“Will Malcolm be joining us to break his fast?” she asked hopefully. Praying that last night was just a bad night. That mayhap he’d eaten something that didn’t settle well with him. But deep down, she kenned that wasn’t the case.
“He willna,” her father said quietly. There was a somber tone to his voice and it immediately filled her with worry.
“Does he fare well?” Mayhap he had an accident. He was definitely in his cups when she’d left his room last night.
“He is fine. At least, I think so.”
She raised a brow in question, utterly confused.
“Dearest.” It was her mother speaking to her again. “Your father and I have something to discuss with ye. Something we should have discussed long ago.”
She set down the piece of toast she’d just begun to slather with butter and frowned. “Ye both are acting so odd, ye have me worried.”
Her father spoke as her mother wrung her hands together.
“This is a difficult conversation to have with ye. Chances are ye will be upset with us when all is said and done. But we would both like to stress that everything we have done, all of our actions, we felt we did them for your benefit.”
“Well, now ye have me positively scared to hear what ye are going to say,” she confessed.
“We ne’er meant to hurt ye. Please believe that.”
She took a sip of tea, her hands shaking and causing the liquid to slosh over the rim and onto the saucer.
Clearing his throat, her father continued. “When your brother passed, we were devastated.”
Why were they bringing up her brother’s death? First Malcolm and now them.
“Rightly so. We all were. He was a good man. At least we could take solace in kenning he died a hero.”
At the head of the table, her father stiffened. Beside him, her mother visibly paled.
“About that. Your brother didna die a hero. He, he betrayed the crown. Became a traitor to the country.”
And that was how she learned that everything she had believed the past few years was all a lie. It explained why her parents never spoke about him. She remembered early conversations and whispers of how he was a lost soul, misinformed even.
But that couldn’t explain away all of the vile things he’d done. Sold secrets to the enemy. Under the excuse of setting up his family’s financial future. In doing so, not only did it cost him his life, but it put them all under great scrutiny.
Her parents investigated for possible collusion.
She had no idea how close they’d come to losing their coffers. Their home.
The only home she’d ever kenned.
All because of her brother’s selfish and misguided actions. Her dear, sweet brother that she only remembered as kind-hearted and loving. She had a most difficult time seeing him as anything but.
But then the worst news came. Malcolm, the man who held her heart, was the man who had caught Angus red-handed. He’d been assigned by Wellington to uncover the traitor. He’d been doing his job, and in turn, that led to the execution of her brother.
Sobs wracked from her body. Big chest-heaving sobs.
At the loss of her brother. The lies she’d been told. Malcolm’s betrayal.
Was it betrayal though? Nay. That’s why he acted so funny last night. Her brother’s portrait hung in the room he’d been given. He’d obviously recognized him. It wasn’t a surprise that he hadn’t put he and Lizzie together as siblings. Why would he? There were plenty of Barclays around. It was a very common surname.
“Where’s Malcolm now?” she asked, concern creasing her brow as her throat felt like it was closing up.
Her father shook his head. “I dinna ken. He left in the early hours of the morn. More than likely to return home to Culzean.”
Nay!
