His step faltered and he stopped walking. They stared at one another.
Was he a fool? Had he not thought of this on his own before she arrived? Could she not persuade him to do her task for her?
“He is my brother,” he said, sounding hoarse. “I would no’ like to think—” The words died. He had thought of it. He must have.
“He is a monster.”
Alan blinked. “The devil will tak’ ye for such a suggestion.”
“I am certain the devil knows what your brother is. And has had a hand in it. If ye love this place as ye say, and value it, I am surprised ye ha’ no mind to mak’ it your own.”
Still he stared at her, very much as if seeing her for the first time. Could he truly be so decent as to claim the notion of clearing Evan from his path did not tempt him? Could anyone who shared even a drop of blood with Evan MacKallan claim such decency?
He spoke at last. “What ye suggest is a mortal sin.”
“I suggest nothing. I merely point out what so many in your position might do. Men, as I have learned and as has been well-proven by recent events, can be ruthless. They plot, they scheme, and they pay little heed to right, wrong, or harm to the weak.”
“Evan is no’ weak.”
“Aye, so. I thought ye said ye were no’ longer afraid o’ him?” Though any sane man might be.
“I no longer fear my brother. Yet, defending mysel’—or my wife—fro’ him is a far cry from—”
“As I see it,” Annista began walking again, “removing him fro’ your path would be defending yoursel’—and me. He could no longer harm ye, or anyone, once in the ground.”
To her surprise, Alan gave a bitter laugh. “I am no’ at all certain Evan would no’ rise up from his grave and walk, precisely in order to do harm. If anyone could, ’twould be he.”
“D’ye believe in such things?”
For answer, Alan shook his head.
“Would ye no’ like to be free o’ him?” she asked.
“Mistress Annista, this is a conversation we should no’ be having.”
They had reached the edge of the wood. Beyond lay the field bathed in chilly sunlight, and past that, the darkly huddled bulk of the house. The place that housed the very monster who had taken Robena’s life. Annista did not want to return there but could afford no mercy—not for herself or this man beside her.
“Ask yourself,” she bade him, “what kind of future ye want. One where ye continue to live in the dark taint o’ Evan’s shadow, or one o’ yer own?”
When he continued to merely stare at her, she gave him another tight smile. Leaning a bit closer, she said, “’Twas ye who wanted to come walking and grow better acquainted wi’ me.” She spread her hands. “This is who I am. What I am. And wha’ are ye, Alan MacKallan? A man who can lay a claim to courage?”
Chapter Fourteen
Just whom had he married? Alan asked himself that question after he parted from Annista and watched her return to the house with her head high and that indefinable look still in her eyes—the one that frightened him just a little.
Aye, he had recognized her for a strong woman—the opposite of her sister. But never had he expected her to suggest that he acquire a mortal sin upon his soul.
Such it would be, to achieve Evan’s death.
Did he believe in such sin? He no longer knew. His new wife was right in one regard—Evan’s mere existence was a kind of sin in itself.
That did not mean Alan could redden his hands with his brother’s blood.
Not that he’d never thought about it—especially when younger. When he’d had fewer defenses against his brother. There’d been nights when he’d lain in his bed wishing—wishing the unspeakable.
Had Annista merely put into words what had long been at the back of his mind?
Nay, and nay. He would not allow for it.
