Death eventually claimed every man, and Alex could sense it in John already. Like a flickering flame, the faraway look in his brother’s eyes meant one thing. “Let me get the bastard that shot ye in the back.”
“Nay.” John gripped Alex’s hand, holding firmly. “Stay with me, Brother. I doona want to die alone.”
“Ye’re no dying,” Alex lied.
John snorted. “Ye canna always be right.”
“I can.” Alex looked over his shoulder, then left and right to make sure there were no Sutherlands left unchecked.
“Promise me…” John squeezed his fingers. “Doona leave again. Stay. Claim the lairdship.”
“Ye’re Laird MacKay, not me.”
“Alex!” John closed his eyes.
“I’m here.”
“I’ll have another oath from ye.” John gazed up at him.
“Anything.” Another lie.
“Doona let them burn my body as Da did. Bury me in the kirk as is fitting for a laird. With my sword and shield—wearing my plaid and boots. I’m a bloody Highlander, not a fooking Viking.”
For the first time Alex could remember, the sting of remorse hit him—tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, but he swallowed that pain. He’d not let his brother see him cry like a woman or bairn. Never. “Aye,” he said, admiring John in that moment—not only for his bravery but for his words. “Whatever ye wish.’
“Alex!” John called again. “I see Ma. Da.”
No. Alex wouldna let him go. “Stay with me,” Alex whispered.
But it was too late. John took a rattling, shallow breath and dinna move again.
Alex closed his brother’s eyes and gently lifted his head off his lap. That regret instantly turned into something the devil would claim—an insatiable need to slaughter Sutherlands. And when he killed the two in sight, he’d seek more out.
Keely’s guttural cry brought Alex back to the present and pierced his heart. But he’d not give her the satisfaction of seeing the pain and regret on his face.
“How?” she sobbed, kneeling beside the husband she’d never claimed. “When did he die, Alex?”
“Yesterday.”
“If I’d only known Earl Sutherland was…”
“What?” Alex spat. “What would ye have done?” He moved closer.
“Saved him.”
He laughed. “Tis partly yer fault he’s dead.”
Keely wobbled to her feet and faced him. Her eyes were swollen, her cheeks stained with fresh tears. “How dare ye blame me for his death. I havena seen nor spoken with this man since the night I left. Call me anything ye wish, curse me, hate me… but don’t ye ever say something so evil again. Tis true I never loved him, Alexander, but I respected him enough to leave before I broke his heart.”
So beautiful… so unbelievably self-righteous in her darkest hour. “Mourn the husband ye so conveniently claim when it benefits ye greatly.”
He headed for the door, not wanting to spend another moment alone with her.
“Alex…”
He stopped, but dinna turn around. “Aye?”
“When are ye going to mourn the brother ye forgot?”
