Chapter Five
Finlay rolled hiseyes, astounded by what had just come out of his brother’s mouth. How much alcohol had they imbibed? Granted, they hadn’t been married long, under two weeks, but surely, his brother hadn’t forgotten.
“My wife. Yvette.”
“We’ve met, ye dolt. I attended your wedding.”
“’Twas nice to have ye in attendance, my lord,” Yvette drawled.
Fingal scoffed. “Ye need no’ call him that. We are all family now.”
Finlay pinched the bridge of his nose. What was happening? He forced a smile. “Lovely to see ye, Yvette. Fingal. A word, please?”
His brother pulled his wife to his side and planted a sloppy, wet kiss on her cheek.
Trying to keep his composure, Finlay watched the awkward display.
“Anything ye have to say to me can be said in front of Yvette. She is well aware of our sishuashion.”
The word he was attempting to say was situation, but he was too deep in his cups to pronounce it properly.
Beside him, Yvette bobbed her head up and down.
Finlay opened his mouth the speak, and then clamped it shut, thinking of how he could delicately tell his brother to gethis arse to follow him to another room so they could speak privately.
Apparently, even in her inebriated state, Yvette knew when she needed to take a step back and clumsily ducked out from under Fingal’s arm and pushed him toward Finlay. “Go on, love. I shall wait for ye.” She waved her hands in the air, essentially shooing him away.
No matter her past history, Finlay applauded her gusto.
“Fine, brother. Let us go to the ssssolar ssssso we can ssssspeak privately,” his brother drawled.
Shaking his head, Finlay swept out his arm to indicate he would follow Fingal out the door and down the hall.
In the solar, with the door closed behind them, Finlay spun on his brother. “How much have ye had to drink? Ye stink to high heaven. Why are ye here? ’Tis evident ye’ve lost your damned mind.”
“Those are fighting words, brother. Juss because ye are earl doesna mean I ssssstill willna kick your arssssee.”
Finlay pierced him with a bored stare. Even in his most sober times, his brother had never been able to best him. “In your state, ye arena kicking anything. I dinna ken why ye bothered coming here. Go home. Ye’re drunk and impossible to have an actual conversation with.”
Fingal scoffed as if he had just been slapped with the biggest insult on earth. “Ye need to bite your tongue and watch how ye are sssspeaking to me.”
“And ye need to sober up. Gather your wife and go home. We can talk when ye’ve your wits about ye.”
His brother shrugged. “Ye willna remain earl,” he stated quietly.
“Pardon?” What the hell did his brother mean? “Ye dinna ken what ye are talking about.”
Fingal shook his head, a sneer plastered on his ruddy face. “Ye’ve alwaysss thought ye were better than me.” He waved his finger in the air. “Ye will sssee.” He pushed himself from the chair he had unceremoniously dropped into and approached Finlay on unsteady feet.
He was so close that Finlay could feel his brother’s breath, the smell of liquor overwhelming, as Fingal jabbed a finger into his chest. “Watch yourssself, brother. I’m the only married one in this family.” He gave Finlay a shove as he backed away toward the door, nearly losing his balance in the process. “Firssst to find a wife. Firssst to the title.”
Finlay didn’t bother pointing out the obvious that he clearly wasn’t first to the title seeing how Finlay held it.
He shook his head and threw his hands up in the air. His brother was impossible. “Ye canna be serious.”
Fingal slapped his palm above his heart, the force nearly knocking him off-balance. “I needed a wife before our twenty-eighth birthday and now I have one. The title issss mine.” He rocked against the doorframe, a stupid look of triumph on his smug face.
Finlay barked out a laugh. “Ye truly are daft, brother. That is no’ what father’s will states. ’Tis no’ who marries first, ye fool.”
