The study door opened behind him, pulling his attention away from the scene below. He turned away from the window to greet his brother with a nod.
Ewan grinned at him. “Ye look grim fer a man who spent the night with the woman he loves.”
Malcolm frowned. “How the hell d’ye ken about that?”
Ewan’s grin only grew wider. “I have me ways.”
“Bugger yer ways. And keep yer voice down, will ye? I dinnae want the whole place tae hear. Think of Cat’s reputation,” Malcolm said, his worry making him irritable.
It was water off a duck’s back as far as his brother was concerned for he only shrugged and looked around the study. “Er, there’s only me and ye here.”
Malcolm turned back toward the window, remaining silent for a long moment. Then, very quietly, he said, “I’m gonna marry her.”
Ewan brows rose, his grin fading into something gentler. “And?”
Malcolm’s jaw tightened. “Honor leaves me little choice.”
Ewan made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Och, wheesht, Braither, away tae hell with that nonsense.”
Malcolm turned and frowned at him, hands clasped behind his back. “What d’ye mean by that?”
Ewan crossed the room to join him. “Listen, man, this is me ye’re talkin’ tae,” he said, squaring up to his brother. “Dinnae stand there pretendin’ ’tis only because of duty that ye mean tae wed her. I’ve eyes, Malcolm. Ye look at her like a starvin’ man looks at food. Ye love the lass.”
Despite himself, Malcolm huffed a laugh. Then his face darkened again.
“Aye, I love her,” he admitted roughly. “Christ help me, I dae, with every bone in me body.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “But what sort of life can I offer her, Ewan, eh? A husband haunted by ghosts? A man who still wakes up in a cold sweat of a night, dreamin’ of Arran’s screams?”
Ewan tutted impatiently. “Fer Christ’s sake, Malcolm, ye were a lad, twelve years old. It could just as easily have been me there instead of ye. Nay one blames ye for what happened, except yersel’.”
But he had shouldered the guilt for so long now, it was hard to even think of giving it up, however logical Ewan’s arguments were. “Nay matter what ye say, I failed him.”
Ewan’s voice sharpened. “Nay. Ye didnae.”
Not to be swayed, Malcolm looked away.
Ewan stepped closer. “Arran’s death wasnae yer fault then and it isnae now. Ye’ve punished yersel’ fer long enough. D’ye think he’d wantae see ye like this? Ye deserve some happiness.”
A heavy silence stretched between them as they glared at each other without any real rancor.
Malcolm looked down at the courtyard as Catriona tilted her face toward the autumn sunlight, smiling at one of the maids. Malcolm’s chest tightened painfully.
“I’m afraid, Ewan,” he admitted quietly, watching her.
Ewan looked out of the window too and nodded when he saw her, his expression softening completely then.
“Aye,” he said with a wisdom that belied his years, “ye’re afraid because ye finally have somethin’ worth losin’.”
Before Malcolm could answer, footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. A servant knocked and was gruffly told to enter.
The man stood on the threshold and doffed his cap. “Me laird, the Forbes party has arrived.”
“We’ll be there directly,” Malcom said before dismissing him, rallying his wits for the important few days ahead. “We’ll talk more later,” he told Ewan as they strode to the door side by side.
Ewan clapped his shoulder as they stepped into the hallway. “Aye, we will. But fer now, Braither, ’tis time tae stop yer broodin’ and greet yer future ally with a smile, eh?”
By eight o’clock that evening, supper in the Great Hall was well underway.
From his customary seat at the top table, Malcolm sipped his wine and took a moment to glance about the vast chamber.
