Page 42 of Devil Black

“Surely that is to the good?”

“I think not. You are fickle as the wind and want always what you have not, simply because ’tis withheld from you. You have never formed a serious attachment in your life, save that to my accursed brother. And what does that say of you?”

“Never, perhaps, until now.” The throb of passion in Lachlan’s voice opened Dougal’s eyes wide. “I would sell my soul for you, Meg.”

“A fine declaration. But I have no interest in your soul.”

Dougal knew he should withdraw; this scene was not meant for his eyes, or ears. Yet wonder kept him rooted to the spot.

Lachlan shook his head. “I am helpless in your hands. Prudence and wisdom—what little ever I possessed—fly away from me in your presence.”

“Do not play the fool!”

“And if I cannot help myself?”

“We can always help ourselves, Lachy, if we try. Do you know what I am? What they say of me?”

“That you are a witch,” Lachlan said, so low Dougal, still listening shamelessly, barely heard him.

“A witch, aye. And a murderess. Both are true of me, Lachy. So keep clear and save yourself—for the sake of our old friendship.”

“You surely have enchanted me.”

Poor sod, Dougal thought, shaking his head. Lachy never learned. Yet he saw his sister, cruel as fate and twice as fierce, fall into his friend’s arms and then, while they were wholly distracted, Dougal did withdraw, for decency’s sake.

The incident remained much on his mind and later that day, when he and Lachlan, who seemed, now, virtually to live at the keep, were busy inspecting the fortifications one more time, he tried to broach the subject.

Knowing Lachy had stolen at least a kiss from the object of his desire, Dougal expected him to be enthused and energized. Yet as they stood together on the walk that ran along the keep’s top battlements, Lachy seemed quiet and morose.

“What is troubling you, then?” Dougal asked impatiently. “Are you sickening for something?”

Lachy rolled his eyes like a wayward pony. “Sick, aye, ’tis a terrible sickness.”

“What is?”

“Love.”

Despite what he knew, Dougal almost choked on his tongue. “Please say you do not fancy yourself in love wi’ my sister. It is a sickness indeed, one that will destroy you if you let it.”

“Oh, aye? And I apprehend you do not in fact feel the same toward your new wife?”

“I do not,” Dougal declared bitterly. “I am, aye, attracted to her, and she serves to warm my bed.” Though not lately. “But you know very well I believe not in ‘love.’ ”

Lachlan looked stubborn, one of his worst moods. “You did, once.” He spoke the name Dougal wanted never to hear again. “Aisla—”

Pain rushed through Dougal in a staggering wave, and he reacted in the only way he could—with anger. His hand flew to his sword and he rounded on his companion.

“I was a lad then,” he growled, “a deluded fool.”

Lachy’s blue eyes met his, unflinching. “And you loved her. I daresay you do yet. We all loved her—who could fail to? Will you betray her by denying the truth, the value of what you felt? Must you, Dougal?”

Dougal’s rage nearly strangled him. His voice sounded rough as gravel when he spoke again. “I do not deny I thought I loved her. But I assert such love is an illusion, a false emotion. How did any love I thought I felt for her benefit her, Lachy? You speak of betrayal—aye, I carry that sin every day of my life.”

Lachlan’s expression turned to one of regret. “I did not mean that. God knows, you did what you could.” His voice lowered, even though they stood isolated in the cold wind at the top of the keep. “I know—”

“You know nothing! And you will forget what you think happened. I warned you before, if ever you speak of it, I will slit your throat, friend or no.”

Lachy glared. “Have I ever spoken a word, all these years? I am not sure what happened, by any road—only that you made a bid—”