“Ye beat her for her stutter.” The words came out flat and final. “Ye told a six-year-old child she was stupid. Worthless. Ye made her ashamed of somethin’ she couldnae help and couldnae fix, nay matter how hard she tried. And then when ye’d finished, ye left her at me gate without a word and rode away.”
“That’s nae what happened.”
“That’s exactly what happened.” Noah held his gaze. “I had a child in this castle who couldnae speak above a whisper for two months. Who flinched at footsteps. Who left half her plate at every meal because she was afraid takin’ too much would get her punished.” His voice stayed level. It cost him. “That’s what ye lefthere. That’s what ye made of yer own daughter. And ye want to stand in this courtyard and talk to me about yer grievances.”
The last of the pleasantness was gone from William’s face.
“I came back for her,” he said.
“Ye came back for leverage. There’s a difference, and ye ken it.”
“She’s me blood no matter what ye say.”
“She’s mine.” Something settled in Noah’s voice, not anger, something more final than anger. “She’s been mine since the mornin’ ye rode away, and she’ll be mine long after ye’ve drunk yerself into the ground on the edge of me territory. Ye lost her. Ye made that choice, and ye’ll live with it.”
William charged at him. He closed the gap quickly, faster than Noah expected, the fury transforming seamlessly into movement with no hesitation.
He grabbed Noah’s coat with both hands and pushed him back forcefully, the force making them both stumble several steps across the courtyard stones. Noah found his footing at the stable wall, raised a forearm between them, and pushed back, creating space.
“The title should be mine!” William’s voice had lost all its shape, raw and edgeless, stripped of everything polished. “Mine! I was born into this clan, I bled for this clan, I gave everythin’ Ihad, and it counted for nothin’, nothin’. Because ye were always there, always better, always the one they chose, and I was supposed to smile and bow and be grateful for whatever scraps ye left.”
He came again. Noah stepped to the side, and William’s momentum carried him into the post instead. He turned back, breathing hard and ragged.
“I have nothin’!” The words tore out of him. “Nay land, nay title, nay clan. Nay daughter who can stand to be near me. Me own brother looks at me like somethin’ to be managed. Me own father chose against me, and I watched it happen, and I couldnae stop it because ye were always one step ahead, always smoother, always the one the room turned toward.” His voice cracked and held. “Even if ye were supposed to be Laird, ye and father could have given me somethin’ of me own. Hectares of lands and nothin’ for me. And it was ye who took it all, without a single thought for me.”
“Ye left,” Noah said. Simply. “That’s all. When it was hard and thankless, and the debts were drownin’ everythin’, I stayed. Ye left. Ye left this clan, and ye left that child, and now ye’re here tryin’ to claim what ye abandoned.” He looked at his brother. At the hard lines of his face. He had the specific destruction of a man who had rehearsed his grievances so many times they’d worn grooves into him. “I’m nae yer villain, William. I’m just the one who was here when ye werenae.”
“Daenae.” The word came out raw. “Daenae stand there with that look on yer face. That patient, righteous, unbearable look,like ye’re better than me. Like ye’ve always been better than me, like I should be grateful ye bothered to stay.”
“I daenae think I’m better than ye,” Noah said quietly. “I think ye made choices and I made choices and ours took us to different places. That’s all.”
“That’s nae it.” William’s hand went to his boot.
The dirk came up fast. Short-bladed, the kind a man carries so long he forgets it’s there.
Noah stepped inside the arc of the swing and used his forearm to block William’s wrist before the blade struck. The dirk scraped against the leather of his coat; he felt the pull of it, the closeness. Guards hurried forward, but Noah waved them away. This score needed to be settled once and for all.
They grappled.
William was heavier and slower. The hard years had taken something from him, but he was desperate, and desperation in a big man with a knife was not a thing to handle carelessly.
William used his shoulder to drive the blade back into the fight. Noah grabbed both hands around the knife's wrist, pivoted his hip, and leaned against the wall behind him to push them sideways.
William slammed into the stable door. Noah kept the grip on the knife arm and twisted it up hard against the joint.
“The lairdship is mine!” William was still shouting, words coming loose and fractured now. “Mine by right! Ye had nay business in that chair, makin’ those decisions, speakin’ for me clan. It was me seat and me voice and me future, and ye took it, and everyone let ye and nobody sided with me.”
“It isnae yers,” Noah said. “And I think ye’ve ken that for a long time. And the kenning is what’s done this to ye. Nae me.” He paused. “I’m sorry for that. For whatever it’s worth. But I willnae apologize for what I didnae take.”
He wrenched hard. Noah held.
“Nobody ever asked if it was right!” William’s voice had dropped to something hoarser than a shout, raw and stripped, the voice of a man running out of everything at once. “Nobody ever looked at what it cost me. Everybody just accepted it. Accepted ye. And I was supposed to disappear quietly and be grateful ye dinnae hunt me down.”
He was still fighting the hold, but weakly now, the desperation draining out of him. “I had nothin’ left. Nothin’. And then I had her. I had Esther, and I couldnae even...” He stopped. His breath was ragged. “I couldnae even do that right.”
Something in the air changed.
Noah drove his arm up forcefully, angled against the joint, and the dirk clattered to the stones. He kicked it away and stepped back, creating five feet of space between them. William stood with his hands empty and his chest heaving.
