Alastair gives him an elegant sneer. “Junior year. Her name was…” he frowns. “It was…”
“Ya’ don’t even remember it!” Cameron says gleefully, “And you’ve been holding a grudge all this time?”
“My husband holds onto grudges like an accountant holds onto receipts,” I say, “I want to know about the stabbing.”
“Stabbing?” Cameron says.
“You stabbed him in the chest!” I snap, “You could have killed him, ya’ walloper!”
“Where?” Cameron asks, leaning closer.
With an irritable sigh, Alastair pulls his shirt loose from his tuxedo pants and holds it up, pointing at the dagger tattoo.
“Nice ink,” Cameron says. “Oh, the scar underneath, then?”
“Yes. You drove a knife into my ribs. During the spring Leader’s Challenge, our Junior year.”
“Ah, shite.” Cameron looks chastened. “Aye, that does look bad. I give you my word I wasn’t tryin’ to kill ya’.”
“I was in the infirmary for a week,” Alastair snarled. “You barely missed my heart!”
“I completely understand why you got stabbed,” I say.
“That’s one,” he murmurs.
“But why dinna you stab him back?”
Alastair smiles thinly. “Lack of opportunity.”
Cameron eyes him, fingers tapping restlessly on his kilted thigh. My brothers offered to get a kilt made for my husband for our second wedding, but he would have none of it.
“Fair’s fair,” he says decisively. Pulling his dirk out of its holster, he offers it to Alastair, handle first. “I’m givin’ you a free shot.” The eejit spreads his arms out. “Nothin’ fatal, mind.”
“What the hell are ya’ doing?” I gasp, holding on to my husband’s jacket like he’s really going to stand up and stab my brother.
“Yes, whatareyou doing?” Morana speed-walks up to us.
“Well, I stabbed my brother-in-law during a Leader’s Challenge at the Ares Academy and stole his girl, so-”
“Ya’ hoobag!” Dougal says delightedly. “Stealin’ a man’s girl? There are never enough women at the Academy to go around, that’s low, brother.”
“Don’t slut shame me,” Cameron says.
“Oh, good,” I sigh, “let’s let the whole family in on this, by all means.”
Lachlan joins in on the conversation, and then Cormac. Discussing in all seriousness where Alastair should stab my brother.
Standing with a wince, I can feel my sore ribs angrily making themselves known. “I’m lookin’ for a stiff drink. Nobody gets stabbed while I’m gone, ya’ hear me?”
The choobs continue on discussing ideal stabbing locations on the human body as I head off to the bar.
“Sorcha?” Mala walks up to me, holding my nephew Michael by the hand. “You have a visitor.” She makes a face like welcoming the person is about as appealing as a sailor welcoming scurvy, but I know it must be important if she’s fetching me.
“Aye? Who?”
She shakes her head, pointing to a quiet garden by the east entrance to the mansion where a man is pacing. “He says he wanted to give your gift in person. Should we call Alastair instead?”
“I’ve got it,” I say.
