Sir Rafe’s volley had scored a direct hit.
“So, Your Grace,” Sir Rafe continued, “will ye truly dismiss an excellent vicar who, by all accounts, has served your family and village well? Toss him aside simply because his daughter’s writing isn’t servile enough tae your cause? And if so, how despicable. If ye want tae restore honor to our family line—to truly best our father—work tae become a better human being.” Sir Rafe looked his younger brother right in the eye. “Tristan Alexander Matteo Gilbert, Duke of Kendall, Earl of Hawthorne, Baron Gilbert . . . if nothing else, remember these words—power isn’t the only measure of success.”
And with that, Sir Rafe spun in a dizzying circle, sending the chained stone soaring down the field, landing on par with Malcolm’s farthest marker.
A cheer rose from the crowd, Lord Hadley whistling loudly. Sir Rafe raised a fist in triumph.
Kendall did not join in, Malcolm noted. Instead, the duke ignored his brother and focused on meticulously refastening his shirt sleeves. As if eager to bury his brother’s words under a mountain of indifference.
Ethan strode after the stone. He marked Sir Rafe’s throw before dragging the rock back up the field.
“You’ve been practicing, Rafe.” Lord Hadley clapped his friend on the back.
Sir Rafe shrugged, flexing an arm. “I credit my coos. It takes strength tae wrangle them.”
“Och, well, I guess it’s my turn,” Hadley said, voice affable as he held out a hand to Ethan, requesting the chained stone. “Dr. Brodure, if Kendall is foolish enough tae toss ye out because ye insist on supporting your daughter, well then, come talk tae myself. Kendall isn’t the only aristocrat with power in Her Majesty’s government. As I see it, the Lords Spiritual need more men who are willing tae stand up for their beliefs—to be a voice for those whose struggles should be heard. Such behavior smacks of bishop material tae me.” He shrugged. “As for the rest, I say we leave Malcolm, Miss Brodure, and Ethan tae settle themselves. My Jane is waiting for me at home, and Rafe and I have thirty years of friendship tae reminisce upon over a bottle of fine Glenturret whisky. Ethan, when you’re done here, feel free tae join us. Rafe and I will assist ye in getting roaringfou, if ye would like.” Hadley tightened his grip on the chain. “Are those enough truths for the lot of ye?”
Malcolm nodded along with the rest of the group.
And with that, Hadley seized the chain, spun around three times— his form a whirling Dervish— and sent the stone flying, landing a solid meter past everyone else.
He turned back to them, hands on his hips, and an unmistakably smug smile on his face.
“And that, my friends, is how we do it here in Scotland. Now, I say we retire and permit these three—” He gestured toward Malcolm, Viola, and Ethan. “—tae sort themselves out.”
22
Not even five minutes later, Malcolm, Ethan, and Viola found themselves alone in the field. Hadleyet al.had disappeared around the side of Thistle Muir.
Malcolm took in a breath, intent on speaking. But before he uttered a sound, Viola walked right into his arms, burying her face in his chest and wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. His arms instantly reciprocated, desperate to close all distance between them—physically and emotionally.
For everything the day had brought, Malcolm could not regret this—the freedom to hold Viola Brodure openly. To present themselves to the world as a united front.
Ethan’s gaze drifted to Viola for a long moment, surely seeing how her body melted into Malcolm’s, how her head sank into his sternum.
For his part, Malcolm watched his brother with careful eyes.
Ethan’s anger appeared to have burned off—the flush in his cheeks gone, hands hanging loosely at his sides—but a rattled pain had taken its place. A wary tightness around his mouth, a tense hunch to his shoulders.
The pain was infinitely harder to witness than the anger, Malcolm decided.
Ethan looked away from Viola, as if the sight had overflowed some inner basin of misery and he could bear it no more.
Instead, he regarded the chained stone, nudging it with his foot.
“I really wish ye would have told me.” Ethan’s words were quiet and all the more devastating for it. “Ye cannot tell me you didn’t have the opportunity. We both know that tae be a lie.”
“Aye, I should have told ye.” Malcolm agreed, hand moving to cradle the back of Viola’s head.
A long silence stretched.
Ethan continued to study them with solemn eyes. Malcolm knew that expression on his brother’s face—the one he wore when wrestling with some inner turmoil.
“Perhaps all of this could have been avoided had I been more aware,” Ethan finally said.
“Pardon? More aware?” Viola turned sideways in Malcolm’s arms, keeping one hand around his waist.
“Aye. I should have asked ye more questions, Miss Brodure,” Ethan said. “I think I was rather caught up in the idea of yourself—the beauty of your writing, and, well, the beauty of your person, as well—and so, I only thought tae talk of myself. To prove my own worth, as it were. I never took the time to get tae know ye as ye are. Malcolm tried tae point that out tae me yesterday, but I think it’s only now sinking in. I should have been more perceptive.”
