The Wings of Ruksh Read Online Free PDF Page A

utter astonishment.
    Stuart, perched on the edge of the desk, nodded silently and continued to watch tensely as, turning once more to the documents , the count proceeded to read each page very thoroughly indeed.
    “My dear Edward,” he said weakly, looking up at last. “These papers,” he gestured towards them, “seem to … seem to imply that you are a direct descendant of Charles Edward Stuart!”
    “Bonnie Prince Charlie!” nodded Stuart. He heaved a sigh and frowned thoughtfully. “If the Jacobite Rebellion hadn’t failed, he would have been king of both England and Scotland, you know. My father long suspected that we were descended from him but we never had the proof. Until now, that is.”
    “But if they …” the count gestured towards the collection of letters and birth certificates, “…
if
they are genuine, they certainly make you a high-ranking nobleman of Scotland. A prince, perhaps.”
    “Certainly, a prince,” Stuart smiled confidently. “If, that is, your French archivists testify to the authenticity of the papers.”
    The two men looked at one another in silence and again Stuart smiled as understanding dawned in the eyes of the Frenchman.
    “You
do
see that French recognition of my title would strengthen my case immeasurably, don’t you?” he murmured.
    As de Charillon nodded, Stuart said softy. “You see, I don’t only have the papers. I also have this!” And, with a flick of his wrist, he whisked off the cloth that covered the object on the table.
    It was a crown; a spiked, iron crown set about with magnificent rubies. Had Sir James been present, he would have recognized it instantly; for it was a magic crown that had, in times past, belonged to the Sultan of Turkey. Stuart picked it up and held it reverently in both hands.
    “The ancient crown of the Scots!” he lied glibly.
    The count stood transfixed. He was not a fool and looking at the man with the crown in his hands told him all he wanted to know. Ned Stuart did not just want to be a prince: he wanted to be King of Scotland!

5. Rothlan Takes Charge
    Although Mrs MacLean stood aghast, staring in shocked horror at her reflection in the mirror she, nevertheless, understood immediately what had happened. Stretching out her hand, she touched the glass tentatively. It was hard and unyielding. No way was she going to be able to get through it. It must, she thought, be a magic mirror. Yes, that was it — it was a magic mirror and it probably hadn’t let her through because she wasn’t wearing a firestone. She frowned.
Now
what was she going to do?
    She swung round as a sudden flash of light crackled out of nowhere and such was its force that she almost fell to the floor. The noise, however, heralded the arrival of another player on the stage; for facing the motley group of Turks that had surged towards her, stood a tall, slim stranger dressed in a kilt and velvet jacket. It was the fearsome eagle perched on his shoulder that gave Mrs MacLean the clue to his identity and she sighed with relief as she realized that the man who had appeared so suddenly out of the blue, must be Lord Rothlan.
    She looked at him in amazement. Was this really the fantastic magician that Neil had talked about non-stop? Her husband had been full of praise for him and Clara had often told her how much she adored the eagle. Amgarad, that’s what she had called it. She had no idea how Lord Rothlan and Amgarad had arrived but now that they had appeared on the scene, she knew she was in safe hands.
    “You must be Mrs MacLean,” the stranger said in a pleasant voice as she turned towards him. “Let me introduce myself,” he said with a bow. “My name is Alasdair Rothlan.”
    “Yes, I thought you must be,” Mrs MacLean smiled as shemet the warm, brown eyes of the handsome young man who stood before her. “I’m Janet MacLean, Neil and Clara’s mother. I … I don’t quite know what happened here, but I’m more than glad to see you.” Her eyes turned to