Rafe’s words opened a door in Tristan’s mind, abruptly permitting him to see his childhood in a new light.
Many of the same servants who raised Tristan and Allie had also raised Rafe and his siblings.
Snippets of memory surfaced.
A nurse rocking him to sleep even after he was old enough to no longer require such tending.
The cook leaving a plate of still-warm biscuits within easy reach of young hands.
The butler flaring his eyes in Tristan’s direction when his father arrived home, the faintest warning that Tristan should make himself scarce.
Evidence of caring that he had never truly understood.
That was the problem with love, he was coming to realize.
It had to be noticed. To be seen in order to be appreciated.
He looked at his brother. At this man who had reached out to him more than once over the years. Who continually extended an olive branch, no matter how cruel or cutting Tristan’s response.
That . ..
That was an act of love on Rafe’s part.
And Tristan consistently rejected it.
All because he refused to forgive Rafe for a mistake nearly twenty years past. A ghastly mistake that, yes, had cost Tristan dearly.
But given his own behavior over the past few weeks, Tristan hardly felt justified in castigating anyone for not fully thinking through consequences before acting.
Sipping his whisky for courage, Tristan cleared his throat.
“I know I have been angry with you for many years,” he began.
Rafe shifted in his chair. “Aye, ye have. I could never quite pinpoint what happened.”
The old hurt and anguish reared up, attempting to sink claws into Tristan’s lungs. He pushed it away.
“It was . . .” Tristan swallowed. “It was Eton.”
“Eton?” Rafe frowned.
“Yes. When first we met.”
Tristan described his joy in meeting Rafe for the first time. The excitement that perhaps Tristan might have a friend in John. His happiness in living free of his father for the first time. The hope that he might have a loving relationship with Rafe.
And then the horror of Rafe’s words to their father. Of the perceived betrayal that altered the course of Tristan’s life.
Rafe was pacing before the fire, pale and teary-eyed, by the time Tristan finished.
“I had no idea,” Rafe whispered. “I vaguely remember the encounter with our sire, but ye ken how he was. I’m sure he had riled me, and I said somethingglaikitwithout thinking. I am so very sorry, Tristan.”
“You didn’t know.” Tristan swallowed, eyes staring into the coals. “But from then on, I hated you. Your thoughtless words stoked Kendall’s cruelty and ended any hope of a relationship between you and me. I hated the love you lavished on John and your children, on your friends . . . on anyone but myself. It was the final cruel blow, after losing my sister and my mother . . . to lose my brother, too.”
Rafe held out a hand for Tristan.
Setting down his tumbler, Tristan placed a palm in his brother’s.
Rafe pulled him to his feet and hauled him into a tight hug.
