“Master Robertson. Thank ye for coming.”
“Thank yer man. He caught me just as I was starting out to make my rounds.” The physician’s gaze met Alan’s. “He said ’tis grave?”
“Very much so, I fear. Come along, please.”
Alan led the physician to his father’s chamber where Mother still sat—he had been unable to persuade her away. Indeed, she insisted on remaining at her husband’s side while Master Robertson performed his examination, even as Alan lingered inside the chamber, his back pressed to the outer door.
He did not need the physician’s distressed murmurs to tell him just how poor was his father’s condition. He could smell it in the strong scent of blood and tell it by the fact that Father had lapsed into senselessness.
The physician took his time, sent for water to better clean the wound, and wrapped it carefully. When he finished, he spoke first to Mother in a low voice. Her expression, which appeared frozen, did not change.
Master Robertson stepped next to Alan’s side. “May we speak elsewhere?”
The solar lay mere steps away. Alan led the man there, thinking all the while,This cannot be good.What will he say to me that he would not say in front of Mother?
“It is as well ye sent for me wi’ all due haste,” the man began when they stood in the chamber, neglected for fire, and dim. “But I do no’ think aught I did back there can save your father. Ye maun prepare for him to die.”
Alan staggered. It felt as if the strength to which he’d been clinging so hard left him all at once and his legs near failed him.
The physician clutched his elbow. “Forgive me, I should no’ ha’ been so abrupt. But I thought ye should know.”
“Aye, so,” Alan breathed, his thoughts racing. He could not lose his father. The heart of Kallan, he was, for better or worse. The one holding everything together. And, by God, without him they would all be at Evan’s mercy.
He would be left to face off against his brother. Without his father’s wisdom.
He gazed hard into the physician’s eyes. “There is nay hope, then?”
Master Robertson hesitated. “I never like to say so, but in this case, very little. If there are affairs to which ye need to tend beforehand, I would urge ye to see to them.”
Alan nodded dumbly.
Master Robertson hesitated again. “I understand ’twas your brother—your father’s heir—who inflicted this wound.”
“Evan, aye. Ye may ken—”
“The young man has a reputation, aye, and in fact I was called to the Duncans’ no’ long since. He is no’ here, your brother?”
“We do not ken where he is.”
“Aye, well. As I understand it, he will soon come into his inheritance.”
“By God,” Alan breathed. What was he to do? “My father—d’ye think he will regain his wits before…”
Very gravely, the physician contemplated it before shaking his head. “I very much doubt it. But—” Now it was his gaze that met Alan’s. “If ye would like me to say he had, and to act as witness to any final words he might say, I am willing to do so.”
Swear that Father had made him, Alan, heir in Evan’s stead, the man meant. And what would Evan have to say about that when at last he turned up? For, to be sure, he would come to claim what he believed to be his.
His look of astonishment caused Master Robertson to raise his eyebrows. “Do no’ be so surprised. If your brother struck him down, should not justice be served? Does your brother deserve to inherit?”
“I do no’ suppose I am equipped to mak’ that judgment.”
“Who, then? Who needs must live wi’ the consequences?”
When Alan did not answer, the physician touched his shoulder. “I will stay a while. In case I am needed.”
For either cause, he implied.
“Aye, thank ye, Doctor.” Alan’s throat had gone dry. “How long—”
