"So, when I name my child, they'll be named for the people who saved them, and not a trace of you!"
Samira's words echoed through Owain Lothian's ears, and somewhere within his chest, something he didn't realize he had cracked in two, caught between the hammer blows of Samira's words and his own answering fury.
He couldn't understand, and more than that, he couldn't accept what he'd just heard.
If Ashlynn had come to him with this woman, claiming the child was his in the midst of her efforts to unseat him, he could have understood. If she'd demanded to name herself the Regent of Lothian March, ruling as Marchioness until his bastard child was of age, he could have understood her scheme. If Samira had demanded a title for bearing his child, a position, a stipend or anything of the sort… he could have understood that too.
But this? This he couldn't understand.
