“Ewan,” he growled, “I am in earnest.”
“So am I,” Ewan mumbled as he pushed his wooden trencher away, then took a gulp of ale to rinse the fetid taste of charred beef from his mouth. “You can’t go on eating like this or you’ll never last another week.”
“Ewan...”
His brother ignored his warning tone. “It seems to me there is an easy solution to this.”
“And that is?”
“Go into the kirk yard, toss Maggie ingen Blar over your shoulder, take her out of there, and force her to cook us a meal that’s edible.”
Lochlan sighed. “You think I haven’t thought of that? But she’s on holy ground. I’ll not violate that sanctity.”
Ewan rose slowly from the table. “Then I’ll do it. Satan’s throne would freeze before I let another woman make a mockery of me.”
“True enough,” a familiar voice broke into their conversation. “That’s why the good Lord put me on this earth.”
Lochlan turned to see his youngest brother, Braden, standing in the doorway of the hall.
Braden’s black hair was tousled as if he’d ridden hard. He wore his black and green plaid haphazardly over his left shoulder and his look was as mischievous as ever.
For the first time in a fortnight, Lochlan laughed. “Well, well, the prodigal son has returned.” He crossed the room to greet his ever errant and irreverent brother.
As soon as he drew even with Braden, Lochlan caught sight of the man in the shadows who stood quietly behind his baby brother. The smile froze on his face as he stopped dead in his tracks.
Nay, it couldn’t be...
But it was.
Lochlan blinked in disbelief.
It’d been years since he’d last seen his half-brother, Sin. Even as a child, Sin had been more serious than Ewan and filled with more hatred than Lochlan could fathom.
When Sin had been sent against his will to the English king their father so detested, the youth had sworn never again to set foot north of Hadrian’s Wall.
Lochlan couldn’t imagine what had happened to cause Sin to change his mind, but he was certainly glad he had, for he loved his older brother and had missed him greatly.
Sin still had those piercing, mirthless black eyes that seemed to see straight into the soul. He had the same black hair as Ewan and Braden, and surprisingly enough, he wore it long like a Highlander, not short like the English.
But his clothes were another matter entirely. His black surcoat, mail, hose, and boots were all English. And oddly enough, they bore no markings on them whatsoever.
“What’s this?” Lochlan asked, recovering from his surprise. “You’ve returned from England with a guest?” He extended his arm to Sin who stared at it a full minute before shaking it.
Lochlan clapped him on the back. “‘Tis good to see you, my bráthair. It’s been far too long.”
Sin’s taut features softened a degree, and it was only then Lochlan realized just how uncertain Sin had been of his reception.
“I was afraid to let Braden come alone” Sin removed his arm from Lochlan’s. “After the number of close calls he had in England, I feared he’d never make it home before some poor husband or father speared him.”
Ewan gave a shout as he recognized Sin. Crossing the room, he grabbed him up into a bear hug.
Sin bristled in the hold. “Put me down, you big, ugly úbaidh!”
“So,” Ewan said as he set Sin back on his feet, “you do remember your heritage. With those clothes on your back, I wasn’t sure if you were my big brother come home, or another of Braden’s conquests.”
As always, Braden took the ribbing in stride, but Sin’s look turned murderous.
“Speaking of conquests,” Braden inserted, “where are the women? I’ve yet to see a single one since I crossed into MacAllister lands.”
