“You had inherited a small castle there, an isolated place which no one ever visited. Letricia’s child was born there. It was a girl and was christened by the only name she was ever to own – Iona.”
The Duke’s glance rested for one second on Iona. Her hands were clasped together, her face as she stared up at him as white as the fichu round her neck, her eyes wide with astonishment.
“After Iona was born,” the Duke went on, “you sent Letricia back to Edinburgh, and taking the baby, you set sail for France. It was an arduous journey, but driven by your determination to save the daughter you loved from what you thought was a feckless, insane marriage, you were prepared to endure any discomfort, to surmount any difficulty. You reached France and went to Paris where your cousin, James Drummond,
