Drake stared hard at his brother, then his gaze swept the room angrily. “Since my brother will not tell his side of the story, I’ll do it for him.” He strode forward, his dark eyes fixed on Jamie. “My father was a wicked man, make no mistake, but the lassies liked him. Including Jean Sinclair. You didn’t mention that Jean fancied herself in love with my father and ran away once to wed him. Her father caught her and forced her to marry your father—a vile man who beat and raped her repeatedly. You didn’t mention why she miscarried? Because she was already ill and refused to rut with your father, so he beat her until she lost the wean.”
“Lies!” Jamie cried, coming at Drake while drawing his sword. Drake leapt to meet him, lusting for a fight, but Lord Kincreag and Roderick stepped between them, forcing Jamie to resheath his blade.
“My father never laid a hand on her!” Jamie bellowed over Kincreag’s restraining arm.
“My father came to rescue her,” Drake continued, shrugging off Roderick’s hold, “and brought my brother to heal her. At our father’s order, William gave her ailment to your father, who unfortunately died from it, asshewould have, if not for William.”
Rose looked to William. “Who tells the truth?”
He shrugged. “Both. Neither.”
Rose shook her head, exasperated. “What does that mean?”
“My father did lust after Jean Sinclair. The wean she was pregnant with was his. I know not if she was truly ill, or if it was a ploy to bring my father to MacPherson lands. It didn’t matter. My father wanted her and what he wanted he took, even if it meant others must die. He could not have Jean so long as she was married to your father.” His arms were crossed over his chest. He looked down, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “At the time I believed what my father told me, that the MacPherson beat his wife. It angered me, and so when he urged me to kill your father, I did so willingly. I was eighteen; a man, with my own mind. It is no one’s fault but my own. I learned something later that made me believe that perhaps my father caused the miscarriage. She had no ailment for me to give MacPherson, and so he created one.”
Drake looked at his brother in amazement. “That’s not true.”
“Itistrue. Our father did far worse than that in his life, and so have I. I don’t know why you act so surprised.”
“But you didn’t know,” Drake said angrily. “So it’s not your fault.”
One corner of William’s mouth curled bitterly. “Oh, Ithink I did know. I fooled myself about a lot of things back then.”
“God damn it, Will, you didn’t!”
The room fell silent for several moments. Drake glowered helplessly at his brother, who stared back apologetically.
Rose was shaken from all that she’d heard. She’d never suspected that such darkness lurked in William. Her mind rebelled against it. It had been a long time ago. He had been much younger then. He obviously did not do such things any longer. Or did he? If he had cause, perhaps he did. Just because she’d never witnessed any didn’t mean he didn’t do them. She really didn’t know him at all.
She said, “I would like to speak with my betrothed alone.”
William gave her a long, enigmatic look. She felt he must be disappointed in her but could read nothing in his dark gaze. She averted her eyes, unable to look at him, her throat tight. She was confused about him, about Jamie. But William didn’t really matter anymore, and perhaps that was for the best. Even so, she could still try to set things right with Jamie. She owed William that at least.
She breathed easier when he finally left the room, freeing her of the intensity of his gaze. She watched the others file out after him, her hands clasped in front of her. She heard her betrothed move toward her, and turned quickly.
She’d paid scant attention to him with William present, but she gave him a closer perusal now. He was a very good-looking man. Long golden hair, deep-set cerulean eyes, tall and strong and well turned out in a fine plaid, leather doublet, and knee boots. She shouldbe pleased by his appearance. Instead she thought how very young and angry he seemed compared to William.
“I am sorry our reunion was so…unpleasant,” he said, taking her hands. His were sweaty. “I am pleased to finally see you again, Rose. You are as beautiful as I remember.”
“I was beautiful at eight?” Rose said doubtfully.
He smiled. There was a dimple in his cheek. “To my ten-year-old eyes you were.”
Rose smiled back, softening toward him. “You are kind. This story you tell troubles me. I don’t believe Lord Strathwick is at fault.”
Jamie dropped her hands. “You heard him. He admitted to it.”
“Aye, I heard him. If we must all answer for our father’s sins, I fear no one will make it to heaven.”
“His father didn’t kill mine,” he growled. “Hedid! With his magic!”
“He did it at his father’s—hischief’s—insistence. And though he was a man, he was a young one, as you are. Are you never rash? Did you never believe the words of one you trusted? He should have been able to trust his father. We all should be able to trust the important elders in our lives. But they are men too, full of deceit and lies, just like everyone else.”
“You defend him, and I like it not!” Jamie paced away from her. “Someone must pay for my father’s murder. It has gone unanswered for too long.”
Rose sighed. A few words from her were clearly not going to end this feud, so she settled for the next best thing. “There will be no fighting at dawn. Your retribution will not play out at Lochlaire.”
He whirled toward her, his eyes blazing. “Iwillhave vengeance.”
