“Something like that, aye.” He needed another drink. “She’s beautiful, but vain and self-centered. She thinks her beauty makes her better than everyone else.”
His sister was silent for a moment, then Lysander heard the sounds of her shifting position. “For what it is worth, I have no’ seen that side of her. Aye, she is beautiful, and can be flighty, but she has never seemed—all those things ye said.”
“Nay, she’s good atseeming,” Lysander bit out, reaching for the decanter again. “Sheseemsto be delightful and sweet and flirtatious.” His knuckles tightened around the bottle’s neck. “And then ye hear her real opinions about things.”
“Was she the lass ye danced with at the Midsummer Masquerade?” his sister asked. “Ye ken I did no’ stay long, but I remember ye dancing with a vision in pink.”
This whisky burned even more. “Aye,” Lysander gasped out when he was able to.
And Athena tsked, suddenly beside him, reaching for the decanter. “I am no’ going to ask how ye formed this opinion of her, because what I saw at the ball was a charming man who was verra much intrigued by a beautiful lass. Give me that, there is nae need to get drunk this early in the day.”
“It’s almost evening.”
“Aye, and I will be leaving soon to dine with Da, so ye are just going to sit here by yerself and drink as the sun sets?” Athena scoffed as she settled the decanter back into place. “Pitiful.”
Scowling, Lysander turned away from his sister, wondering if he ought to be ashamed.
Wondering if he ought to be ashamed over the fact hewasn’tashamed.
“Come along.” Athena gripped his shoulder once, briefly, before dropping her arm and turning toward the door. “Ye can escort me to the stables. Ye can ride with me back to Newfincy, and get drunkthere, with us to watch over ye, instead of alone here in our hostess’s salon.”
“Why no’?” muttered Lysander under his breath. “Da has the better whisky.”
“Oh, excellent. I am pleased to ken ye think spending time with me isalmostas good as drinking yerself into a stupor.”
Lysander snorted at his sister’s sarcasm, then sighed as he settled his hat atop his head, waited for Athena to settle her riding cloak, and then they both stepped out into the late afternoon sun. “Should I apologize then? For being so morose?”
“Aye, and for insisting I be present for that farce of a polite gathering.” Athena shot him a knowing look. “But Miss Tiffany is the one yeshouldbe apologizing to for yer rudeness this afternoon.”
“She can rot before I’ll apologize for my natural reaction to her words. Ye didnae hear what she said about Lyon.”
“Ah.”
That was all Athena said, and really, it was enough.
Their older brother, who would one day be Laird Oliphant, had never been the friendliest of men. But Lysander remembered him as fiercely protective and loyal, with a biting sense of humor he only occasionally displayed.
There had been one Hogmanay celebration when seventeen-year-old Lyon had kept Lysander laughing so hard with his dry observations of the guests, that Lysander almost pissed himself. But few people saw that side of him.
Aye, he’d always been a hard man to get to know, and after the fire and his wife’s death, he refused to allow anyone in.
Lysander shook his head as Athena called for their horses to be saddled. Lyon trulyhadbecome the Beast of the Oliphants, as the Edinburgh gossips had taken to calling him. He rarely left the old Oliphant Castle, and when Lysander visited him, he saw only a hollow shell of anger and bitterness.
It was heart-breaking, but the man was his brother.
To hear him spoken of so poorly, and from a lady as beautiful as Tiffany Oliphant, had turned Lysander’s stomach.
Oh, she hadn’t known he could hear her words, which made it worse in so many ways. The insulting things she’d said about Lyon—“hideous,” “brutal,” “barbaric”—had been how she’d truly felt. She’d called Lyon a barbarian and worse.
Can you imagine having to sit across the table from—fromthatat meals? Or worse, listen to him talk— Do you think he can talk, or does he just grunt? And letting those hands touch you…
Lysander didn’t think he’d ever forget the way his stomach had felt when he’d heard her voice—the voice he’d been dreaming about since the ball—utter such insults.
And it was then that the desire for revenge had been born. He’d been sitting in the family’s parlor at the inn and had turned to his new brother, Max, to tell him about the lesson he planned on teaching Tiffany. But the ladies had interrupted them, and soon after they were served tea—by the serving lass Max had been accidentally courting, actually—and after Max excused himself, Lysander realized he couldn’t stomach such company any longer.
But now he was ready to set his plan into motion.
The brothers didn’t speak again until they reached the stables. It was Athena who broke the silence.
