Chapter Nineteen
Aloud poundingon Malcolm’s bedchamber door made him growl out in frustration. “Go away!”
Instead of going away as he’d ordered, the door burst open. “Fuck,” he cursed as he covered his eyes from the intrusion of light filtering around the figures in the hallway. He’d been blissfully enjoying the darkness for, well, he couldn’t remember for how long, but it had been some time.
“It stinks of whisky and sweat in here.”
It was Gunn. He hadn’t seen him since the party where he’d first met Lizzie.
Lizzie.
Ignoring his friend, he grasped the bottle and emptied it, then set it on the table to join the others he’d drained.
“Hell’s teeth, brother,” Alexander, Duke of Argyll, commented as he stepped into the room. “’Tis like a sty in here. Have ye decided to live with the hogs?”
Malcolm didn’t answer. Just reached for another bottle of whisky and uncorked the bottle.
“I shall be taking that,” Finlay, Earl of Rosebery, stated, snatching the bottle out of his hand.
For once, he wasn’t happy to see his friends.
“Give that back.” He moved to stand, and the room spun so he flopped back into the chair.
“We kenned ye were bad, but we didna ken ’twas this bad.” Alexander waved his hand in the air. “When is the last time ye changed your clothes? Or bathed?”
“Dinna ye all have wives to tend to?” Malcolm mumbled, ignoring his friend’s questions. “Is Nicholas going to be walking in the door as well? What are ye all doing here?”
Finlay moved to the windows and pushed the drapes open.
“Damn it,” Malcolm swore before covering his eyes. He hadn’t seen the light of day since he arrived back to Culzean almost three weeks ago. The brightness burned his eyes causing his head to ache even more.
Or mayhap that was due to the amount of whisky he’d been drinking. He’d lost track at how many bottles he was up to.
“Shut the damn curtains,” he ordered to no avail.
“No’ a chance. And nay, Nicholas is staying home. Gwen is round with their next bairn that is due any day now.”
He should be happy for his friend. Happy that he would be blessed with another baby, but all he could think about was what he’d lost with Lizzie. How he’d never get the chance to see her belly round with their own bairn.
The realization of that was like a knife to the gut.
“Ye need to get out of this room, brother. Ye are doing yourself nay favors hiding away.” Gunn stood in front of him, arms crossed, his forehead creased with concern.
“I am nay good to anyone anyway.”
“Bollocks,” Alexander snapped. “Are ye giving up? Just like that. You’re not e’en going to put up a fight? That’s no’ the Malcolm Kennedy I ken.”
“Ye dinna understand.”
Finlay stretched his arms out. “Then tell us. We are all ears.”
“I killed her brother.”
“What?” Alexander asked. “Who?”
“Lizzie’s brother. Angus.”
Finlay cocked his head to the side, deep in thought. “Angus.” His eyes lit up with awareness. “The traitor?”
