Evan did not so much as glance at him. His gaze was all over Annista.
They’d met before, to be sure. The girl had come to visit her sister once—he doubted Evan remembered much of that.
Now she’d caught Evan’s attention—like a wee mouse unfortunate enough to encounter the tom cat. A mangy, vicious, ginger tom.
“Nay, ye’d ne’er think this was sister to my wife—that milk sop who wept at her own shadow.” Evan turned to his father. “I thought I was to wed wi’ her. No’ this.” He gestured derisively at Alan. “I am the heir, am I no’?”
Father stepped toward Evan with both hands raised, warding him off. The preacher had retreated a few steps, clearly sensing danger. Father’s land agent and Master Naylor had moved in.
As if either of them could stand in Evan’s way, if he went on a tear.
“Evan,” Father said for a third time.
Evan turned on him, releasing Annista from his stare. “Am I no’ still yer heir—old man?” He tossed out his arms. “Will no’ all o’ this one day be mine?”
“Aye,” Father said. “When it came to continuing the alliance between MacRowan’s house and mine, we thought it better—”
“If I am the heir, should I no’ beget the next heir?” The smile on Evan’s face became lascivious and offensive. “’Tis my right o’ place.”
“Evan, we do no’ want any difficulty. We ha’ married the lass to yer brother to maintain the alliance. Your brother is yer heir as o’ now, and so ’tis wise —”
Evan snorted. “I am the best this clan has to offer, better than this poor excuse for a man that’s my brother, by any road. Why do we no’ ask the lass hersel’?”
Again he turned his gaze on Annista. “Well, lass? How about it? There still be time, as he has no’ yet taken ye to the marriage bed. Would ye no’ rather ha’ a man between yer legs?”
“Evan, ye are drunk!” Father cried. But Alan’s attention was not on him and all upon Annista.
He expected her to shrink back, as might any woman confronted with the specter that was Evan. To take refuge behind him after all, so he might impose his body between her and harm.
Instead she stepped forward to face Evan. The light flooding in the door hit her full in the eyes, showing them full of tawny light—and what looked like rage.
“Ye?” she said. “Ye be the beast that killed my sister!”
Evan blinked. He did it like the grizzled tom cat suddenly confronted by a spitting kitten. Measuring the threat.
Deciding it was laughable.
“Yer sister,” he scoffed. “Yer sister was too foolish to live.”
Chapter Seven
Annista could barely feel her legs beneath her, or her feet upon the floor. Indeed, she could scarce feel any part of her body for the pure anger that poured through her.
Anger and hate.
Here before her stood the man. The one who hurt Robena.
She wanted to pull out the dagger that even now lay secreted in her skirt. To plunge it into his neck. She could do it. At this moment, she knew no fear.
She could feel Alan, though, willing her to stand down, longing to step between her and his brother. Like—like some guardian orhusband.
He was naught to her. All that mattered was dealing out to Evan what he deserved.
“Wha’ is that ye say to me?” she asked in a voice that did not sound like her own.
“Yer sister,” Evan scoffed readily. “That timid, whey-faced—”
Annista leaped. She did not take time to draw the dagger. She had her fingernails, her fists and feet, her teeth if necessary.
