Neil had stripped away Lachlan’s hopes for a naval career. Would he now strip away Lachlan’s hopes for a career with Mackenzie Salvage? Or would he simply use his presence to force Lachlan out? Because Lachlan could never work with the man.
Father turned a smile to Lachlan. “How goes it at Scapa Flow?”
Lachlan paused with a fork full of cod halfway to his mouth. What could he say in front of a fifth columnist? “All is well.”
“We heard you on the BBC,” Mother said. “We’re so proud of you.”
Neil snorted.
“Neil ...” Father said with a grumble in his voice.
“I’m sorry.” Neil raised both hands to his shoulders. “I cannae listen to this. Your son is fighting for the enemy.”
“Neil, please.” Mother’s voice warbled.
With every muscle in full tension, Lachlan lowered his fork and his voice. “I am fighting for the Royal Navy of the United Kingdom, which includes Scotland.”
Sparks flashed in Neil’s blue eyes. “Scotland as a vassal state. You fight for the English. And you have the gall to wear an English uniform with the Mackenzie tartan. You disgust me.”
“Neil Mackenzie,” Father said. “I will have peace at my table.”
“Please, lads? Please,” Mother said.
Lachlan stared his brother down, and his blood pulsed hot and hard. He cut his gaze to his mother. “May I please be excused?”
Mother’s mouth warped. “We havnae had the pudding.”
With every bit of strength, Lachlan restrained himself. “If you would have peace at your table, let me take my leave.”
With a heartbreaking crumpling of her face, Mother nodded. “Aye, love.”
Lachlan shoved away from the table, clucked his tongue at Effie, and strode out of the dining room with the collie at his heels.
At the front door, he grabbed a torch. He stepped outside and gulped down bracing air, but it did nothing to cool his blood.
As he marched away, the smooth woolen pleats of his kilt brushed his thighs. Muted light from the full moon shone gray on the moors, and Lachlan had no need for his torch.
The sea. Lachlan turned on his heel and headed north.
Effie whimpered and trotted beside him.
Would there be no end to Neil’s betrayals? To the wreckage he left strewn in Lachlan’s life?
After Lachlan’s expulsion from the Royal Naval College, he’d fought his way back into his previous public school, then into the University of Edinburgh. There he’d dedicated his studies to what would most benefit Mackenzie Salvage—metallurgy, oceanography, meteorology, physics, naval engineering.
Meanwhile, Neil dropped out of school, preferring pubs and poetry and politics.
Now Neil would usurp Lachlan’s position—or poison it so Lachlan would spit it out.
“Lord!” Lachlan’s prayer spewed out in one word. The only word he could form.
His chest heaving, Lachlan stopped at the low bluff overlooking the wee cove.
The waters lay still in the cove, and gray clouds spotted the starry sky. Across those waters, the Orkneys and Scapa Flow hid in the dark.
A rocky beach curved around the silver water. How often had he and Neil played down there, skimming stones and splashing in the sea? Back when they were truly brothers.
Lachlan’s chest caved in, and pain filled the hollow. Why could he find no peace?
