“I can’t lead the men out of a bucket,” Alex snarled.
“Because you won’t even try. The only person who’s given up is you, Alex. The only person who thinks you’re useless is you. No one else. You. And unless you broke your cock too, then you’ll likely have an heir soon enough. I know you want—”
“Say it, and we will both discover whether I can still fight. I will not sentence her to life with half a mon.”
“Sentence her? You’ve been in love with one another since you were children.”
“She’s never been in love with me,” Alex argued. “Fond, maybe infatuated and enamored once, but not in love.”
“You really might not be capable of leading this clan. You’re fucking stupid.” Brice spun away from Alex, leaving him along the riverbank.
Alex didn’t watch his brother walk away. He was certain Brice wasn’t returning to the keep. He was merely finding his own spot farther along the waterway. Once they were old enough to understand arguing in front of their clan members was unwise, they’d brought their disagreements to the riverside. They also confided in one another here, knowing the walls had ears in Mangerton Tower, just like any keep. Alex sighed as he turned toward Brice and made his way to his brother’s new spot.
“I don’t want to talk aboot her, but would it make you feel any better to talk aboot your nightmares?” Alex asked as he eased himself to the ground. Much like he had that morning as he sat in bed, he lifted his limp arm into his lap. Brice frowned and sighed but sat beside his brother.
“It’s always the same,” Brice began. “I watch the mon rushing toward me, and I take my eyes off the mon I’m fighting for just a moment. I catch sight of the blade sweeping toward me as I duck and feel the hilt strike me. Except this time when I fall, I’m not unconscious. I watch as he slices into you. I watch you fall beside me as I struggle to stand, to grab my sword, to defend you. You land with your head turned toward me. All I see are sightless eyes staring back at me. I let you die because I didn’t pay enough attention.”
Brice turned his head away, unable to meet Alex’s gaze as he swallowed the lump in his throat and fought to keep his tears from falling for the millionth time. He failed and moved his shoulder to wipe away the moisture inconspicuously.
“You think it’s your fault,” Alex stated. “I never ever have, Bri. Never. Not even once.”
Brice glanced back at Alex, tears still misting his eyes. “But it is. Your injuries, the way you are now, how you feel. All of it. If I hadn’t glanced away, I would have remained on my feet. I was winning. Instead, I left your back open to attack. If anyone is to blame forsupposedlylosing father’s heir, it’s me.”
Brice’s revelation stunned Alex. He stared at the ground, unable to meet his brother’s gaze for a moment. “I’ve made you feel that way. I’ve taken out my guilt and bitterness on you and everyone else. And you’ve accepted it, let me vent my spleen. All the while, I’ve undoubtedly only made you feel worse. I know you didn’t want to tell me this.”
“I didn’t. But it’s crushing me to watch you shoulder all the responsibility for that day, for thinking you’re ruining the clan. I can’t keep letting you think that.”
“Letting me? Brice, this doesn’t change aught. I’m glad I learned how you feel, and I swear I will no longer make you endure my foul moods. But I’m still not fit to lead. I can’t ride into battle anymore. People will mock our clan and assume us weak when half a mon takes over the lairdship. I can be your seneschal when the time comes, and you can pick your own second-in-command.”
“You will not be my servant,” Brice hissed, and Alex recognized the tone. It took much to make his jovial brother angry, but Alex had just unwittingly unleashed Brice’s temper. “I can’t believe you degrade yourself and our family to think you should be a servant to me. Neakail is likely the best seneschal we’ve had in generations, but he isn’t a member of the laird’s family. He serves our father, not the other way around. You will never serve me.”
Brice’s eyes narrowed to slits as he glowered at Alex. Each word sounded more outraged than the last. Alex suspected that if he didn’t have a lame arm, Brice would have launched himself at Alex, and they would roll around in a brawl. Alex could feel the waves of anger rolling off Brice; he was tempted to raise his good hand to see if he could touch them.
“You are Father’s tánaiste and ride out on his behalf often. He trusts you, but he knows he needs to stay alive—and don’t say it’s because of how you are now, because we can both count how many times you rode out before this happened. Do you not trust me as Father trusts you? When you become laird, if you don’t have a son auld enough, I become tánaiste until your son can be. I could ride out in your stead just as you do for Father. It would be no different.”
“Of course it’s different!” Alex bellowed, his own temper flaring. “Everyone along either side of the border all the way to Stirling knows Father stillcanride out to fight. He’s not useless and weak.”
“Useless and weak?” Brice grabbed the front of Alex’s doublet and yanked him to his feet as Brice rose. Without warning, he pitched forward toward Alex, his entire bodyweight moving toward his older brother. Instinct drove Alex to push back against Brice, keeping him on his feet. “Weak, huh?”
“That is not the same.”
“Mayhap not, but you are hardly weak. You have more strength in one arm that hasn’t trained in months than most men do in both. I’m not exactly light.” At well over six feet, Brice stood as tall as his brother. But where Alex was broad-shouldered and naturally lean through the chest and waist, Brice was barrel-chested and thick. None of it was fat, but he weighed at least a stone more than Alex, who was close to sixteen stone himself. Brice hadn’t restrained himself and had launched his full, dead weight at Alex. Alex hadn’t even taken a step back.
Brice raised his fist and swung toward Alex’s face. Once more instinct took hold. Alex’s forearm blocked the punch before he twisted and wrapped his hand around Brice’s wrist. Ever since they’d grown to be the same height and strength, they’d never used their full force on one another when they wrestled or tussled. Alex knew Brice hadn’t restrained his punch. He was certain because his right forearm now throbbed as badly as his left arm always felt.
“Weak?” Brice mocked. He backed away from Alex, placing several yards between them before he drew his sword. He raced toward Alex, who no longer carried his sword but still wore several dirks. He thrust his sword forward with all his strength, trusting Alex’s instinct to prevail, making him draw his dirk and fight as the senior warriors had always taught them when their opponent had a sword, and they did not.
Alex’s body was still agile, moving away from Brice while drawing a dirk in one fluid motion. He sliced toward Brice, careful not to cut his brother but engaging in the mock fight they’d practiced for years. He blocked Brice over and over until he found his opening, stepping forward and pressing his blade to Brice’s throat.
“Weak?” Brice croaked. Alex swiftly twirled his blade and sheathed it at his waist. He shoved Brice’s gloating mien away from him.
“That’s still not the same as riding into battle.”
“But are you weak?” Brice persisted. “You haven’t trained in six months, and you still fight as though you were in the lists yesterday.”
“You want me to show up to a battle with just knives?” Alex sneered.
“I want you to at least come back to the lists. I—” Brice clamped his mouth shut.
