“I’m not here for trouble,” he said, sheathing his knives as though to prove the point. “In fact, I was just leaving.”
He strode away but Niall caught his sleeve, “Ye dinna have to do that.”
Evan froze, looking first at where Niall’s hand clasped his arm, then up at his face. Niall was watching him steadily and there was none of the anger on his younger brother’s face that Evan had expected to see.
“Ye dinna have to go,” Niall repeated softly. “Will ye not come up to the house? Will ye not come and meet my wife?”
His wife. Charlotte Douglas. Ruby’s cousin. The woman they’d been trying to reach all this time.
“Congratulations,” he muttered. “On yer marriage. I was...pleased... when I heard.”
Niall cocked his head. “I would have invited ye—if I had known where ye were.”
Evan blinked, surprised by this. “Ye...would?”
Niall nodded then gave a small, wry smile. “As it was, I was left with only Bryce.”
“Bryce?” Evan said, tugging his arm from Niall’s grip. “Ye mean our dear older brother Bryce? The man who caused all this? The man who swore he’d see all us thrown out on our ear?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice, surprised by the strength of it after all these years.
“Aye,thatBryce.” Niall sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Much has changed, brother.”
Evan clamped his mouth shut, not trusting himself to speak. He was surprised how deep his anger ran, even after all this time. “How did ye find me?” he asked finally.
“A hunch,” Niall said with a shrug. “And memory.” He glanced back toward the ruined lodge. “I thought ye might come here.”
Evan’s jaw tightened. Of course. Niall had loved the summer lodge almost as fiercely as Evan had.
Neither spoke. The years stretched between them, heavy with things unsaid. Evan felt the odd, traitorous urge to step forward, to drag his brother into a crushing embrace, to pretend none of it had ever happened.
But the wall between them was too high. Built stone by stone from grief and betrayal and words that could never be taken back.
Niall stepped past him to the wall that marked the boundary of his land. He looked out over the crofts beyond. “They’ve not forgotten ye,” he said quietly, nodding towards the houses.
Evan snorted. “They should.”
“They’re still waiting for their laird to return.”
Evan laughed, short and bitter. “They’ll be waiting a long time.”
Niall turned to look at him. “Ye could come home.”
“This isnae home,” Evan snapped. “Not for me.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isnae it? Father’s dead. Mother’s dead. The lands are carved up like a carcass. Half the folk here would spit at my feet if they knew I was standing on their soil.”
“And the other half would welcome ye back!” Niall snapped. “Because ye were their laird once. Or ye should have been.”
“I never wanted that,” Evan said, voice low and rough. “I never asked for it.”
Niall’s gaze softened, just a fraction. “I know.”
The anger that had flared between them guttered, leaving something raw behind. Evan scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly exhausted.
“This was a mistake.”
“Was it? I’m not so sure. Come back with me. Just to the house. Meet my wife. Rest. Ye dinna have to decide anything now.”
