Alex cursed and guilt crossed his face. “Bram, they told me both of you were dead. I swear to you, if I’d known any differently—”
“You were four and ten when we were taken,” Bram reminded him. “I suppose you believed what they told you.”
His brother gave a single stony nod. “It doesn’t make it right.” After an awkward pause, he added, “Our uncle became chief of the clan after Da died.” He stared into Bram’s eyes, as if trying to make excuses. “When Donnell died two years ago, I took his place. But I know our father wanted you to be the chief.”
The last thing Bram wanted was to assume control of the clan. He shook his head, “It belongs to you, Alex. I’ve no wish for the title.” Or the responsibility. Whether it was expected of him or not, he wouldn’t consider taking it from his brother.
Alex remained unconvinced. “There’s time to decide on that later.” He directed his attention to Nairna then, and Bram realized he hadn’t even brought her to greet his brother. He moved to her side, touching her shoulder. “You remember Nairna, my wife.”
She lowered her head in greeting. “Alex. It’s been a long time.”
A faint smile touched Alex’s mouth, and he said, “It has. I’m not surprised Bram stopped to bring you back with him. A bonny lass you always were.”
The compliment was meant to set her at ease, but instead it evoked a twist of jealousy within Bram. He didn’t like seeing Nairna embarrassed. His hand moved about her waist, drawing her closer to his side.
Alex seemed to read his thoughts, and he reassured him, “Peace, brother. Laren is my wife and I have daughters of my own.”
Daughters? It seemed strange to even imagine his younger brother with a wife, much less bairns. Almost as if Alex had assumed the life Bram had expected to have. Once again, he was jolted by the passage of time.
“I would like to meet your wife,” Nairna said. “Are they inside?”
Alex shrugged. “Possibly. Or Laren could be out walking. You can go and find her, if you wish.”
Nairna left them, and once she’d gone, Alex gestured for him to walk at his side. They moved around the perimeter of the fortress, neither speaking for a time.
The familiar walls, though worn and broken, offered a quiet peace. “I remember climbing that wall, when we were boys,” Bram said.
“You used to run along the top edge.” Alex sent him a sly grin. “And you dared me to join you.”
“You were too afraid.”
“No, I wasn’t so foolish as you,” Alex countered. “You lost your balance and fell into Ross MacKinloch’s pig pen.”
He’d nearly forgotten about that. “And you didn’t go for help, either. You sat and laughed at me, while I was covered in dung.”
Alex grinned. “A good memory, that day was.”
“For you. Mother blistered my ears, screeching about how I was going to break my neck.”
Truly, they’d been thickheaded lads. An unexpected smile pulled at his mouth.
His brother returned the smile, adding, “It’s good to have you back, Brother.” But behind the words, there was concern and he didn’t miss the way Alex eyed his thin frame. “How are you now? Do you need a healer?”
Bram shook his head. Most of his wounds were now scars. “I’m improving each day. I just need to train, to prepare for when we rescue Callum.”
Alex shook his head. “You’ll stay here while we find Callum.”
There was no chance he’d remain behind. “Why? You think I’m too weak?”
“Aye.” Alex didn’t bother to disguise the truth. “You’ve been in a prison for seven years, and even Dougal could defeat you, as thin as you are now.”
“Dougal?” he shook his head in disgust. “But he’s only seven—” He broke off, realising what he’d said about their youngest brother.
“Four and ten,” Alex corrected.
The reminder of the lost years forced him into silence. All of them had aged, but he’d thought little about Dougal, for the boy had been off at fostering since the age of four. He hardly remembered what his brother looked like and it bothered him to think of it.
“Is he back already?”
