No more. Now he could hold his own with his brother. And he was angry.
Should he have become so earlier? If he had, would it have made a difference?
He frowned over that question. Then frowned more deeply when he spied a figure traipsing along ahead of him.
He was following a remote track that cut along the edge of the woodland—forest on one side and the moor stretching northward on the other. Naught but wild country here and no reason for anyone to go afoot.
But Alan recognized his brother’s cloak and the size of his frame, even though he walked stooping. They were traveling in the same direction, and he came up from behind Evan, easily overtaking the man afoot.
Evan swung around, when he heard the sound of Chieftain’s hooves, and glared.
Alan drew up his horse, not sure what Evan would do, how he would react to being located. Not sure either whathewould do.
Evan was headed away from the estate. No bag of belongings, just the clothing on his back. What were his intentions? Did he have any intentions?
Alan swung down even as Evan turned to face him. “Everyone is looking for ye,” he called.
“Let them look.” Evan turned back and resumed walking.
“Hold up. Ye maun go back and face wha’ ye ha’ done.”
Evan kept walking. Alan quickened his pace and caught at his brother’s shoulder, to spin him.
Only then, when he got a look inside the raised hood, did he take in his brother’s face. Bruises, aye, and a vicious cut where Alan had struck him. Apart from that, Evan did not look a healthy man. White and pasty where his complexion was usually florid, his features had gone slack, his eyes appeared empty.
“Leave me be,” he told Alan, “if ye wish to keep on drawing breath.”
Alan ignored the threat. “Where are ye bound?”
Evan shrugged. His dull gaze moved over Alan’s face as if searching for something. He gave a ghastly smile. “I thought ye were afraid o’ me.”
He had been. A part of him, the small boy who yet lurked inside, still was.
Evan went on, echoing Alan’s thoughts uncannily, “Ye used to be.”
“Ye enjoyed that, did ye no’? making me afraid.”
Evan shrugged, an utterly careless gesture and no true answer.
“Come back to the house wi’ me and answer for what ye’ve done—like a man.”
“Wha’ ha’ I done, then?”
Alan narrowed his eyes. Did Evan truly not remember? Or simply not care?
“Ye attacked my wife’s wee maid for no fit reason, left bruises on her and frightened her half out o’ her wits.”
“Your wife?” Evan mocked in a high voice. “She should ha’ been mine.”
“So ye could cow and neglect her, like her sister?”
“This one, I’m thinkin’, would no’ be so easy to cow. The other was no’ worthy o’ me.” Evan tossed his head, causing the hood to fall back on his shoulders. “I went looking for your wife in her chamber—to see how hard she might fight me. She was no’ there.”
Thank God, Alan thought.
With a sneer, Evan went on, “Tell me, brother, why should ye have the fiery wench? Why should ye ha’ anything?”
Alan ordered himself to remain calm and not rise to the bait his brother wielded. Evan wished only to misdirect from his own deeds.
