arm through hers. “Let’s go. I can’t wait to show you the house.” My usually opinionated, sharp-tongued mother allowed me to lead her through the airport like a lost child.
I opened the door to the front passenger seat, but she refused to sit in front. “If you don’t mind, Christina, I’d rather take the backseat. I’ll just throw my jacket over my bag and get some sleep. I don’t think I can sit up another minute.”
“You shouldn’t have taken such a late flight,” I scolded my father on the drive south. “It’s not as if you couldn’t afford to fly first class.”
“We had some business we had to take care of in Boston first,” he replied. “It was the only flight we could get.”
“What’s going on, Dad? Why the urgency?”
“Your mother’s had quite a shock, Chris. I promised to let her tell you. She wants to see Traquair first.”
I glanced in the rearview mirror. Her head was on the makeshift pillow, and her eyes were closed. She obviously needed rest and more than just the hour it would take to reach Traquair. Patience was a virtue, I reminded myself. One more day would hardly make a difference.
Mother seemed to know where we were the moment we reached the gates of Traquair. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up and stared at the lush grounds and high stone walls. “I can hardly believe it,” she whispered. “I never knew.”
I opened my mouth to ask what she was talking about when I glanced over at my father. He shook his head, and I remained silent.
Kate opened the door as we climbed the front stairs. “Welcome to Traquair, Mr. and Mrs. Murray. Would you like some refreshment before I show you to your room?”
“That would be lovely.” Mother’s smile changed her features completely. Her austere demeanor softened into an expression of such breathtaking warmth that no living being, human or otherwise, could resist her.
Kate looked at her and then looked again, more closely this time. Her eyes widened as if she couldn’t quite believe what she saw, and then she smiled. It was the most genuine expression I’d ever seen on her face.
“I’ll bring a pot of tea into the sitting room and some freshly baked scones to go with it,” she said.
“Thank you. That sounds wonderful.” Mother laid her hand on my shoulder. “We’ll let you get started while Christina shows us where to go.”
For some reason Kate’s unusual servility bothered me. The woman was in my employ, and yet in the three weeks I’d known her, she had never treated me with anything close to the ingratiating submissiveness she had shown my mother.
“I thought you were tired,” I said as I led my parents through the hall into a room with comfortable furnishings and a well-laid fire.
“I am,” Mother replied, sinking into a chair with plump cushions. “But first, I have something to tell you. Otherwise, I won’t be able to sleep at all.”
“And neither will I,” Dad groaned, stretching out on the couch.
“Christina,” Mother began and hesitated, biting her lip.
I was more than a little worried by this time. “Is it that bad?”
“Not really,” she answered. “It’s just very unexpected.” She sighed. “All right, Chris, here goes. After your phone call telling us you had inherited an eight-hundred-year-old house, Dad did some checking around. We both thought it extremely odd that someone we didn’t know would leave you something so valuable.” Her voice had risen to a high-pitched excitement. “Your father logically assumed, since Traquair was in Scotland, that your inheritance came from someone on his side of the family. But nothing turned up. That was when he spoke with my parents.” She sat up, her back very straight, her hands clasped tightly together. “I’m adopted, Christina. Ellen Maxwell’s husband, the late laird of Traquair, was my father.”
My heart stopped. The conditions of the prophecy pounded in my brain. A daughter bearing both Maxwell and Murray bloodlines. The room turned, and I heard a roaring in my ears. I know I must have spoken, but I couldn’t hear the words.
Apparently my mother did, because she answered me. “I don’t know who she was. My parents believe she was some unfortunate girl who became pregnant by a married nobleman, made her way to America, and gave me up for adoption.”
My father spoke for the first time. “The real question, as far as I’m concerned, is why Lord Maxwell left Traquair to you, Christina.”
I could have told him, then and there, and maybe