Chapter Thirteen
Finlay glared atFingal. “Get out,” he shouted. “Get the fuck out!”
His brother stood, sneering as he spat blood onto the floor. “Gladly. My work here is done.”
Finlay lunged again, but Gunn was ready and stopped his advance, shoving him into a chair while Malcolm escorted Fingal and Yvette out of the room, then shut the door behind him.
“Well,” Alexander said. “I am guessing that did no’ go as planned.”
Gwen and Clarissa stood. “We shall take our leaves as well. We will see ye in the morn.”
The men watched and waited as the women escaped to the salon or wherever they were going to go to get away from them.
With just the five of them remaining, they all took a seat. The table was a mess. Glasses had been spilled and plates scattered. Finlay noticed a couple of pieces of dinnerware had been shattered.
He cocked his head to the side, running his tongue over his teeth and he tried to slow down his simmering anger. “Gentlemen, I do apologize for my behavior.” He blew out a breath and shook his head. “This night took quite the turn, I will admit.”
“What was your brother referring to?” Malcolm asked.
“I should have been the one to tell Willamina. In my own way,” Finlay spat, disgusted as much with himself as he was at his brother.
“Color me confused,” Alexander remarked, as he grabbed a bottle of wine from the side table and righted the glasses to fill them.
“Ye all remember my father. He always had a wit about him. This time he, by way of his will, demanded that I marry before I turn twenty-eight, or I forfeit the title to Fingal.”
“What?” Gunn asked. “Can he do that?”
“’Tis his will, he can do whatever he deemed fit.” He drank his glass of wine in one long swallow, and Alexander leaned over to refill it.
“So, ye dinna love Willamina—Lady Watson?” Nicholas asked.
“That is the thing. I do. Well, I dinna know if ’tis yet love, but I,” he paused, looking for the right words to say. “I have feelings for Willamina that run true.”
“There ye go,” Alexander said. “Ye just need to explain it to her so she understands. Women are fickle creatures, but their minds get all befuddled when it comes to matters of the heart. She will accept your explanation, no harm, no foul.”
“I do take offense to ye describing women as such, Alexander. That is my sister ye speak of.”
Alexander’s look of annoyance drew a smile from Nicholas.
“I fear ’twill no’ be so easy as to explain my actions. ’Tis complicated.”
“Why no’?”
It was bad enough that he had to tell his friends about his deception. He was not about to divulge Willamina’s reasoning for accepting their agreement.
He had to talk to her. Before he said anything else to anyone, they needed to talk. Tomorrow was their wedding day.
And come hell or high water, he planned to be married.
“I care no’ to speak of this any further this eve. As instructed, I will visit with Willamina in the morn and hopefully we will clear up any confusion.” He stalked to the door. “If ye will excuse me. I apologize for the ruined e’ening.”
Not waiting for any acknowledgment from his friends, he swept out of the room, stopping by his study to snag a bottle of whisky and a glass, then retreated to his room. He dropped into the chair in front of the fireplace and poured himself a healthy serving of whisky.
He cursed Fingal. He should have known that his good-for-naught brother was up to something. The bastard would not let it be until either Fingal got the title or Finlay married.
“Shite!” He threw the glass into the fireplace and watched the flames spark as crystal shattered everywhere.
This whole thing was a mess. Tomorrow, he would be at Willamina’s doorstep, begging if he had to.
