“Aye. When Mariah was in London last year, unbeknownst to any of us, Grayburn lured Callum into the depths of some of the worst gaming hells in London. Your brother racked up significant debts that had to be settled.”
A terrible ringing started in Tavish’s ears. A numbness spread to his limbs and whispered of catastrophe.
“Every last cent I could muster went to settle Callum’s markers. Your inheritance. Your sisters’ dowries. The monies from Mariah’s settlement. We were hardly flush with cash before this, but now, we are paupered.”
His father shrugged his shoulders. As if the complete disintegration of their finances and the future of all his children were a cloak, easily shaken off and discarded.
Ihave a wife to support!Tavish nearly yelled.Why did you save Callum from the consequences of his piss-poor decisions and leave the rest of us to suffer for it?
Damn his brother and his poor judgment. And damn Grayburn for being the devil who birthed it all. One more woe to lay at Grayburn’s feet.
Tavish remained silent. Devastation and Panic were fighting cockerels in his chest, each warring for dominance. Callum would probably wager on their fight and lose.
So bitter those thoughts.
Tavish breathed through the cacophony of anger. Would plowing a fist into Callum’s face, the crack of bone on bone, be as satisfying as he currently imagined? He rather thought it would.
“What am I to do then?” Tavish met his father’s gaze, his fury barely in check. “Ye will cast me off into the world without a farthing? Without a thought for my future?!”
Lord Northcairn looked away to the fire. “I cannot say. Like most other gentlemen, ye will have to plot your own course.”
In other words,I protected the honor of my heir, and the rest of ye can sort yourselves.
The horror of Tavish’s situation sank deeper.
What was he to do?
He had awife. A girl whom he loved more than life, more than breath, and who now relied on him to keep her housed and clothed and . . . happy.
Tavish knew it would be wiser to stay. To talk with his father. To explore, perhaps, other avenues and ideas for a profession.
Instead, he stood and walked out. Across the great hall, down the main staircase, and through the front door. He left the walls of his ancestors, hiking across their land. Climbing until he summited the slipping shale of the cairn of Cairnfell itself.
Head back, he roared his fury. His despair. His helplessness.
The north wind roared back. Merciless. Scouring the tears from his cheeks and offering no help beyond a pounding headache and a hoarse voice.
The next day, a letter arrived for Tavish. Unfranked and sealed with unstamped red wax, he already knew its sender before he unfolded the foolscap.
He withdrew to his bedchamber to read its contents.
Balfour,
I will be brief.
You will never speak with my sister again. I do not know what your intention has been with this scheme. Perhaps you think to ruin Lady Isla and harm our family for the slights you assume you have been dealt. I do not care. Your association with her ends this moment.
Tavish paused, absorbing the words.
Grayburn didn’t know about their marriage. Isla hadn’t told him.
Tavish was unsure if he felt relieved or frustrated. If the duke knew of their marriage, then Tavish would have a legal claim on Isla, one that superseded her brother’s. His Grace would have to let them be together.
But as it was . . .
The letter continued:
I know your family is paupered. Your brother’s indiscretions are numerous and well-known. You have no prospects beyond the dubious legacy of your father’s title and your family name, tarnished as it is by your older siblings’ behavior.
