“Difficult to say. His heart is strong. It may be a while.”
“I appreciate it that ye stay. I maun speak wi’ my mother.”And my wife. Where was Annista now? His need for her pulled at him.
How had he come to need her so?
“I shall call someone to light a fire for ye and bring some refreshments. Ye shall be comfortable here?”
“Aye,” the physician agreed.
Alan hurried out, asked the first person he met—who happened to be Mother’s maid, Morag—to supply the physician’s needs.
“He will stay a time, to see—see—”
Morag gazed into his face. “How fares the master? Is it grave?”
“Grave. Grave indeed. Ye maun prepare to support your mistress. She will need ye.”
And him? Was he to galvanize the whole household to stand ready, should the new master come home? Did they not already stand ready?
He hurried down the stairs, his feet rattling on the dark oaken steps. What would Evan’s reaction be if he came home to find Father dead—dead by his hand? Would he even care? Aye, so he must.
The man who had raised them both—not with complete fairness, as Alan could attest—but who had always been there. And the favoritism had leaned in Evan’s direction… Surely, surely it must mean something.
And yet he remembered Evan’s reaction—or should it better be called lack of reaction—at Robena’s death. Cold indifference, it might best be deemed. A growl and a sneer when her body was found at the foot of these very stairs.
Had she also died by Evan’s hand? Alan could not but ask himself. Had Evan pushed her?
And—was Evan capable of regret or remorse? Was he capable of anything resembling love?
He located his wife in the kitchen, helping out like one of the maids, and his relief at seeing her was staggering. He hurried to draw her aside even as Morag, who’d followed him, gave instructions for the physician’s comfort.
“Come awa’ outside wi’ me.”
They went into the yard where—already—it began to grow dark. Where had the day gone?
Annista seized his hands and looked into his eyes. “How is your sire? What says the physician?”
To Alan’s horror, a rush of emotion near choked him, and tears blurred his vision. He never wept, not any more. Evan had taught him the fallacy of it long ago.
He shook his head.
“Och, Alan!” she exclaimed softly. “Is there nay hope?”
“He says we maun prepare for Father to die. That means—”
Alan gazed about the yard, at the house, and the hills beyond. This place that, despite the travail of his youth, he loved so well. Perhaps he’d never known how much till now.
“All this will land upon ye,” Annista finished softly. Her voice said what the words did not, the responsibility he would then carry. The grief.
“Aye,” he said. And Evan would be coming. He would be coming soon. It was as if Alan could feel that in his blood and bone.
And, as his bone and blood cried out, he must protect this place. These loyal folk, even now coming out from stable and kitchen to hear him. This woman, who stood before him.
Aye, he must protect her with his life.
The thought—like her touch—heartened him. “We maun be prepared,” he told her. “Mother is wi’ Father now. Leave her there. Help me call the servants fro’ the house, and I will summon the rest. I maun speak wi’ them all.”
“Right. I will.” She let go of his hands and turned to go, before swinging back again. “Just know—ye are no’ alone.”
