Page 4 of Return to Wildsyde

“Aye, reckon I might have done,” he admitted. He’d written to Hamilton too. Sadly, Hamilton was stubborn as a mule when the mood took him and did not recognise danger when presented with it. “I’d better go in, then,” he said, gesturing to his study door, which never felt like his study when his father was in it, seeing as how it had been his for most of Lyall’s childhood.

He almost knocked, only stopping himself at the last moment as he reminded himself that Wildsyde was his now and his father was a guest in his home.

Lyall walked in to discover his father staring up at a stag’s head with a fine rack of antlers. Tied to the antlers were half a dozen faded pink ribbons.

“I never had the heart to take them off,” he said as his father turned to look at him.

“I’m glad,” the man said, smiling. “They always served as a reminder to me that yer ma was nae only the love of my life, but a terrifying adversary should I be fool enough to put a foot out of line.”

Lyall laughed and crossed the room to shake his father’s hand. “‘Tis good to see ye, Da.”

His father held his hand in his firm grip and gave a snort before pulling him into an embrace. “Haud yer wheesht,” the man said, when Lyall protested and made to pull away. “Ye may be as big and ugly as I am, but ye are still my boy, and ye are hurting. It does nae make ye less of a man or less worthy of my respect because things went awry.”

Lyall’s chest hurt, with both gratitude and shame, for his da was being kind when he had every right to call him a fool. His father relaxed his hold and put his hand to his face, looking him in the eye. “Ye are nae the first to be fooled by a pretty face, as I told ye at the time, but God has delivered ye. Now ye have a second chance, and that poor wicked child has paid a high price for her shenanigans, but ye are free, son. Don’t squander the chance ye have been given, aye?”

“Aye,” Lyall said, nodding. His father smiled and patted his cheek affectionately.

“Are ye nae gonna offer me a drink? Where’s yer manners?”

Laughing now, Lyall turned and made his way to the whisky decanter, pouring them both a generous measure.

“That’s more like it,” his father said, sprawling comfortably in a chair before the fire and taking an appreciative sip. “Now then, tell me how things are going at Wildsyde, I miss the auld place. Yer ma does too. 'Tis all well and good being an earl, but life was good here. Simpler, aye? I must be getting on in years for I feel nostalgic for the days when ye and yer siblings were children and yer scrapes nae more serious than a skinned knee. Well, except for Muir, that laddie could get himself in tae trouble in an empty room.”

Lyall smiled wryly, for he too had been feeling the loss of those years, which seemed so long ago now.

“Drink up, Lyall. Yer looking a tad peely-wally. Hair of the dog that bit ye, aye?” his father said, his tawny eyes twinkling.

Lyall looked down at his glass of whisky apprehensively.

“Aye,” he said, and took a large mouthful, praying it didn’t bite him again.

Lyall closed the study door behind him, leaving his father dozing contentedly in the chair by the fire. He’d had a rather arduous journey to get here and deserved a nap before dinner, so Lyall had left him in peace.

“Ye survived with yer skin, then?”

Looking around, Lyall observed his youngest brother, Hamilton, sitting on the cold stone steps of the castle stairs.

“Ye will get piles, sitting yer arse on that cold stone,” he said by way of reply, as it was a refrain their mother told them often, though she put it more politely.

“Nah, just a cold arse,” Hamilton said with a grin, getting to his feet and coming over to embrace Lyall. Lyall endured it stoically, never having been a hugger. Why everyone felt the need to do so now, he could not fathom. Lilith was dead, not him. “I dinnae know quite what to say, truth be told,” his brother said seriously.

“There’s nothing that needs saying,” Lyall said, his voice firm as he strode to the front door.

“Ach, Lyall, don’t do that,” Hamilton protested, hurrying after him.

“Do what?” he demanded, for his temper was fraying now. He’d had about as much sympathy as a man could stomach.

“Act like there’s no a problem and ye have nae a care in the world.”

“Well, I don’t, do I?” Lyall said, turning to face his brother. “She’s dead. I’m free and I had a lucky escape. There’s an end to it, Hamilton. I dinnae need a shoulder to cry on. ’Twas good of ye to come and I appreciate it, but there’s nae need to stay.”

And with that, he went out and closed the door.

Chapter 2

My Lord,

I write to you this day to inform you of the details of a will which I made out some weeks ago for a Mr Francis Fulbright, your late wife’s uncle. In this document, Mr Fulbright gives you full guardianship of his two children. Miss Luella and Master Jack Fulbright, until such time as they turn four and twenty and come into their inheritance. For your information, Miss Luella is one and twenty and her brother, twelve years of age.