They both sipped their drinks in silence for a moment, Tristan pondering.
Sitting with his brother . . .
His brother!
Well, it felt . . .
Tristan searched for the word he wanted.
Accepting.
He felt accepted.
And despite his hurt over Rafe’s actions in the past, Tristan sensed he could finally look beyond that.
That maybe, with time, he and Rafe could form a bond of some sort.
Rafe certainly appeared open to the prospect.
“How fairs Hawthorn?” Rafe asked. “I understand ye have undertaken some refurbishment in the south wing?”
They happily settled into talking about Tristan’s plans for the estate. An experienced landowner himself, Rafe had keen insights, particularly as he had assisted Old Kendall in managing the ducal lands for several years.
It was invigorating, to speak about the dukedom and its people with someone who knew them as intimately as Tristan himself.
“Does that stretch of ancient forest still cut through the home farm?” Rafe asked.
“Of course. Auld Graeme protected that forest with his life on more than one occasion.”
“Graeme MacIntosh?” Rafe’s eyebrows lifted in delight, the motion tugging at the scar across his cheek. “I cannot imagine he yet lives. He seemed ancient when I was a lad.”
“No, he passed about a decade ago. I ensured his widow received his pension.”
“Och, that is good of ye. Auld Graeme was a gruff character, but I never met a finer woodsman.”
Tristan nodded, as that was only too true.
“I pestered Graeme so thoroughly one summer,” Tristan confessed, “he made me chop wood to stay out from underfoot.”
“Aye, that sounds like Auld Graeme.” Rafe smiled, a dimple popping in his cheek.
“I cannot think he liked me much.”
“Don’t be daft. Knowing Graeme as I do, I’m sure he adored ye. That man had a heart forged of pure gold.”
Tristan raised his eyebrows.
Rafe noted his skepticism.
“Graeme was brusque tae be sure,” his brother continued, “and as Scottish as they come. He arrived at Hawthorn when my mother marriedour father. I actually tried tae lure him back tae Scotland after Father was convicted of bigamy, but Graeme had married an English lass and didn’t wish tae leave.”
“I never knew any of this.”
“Aye, well, Graeme kept his thoughts close. However, ye weren’t the first lad Auld Graeme helped heal from Kendall’s brutality. He had an affinity for wounded things. Always some recuperating animal in his kitchen.”
“A wounded thing,” Tristan repeated slowly. “That is an accurate description of the boy I was then.”
“Aye. Myself, too. Graeme took me in hand. He taught yourself tae swing an axe, but he schooled me in how tae be a Scot. Made me shed the crisp English accent our father insisted upon and showed me how tae track game. Graeme cared when so few people did not. Though I realized years later, many of the servants at Hawthorn did what they could tae lessen the horror of our father’s cruelty. As I said, I am sure they adored ye, though they would have been careful not tae show it.”
