Page 45 of Brigand

But the thought of marrying Kaitlin—of marrying anyonereally—turned his stomach. And the prospect of letting Violet go made him ill.

What a pity that, at his core, he was an honorable man.

If he weren’t, he would abandon Kaitlin, abandon everything,and flee with Violet in his arms.

He took dinner with her in the solar. They drank and ate andchatted and he attempted to charm her from her peevishness—she was stillannoyed that he had tied her up and led her like a hound back to the keep. Hehad it in his mind to seduce her tonight but his chances didn’t look very good.

Still he gave it his best, though all the while, through allthe soft words and cajoling smiles and witty ripostes, guilt prickled at hisnape. He should tell her Kaitlin had come but he couldn’t bear to do so.

Telling her really would end this. And he couldn’t bear it.

It was almost a relief when Mungo scratched on his door.

“What is it?” he asked through a sigh.

“Visitors,” the hulk muttered.

Ewan’s brow clouded. “I don’t see visitors.”

“I told them that. Said they was ‘old friends’.”

Curiosity twined in his chest. No one visited here. Theyknew better. “Fine,” he grunted. He glanced over his shoulder at Violet sippingher wine and staring into the fire. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

She merely sniffed. Tipped her chin at that intransigentangle and didn’t answer.

Hell.

He winced as he descended the stairs. His men were in finefettle, drinking and carousing. A fight had broken out between Alasdair andCedric. They battered each other with glee. Thank God he’d locked Kaitlin away.There was no telling what ideas might get into their heads when they were insuch a state.

His eyes lit on the coterie assembled in the foyer andwidened in surprise. Two men he’d never thought to see again, but he was gladto. They’d all been locked up together in that French prison, jammed into thesame cell. Edward Weston and Charles Transom had saved his ass more than once.He strode toward them with a broad grin.

“Transom? Weston? By all that is holy. I never thought tosee you here.”

Cedric took a meaty blow and crashed into the table, makingit wobble and spilling all the cups. The men around it leapt up and bellowedtheir rage. Their cries bounced off the walls as yet another brawl ensued.

Ewan snorted a laugh. “The place is something of a mess. HadI known you were coming, I would have tidied up. How long has it been?”

He shook hands with each man in turn but when he came to thethird, a young pup with a surly frown, his outstretched hand faltered.

“We need to talk,” Weston said. “Someplace private.”

Well. So much for the niceties. The smile drifted fromEwan’s face. “My study?” He led the way, his mind awhirl. He couldn’t imaginewhat they wanted. But he didn’t care. It was damn fine to see them again. “Sit.Sit.” He waved at the chairs as he took his own. “May I offer you a drink?”

Weston’s brow clouded. “No thank you. Our business is ratherurgent.”

Really? “Urgent business? After so many years? I’mintrigued.”

The young pup, the one who had refused to sit and was nowprowling like a caged lion, snarled, “Where’s my sister?” His fingers openedand closed as though he really wanted to punch something.

Ewan’s gut clenched. His sister? He narrowed his gaze andstudied that face. And his blood curdled. He remembered that face. Oh, he’dbeen younger, softer, less surly, but Ewan remembered that face. “Who are you?”he asked, although he knew. In his heart he already knew.

“Edward Wyeth.”

Acid bubbled in his gut. “Edward Wyeth.” This, he spat. Theson of the man who had heartlessly savaged a boy and then tossed him and hismother out in the snow.

Weston frowned. “Ned, please. Let me handle this.”

“I want her back, you bastard.”