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He hadn’t intended to return, at least not until he’d found and avenged himself on the mysterious man who’d stolen him so long ago. But chance had reunited him with his twin brother on a dock in Aberdeen. And just as when they were children, Aidan had found himself enmeshed in one of Cormac’s dramas, but this time of a very dire, very adult sort. In the end, he’d decided to remain with his family, hunting for his enemy from the unlikely hideout that was Dunnottar.
“First you, now Anya,” his sister Bridget said.
He forced himself into the moment and found her peering at him with a frank stare. It’d do no good to rouse his family’s suspicion, and so he cracked his mouth into what he hoped was a smile.
Bridget swelled. “Oh, Aidan, it’s so wonderful to have you back where you belong. The family together again. ”
A bolt of grief sheared him through. Not the whole family. Just the siblings. Their father had died in the Civil Wars, but that wasn’t the loss he felt keenly. It was their mother whom Aidan mourned.
Apparently, she’d died the year he’d been kidnapped, and though everyone’s grief appeared to have blunted through the years—indeed, Bridget didn’t even have memories of her—Aidan felt the loss as keenly as if it’d just happened.
Because, to him, it had. He’d endured his captivity by forcing himself to hold on to memories, even though they cut him sharp as any blade, and thoughts of his mother had been especially acute. He’d while away long nights, recalling her trilling laugh, or how she always smelled of rose water. The way she’d tuck his blanket about his shoulders when she thought he was asleep. He’d dreamed of the day he could sweep her into an embrace. She’d have been shocked at how he’d grown. She’d have been wild with joy.
But it wasn’t to be. Yet another dashed dream for Aidan, his beautiful mother lying cold in her grave, thirteen years past.
Anya came in, and he scrubbed a hand over his face to clear his thoughts. She crumpled into a chair, looking bled dry. “The lad’s asleep. ”
Their brother Gregor reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “Are you certain you want to share a room with the boy? I assure you, we can clear out another room for him that’d suit. ”
“No, I’m happy to share. Duncan is my son, after all. ”
Anya mustered a smile for Gregor, and it was the first he’d seen on her face since her arrival.
It was such a small interaction, but it made him feel more of an outsider than ever. Gregor’s charm had always come naturally—it’d been the same when they were young. It was impossible for Aidan to imagine offering such blithe comfort to any woman, even one of his sisters.
He scanned the room. All of them, they sat with such ease, huddled close to the fire. It was all he could do not to resent the lot of them. But of course he didn’t. And yet, he couldn’t rise above the pained feeling in his chest when he was in their midst.
“What a fine boy you’ve raised,” Marjorie said. She was nestled close by Cormac’s side.
“You’ll have your own chance to raise one soon enough. ” Smiling, Anya nodded to Marjorie’s belly. It was still flat, even though she was already with child.
Cormac beamed, and Aidan had to look away. Though Aidan
couldn’t begrudge his twin’s happiness, it was a gulf between them. It always had been.
Only now, after his indenture, it was worse. He couldn’t fathom finding such easy joy with a woman. The only women he’d known had been either pretentious plantation wives, or their hard-used servants. Aidan had found physical release with both. But love? Never that. Never had he been the object of anyone’s care or concern. All he’d ever known was the hard heart, cold eye, and sweaty brow to which the Indies reduced a person.
Bridget shifted, getting a better view of Anya in the firelight, studying her features. “Duncan’s got your eyes, but that’s it. He must’ve been the very likeness of your husband. It’s a shame you could never visit when he was alive. ”
Aidan watched, mesmerized, as Bridget got up and plopped next to Anya, grabbing her hand and stroking it. “It seems he was a fine man. You must’ve felt the luckiest of all women to have married such a nobly born gentleman. And a fine soldier, no less. ”
Their older sister only nodded. The amber light accentuated the furrow in her brow. Aidan wondered at the look that flickered in her eyes.
His eyes went from oldest sister to youngest, as different in appearance as they were in attitude. Anya was thin as a willow and quiet as the breeze, with the lighter coloring of their mother. But Bridget’s eyes were almost as dark as her black hair, and they danced with wickedness.
Despite himself, Aidan felt a kinship with his older sister. Bridget had been just a babe when he’d been taken, and he found himself discomfited with her bold and buoyant ways.
“There’s so much to catch up on,” Bridget said. “As it is, it’s nearly impossible to pull stories from Aidan. ” She shot him a scolding glance. “So, Anya, it falls on you. You must tell us your story in full. You must be so proud. Your husband died a war hero!”
Anya’s mouth was tight. “Not a hero, precisely. Donald died a full ten years after battle. ”
Aidan would wager there was more of a story there that she wasn’t telling. He knew how to read people. Being attuned to the secret wants of others had been key to surviving his long years in captivity.
Bridget tucked her feet beneath her, settling in for a grand tale. “But from wounds suffered on the field. ’Tis no less heroic. Come, tell us the story. ”
There was a moment of stilted quiet.
Marjorie spoke up. “Bridget, love, I fear I’m too tired for tales of war. Cormac, do find the Chaucer for us. ” She gave her husband a meaningful glance.
