled at her as he cupped the wee lass’s cheek—and felt a surge of relief when she did not flinch. She had the soft skin of a baby. His heart hurt as he thought of her closed up in this dark, wretched place for so long.

“I’m told your name is Claire,” he said, speaking to her in French.

She nodded. While the child might be mute, she was not deaf.

“Do ye know what your name means?” he asked.

She shook her head a fraction.

“Bright and shining. Radiant,” he said, fanning his fingers out. For once he was grateful for the Latin that had been forced upon him in university. “In Gaelic, the language where I come from, we say Sorcha.”

Claire was a lovely name, but it sounded fragile to his ear.

“Sorcha is a powerful name,” he said. “Would it be all right if that is what I call ye?”

Her gaze never faltered as she paused to consider this and then gave him a slow nod.

“Sorcha, are ye ready to leave this foul-smelling place and come on an adventure with me?”

The girl nodded again. She was a brave lass, of course.

“We have a long journey ahead of us,” he said. “I’m taking ye home to Skye.”

That was as far as his plans went. He had no notion what he would do with her once he got her there.

“Skye is an island surrounded by sea,” he said, stretching his arms out. “And it’s as beautiful as Heaven.”

She put her thumb in her mouth, but he could tell she was listening hard.

When he picked her up, he was unprepared for the swell of emotion that filled his chest at holding his wee daughter for the first time. Her long hair fell in tangles over his arm as she tilted her head back to examine him.

“If ye are wondering who I am,” he said, touching his finger to her wee nose. “I’m your father, lass.”

CHAPTER 24

A woman could do worse than James,” Glynis’s aunt said over breakfast. “He is a steady man, and you’d never need to fret about other women with him.”

That was for certain. “I couldn’t marry a man who hates the sea,” Glynis said, since they would not hear that she did not wish to marry at all. “We would never get along.”

Henry looked at her as if she were mad. “What has one got to do with the other?”

A vision of Alex jumping over a log brandishing his claymore in one hand and throwing his dirk with the other came to her. Even if she had wanted a husband, how could she let one of these pitiful men touch her after Alex?

“If ye don’t like James, what about Tim the Silversmith?” her aunt asked. “Ye must remember him—his was the third shop we visited yesterday.”

Unfortunately, she remembered the silversmith all too clearly.

“He’s shorter than I am.” It was the least of Glynis’s objections, but the first that burst out of her mouth.

“’Tis a shame ye are so tall,” Henry said, shaking his head as if it were a great misfortune. “But I don’t believe Tim minded.”

“He’s pale as a fish’s belly,” Glynis said. “And he has bad breath.”

“What is important is that he could support ye very well,” her aunt said.

Glynis was a chieftain’s daughter, and her father would provide a significant tochar, or dowry, if she should marry again. But she was becoming suspicious about the state of her Edinburgh relatives’ finances and decided not to enlighten them.

“There are hundreds of merchants in our grand city.” Henry got to his feet and stretched his stubby arms. “We’re bound to find one to your liking.”

“We are delighted to have ye visit us,” her aunt said after Henry left. “But what is your plan, child, if ye don’t intend to marry?”

Glynis had intended to be the spinster relative who grew old in the attic.

“Surely ye didn’t come here expecting to live with us forever?” her aunt asked, pinching her brows together.

Glynis sat up straight. In the Highlands, hospitality was a sacred duty. It was unthinkable to toss out any guest, let alone one who was also a close relation. One suffered with them as long as one had to.

“I apologize,” Glynis said, feeling her face go hot. “I did not realize I would be imposing.”

“All we want is for ye to be happy, but for that, a woman needs a husband,” her aunt said, giving her a sweet smile. “And the wealthier he is, the happier you’ll be.”

“Are ye expecting this wealthy husband to help support Father Thomas’s ambitions?” Glynis asked.

“That would be an added blessing, of course.” Her aunt patted her hand. “We don’t want to go to the moneylenders again.”

*  *  *

The bright sun hurt Claire’s eyes, but it felt good on her face. She could not remember the last time she had been outside. She was high above the people on the street, sitting on the shoulders of the man with the laughing eyes.

S-o-r-ch-a. She practiced the name the man had given her in her head. Grandmère had only called her Claire when she was angry—her real name was ma chère. But perhaps she was wrong. When Grandmère first gave her the doll, she had called Marie by different names until she had found the right one.

The man spoke to her in words that were familiar, and sometimes she tried to understand what he was saying. But she had grown accustomed to listening for other things in voices. She knew from the rise in the old woman’s voice when she was going to slap her.

But the man’s big, deep voice made her happy.

*  *  *

Alex carried the child on his shoulders to keep people from stepping on the wee thing.

“Ye see that water in the distance?” he asked, turning around and pointing. “That’s the Firth, where the boat ye came on sailed into Edinburgh. Did ye like sailing?”

When he looked up her, she nodded. Since the child needed to learn Gaelic, he said everything to her first in French and then in Gaelic.

“We are going to say good-bye to a friend of mine before we leave,” he said, starting up the hill again. “It won’t take long.”

As anxious as he was to leave the city, he needed to see that Glynis was happily settled with her aunt. At least that was what he was telling himself.

When they reached the house, he set Sorcha on her feet. It seemed much longer than a day since he had stood before this red door with Glynis. At his knock, the same maid as yesterday answered it.

“I’ve come to speak to Mistress Glyn—”

He stopped when he saw Glynis descending the stair, looking as fresh as a spring breeze in a pale green gown. The only sign of surprise she showed at seeing him with a wee girl holding his hand was a slight widening of her eyes.

“Glynis, this is my daughter.”

Alex waited for her to call him a philanderer, a sinner, or worse.

“I can see that she is,” Glynis said with a light in her eyes. She leaned down with a warm smile and touched Sorcha’s shoulder. “What’s your name, child?”

“She doesn’t speak,” he said.