He said, “Did ye expect them to gi’ ye another young woman to destroy?”
Evan said nothing in reply to that.
“Come awa’ home,” Alan repeated.
“Why? So they can chirp and scold and threaten me?” Evan tossed his head. “I am no’ afeared o’ their threats.”
No, he never had been.
It was Alan’s firm belief that if they could dry Evan out—keep him from the whisky—they might dampen the worst of his violence, at least. But nay, not all of it. Some sickness or rot lay deep inside the man.
Having considered that, he stepped back and waved a hand. “Go then. Tak’ yourself off into the world.” Let the unfortunates he met deal with him.
“Ah.” Evan rounded on Alan more fully. “Ye would like that, would ye no’?”
He would. It had always been one of his fondest desires, that his brother would just disappear.
“Then the estate would be all yours. But why should I leave it to ye?”
“Because ye will destroy it. Like aught else ye touch.”
“’Tis mine to destroy, is it no’? I—Iam the first born.”
And therein lay Evan’s true thinking—all that was his, was his to destroy. Nay, poor Robena never had a chance.
“Tell me, Evan, d’ye tak’ pleasure in it? In terrifying your wee wife? In beating on your horse—a fine horse he is, and of which I thought ye were so proud.”
“He bit me.” Evan bared strong teeth. “’Twill be the last time he does that.”
“Aye, so. Or next time, he may kill ye.”
“He will no’ dare.” Evan eyed his brother. The effects of the drink seemed to be falling away from him while they stood talking. His eyes looked clear—and immensely cruel. “Just as ye will no’ dare to challenge me when it comes to it.”
“Will I no’?”
Evan shook his head. “Ye may ha’ struck out at me there to impress yer wee wife. But ye ken ye canna tak’ me on. Ye ha’ no’ the balls for it.”
Alan saw red. He’d never known in the past just what that adage meant, yet now crimson flashed distinctly in his vision as if blood poured in at the back of his eyes before fading into the morning.
“Aye,” he said softly. “Ye might well think that. For I never stood up for mysel’, did I?” No’ as I should have.”
“Ye were a craven jessie. And still are.”
“Maybe I’m more willin’ to stand up for others. For Tempest. And my wife.”
“Aye then.” Evan turned to face him fully and spread his arms. “Do yer worst.”
Alan knew all too well what taking Evan on in such a scrap could mean. He’d seen his brother fight, had been on the receiving end more times that he could count. Up in his chamber, when Alan had half thrashed him, he’d still been sotted with drink. Out here, there was none to see if one of them killed the other.
If he killed his brother, what would he do after? Bury him out here and claim Evan had gone off for good?
Could he kill his brother, if need be? As Annista had invited?
To be perfectly honest, he did not know.
Evan grimaced and there was enjoyment in his eyes. Some of the color—or was that just the light of the dawning?—had returned to his face. He shrugged off his cloak, tossing it aside to free his arms and raised his fists.
“Do your worst, little brother,” he growled. “I will even allow ye to tak’ the first blow.”
