Alan remembered—far from dimly—the last time Father had truly attempted to correct his firstborn. Evan had been perhaps fourteen and big for his age even then. He had deliberately, in anger, broken something that belonged to Mother, a treasured relic of her own mother’s, Alan thought it was. Had done it, as so often, out of spite.
Father had tried thrashing him. Evan had turned on Father with a look as savage as that of a rabid dog. Had snarled very much like one. Had wrested the crop out of Father’s hand and raised it, an incipient threat.
Alan, a witness, had waited for Father to knock Evan down, waited a full count of twenty heartbeats before he realized what Father already knew. Evan was the bigger and the stronger, and Father could not overpower him.
Aye, he could have called a brace of footmen and had them wrestle the lad to submission before disciplining him. But how humiliating would that be? For them to lay hands on their future laird, the man who would one day give them orders…?
Was that the moment when it had all slipped away out of control?
In the intervening ten years and more, Evan had continued to grow in strength and ferocity. A throwback to their ancestors, Alan had heard Father say. For no civilized man could act the savage so profoundly.
The thing was—
The thing was, Alan had grown nearly to match Evan. Och, he had not the anger nor the ferocity. But in stature, aye, he was a near match. He’d not grasped that truth himself till he’d faced his brother up in the bedchamber.
So now he must grapple with that truth. Now he stood guard, protecting his wife and the injured horse. Armed only with his protectiveness, no match for Evan’s maddened rage. If it came to an out-and-out battle, with Evan not half-sotted, could he prevail?
He doubted it.
Then again, he could not permit Evan to further attack the horse. Or the woman.
Annista, so Alan reflected, had ignited something here in this family that had picked its way through life for so long. Those who’d avoided bearding Evan even when his cruelty extended to his docile wife.
Aye, they’d all known that Robena suffered, if notwhatshe suffered.
Annista was right and just in her anger. They had failed Robena. The grave in the churchyard was his failing as much as anyone’s.
Father appeared at the stable door, Billy accompanying him. The two men stood and talked in low voices so Alan could not catch the words.
When Father stepped out, he looked grim. “They canna get the beast up. They tried again while I watched.” He glanced at Alan. “Ye be right in that your wife refuses to leave him. Claims she will protect that animal fro’ further harm should Evan return. Curse the lass.”
That made Alan frown. “She has courage.” More perhaps than the rest of them, but he did not add that.
“He will kill her,” Father said starkly. “If he comes out and finds her there—he will. The horse is his property. He will tolerate nay interference.”
Alan lifted his chin. “Then I will ha’ to stop him.”
“Can ye guard her every minute?”
“If I maun.”
“Ye will ha’ to rest. Sleep.”
“Just as he will ha’ to swill his whisky. Pass out.”
Father snorted, yet a new look came to his eyes as he regarded Alan, a look Alan had never seen there before. Consideration? Surely not respect?
Deliberately, Alan said, “’Tis only yoursel’ can do somewhat about him.”
Father bridled. “What? I will admit he is long beyond my control—”
“Aye, so. Yet ye could banish him.”
“Wha’?”
“Disown him. Toss him fro’ the estate.”
For an instant, Father appeared speechless. Then he croaked, “I and wha’ army? Foolish lad!” He turned and spread his arms. “He considers all this his. Why d’ye think he behaves the way he does?”
