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Philo’s neck corded. “Eaton Hill should go to none but me, and well you know it.”
Standing, Ensign pulled his shoulders back, his tone staying sickeningly calm, as if the man hadn’t the enmity Philo knew was there.
“As the land is mine to do with it what I will, I choose to give it into the hands of one who will work the foundry and care for the land, not simply own it only to place it in the care of an overseer who will use it for profit.”
Philo narrowed his vision until he could see only the man who betrayed him. “Faithless sot. I should never have trusted you.”
Chest rounding, Ensign’s eyebrows evened while the foundation of his words turned to stone. “I did what I felt was best, and I stand by it.”
“You lied to me!”
His expression was unchanged, but his voice deepened. “At no time did I tell you Eaton Hill would be yours. Where there is such want, Philo, there is weakness, and you have fallen prey to it.”
Philo’s fist pounded the air. “You made me think you were coming here with tidings of goodwill, but instead you tear asunder the only thing that could have mended what has long torn us apart.”
Ensign shook his head, his brow peaked in the center. “How could I have done it, brother? You know full well I could not let you near her.”
There it was. The truth of it all.
The rope that held him snapped, and the pit he’d dangled over consumed him in quenching flame. “This is not about Hannah.”
“It has always been about Hannah.” Ensign pulled his shoulders back, his height bringing him a full two inches above Philo. “It has been since the moment you turned her out.”
“I had no choice. I could not bear the sight of her—it pained me so. Did not she know that?” Head spinning, he looked to the fire. “And yet I am forced to endure the sight of her lover near every day, so it would seem. Though I try, I cannot escape the shame of what they have done.” He looked back over his shoulder. “I turned her out, aye, but what else could I have done?”
“You could have loved her as a father should.”
The answer spat a muddy truth over Philo’s white conscience. “She defied me. She defied God—she sullied the name of Young, and that mattered not to you? How could I allow her—”
“She has suffered enough, Philo. Can you not forgive her after all this time? Surely God has. Surely ’tis compassion she needs, not your disdain.” Disgust in his eyes, Ensign stepped away. “I refuse to give you access to her or the land.”
The claws of rage stabbed up through Philo’s feet. Allowing a curse to strike the air, he stepped to his brother, only a fist of space separating them. “It has always been your wish to rip from my life anything that might bring me joy.”
Head shaking lightly, Ensign breathed out, his tone a freshly whetted knife. “Nay, brother.” He started toward the door and paused before gripping the handle. “That power belongs to you alone.”
“You know what is best for her, is that it? Yet I, her own father, does not?”
Glancing behind him, Ensign held Philo with pointed eyes. “So it would seem.”
In two large strides Philo grabbed him at the shoulder and spun him around. “Eaton Hill has belonged to Young blood for near a hundred and fifty years, and now you would see it thrown into the hands of someone else?”
“I have never said it would leave our care.” His eyes flitted over Philo, as if he inspected some piece of work and found it unworthy. “Do you not feel Hannah has Young blood? Does she not have any right to the property?”
A sigh breathed out, cooling his frame from scalding to a low, steady burn. “You have bequeathed it to her.” Perhaps he still had a chance…
“I have not said that.”
Would the man speak in riddles? “Do not play games with me. Is Hannah to own the land or not?”
The sun’s mournful winter light dimmed, darkening along with it what glimmer of belief still flickered in the dark corners of his heart. “Ensign, tell me. Who owns Eaton Hill?”
Ensign reached for his hat, holding it in his fingers a moment before preparing to place it back on his head. “One who will care for it. That is all you need to know.”
He turned the handle, but Philo gripped his arm. “Tell me!”
Tilting his head, Ensign sighed, as if Philo were a mere curiosity. “Had you any remorse, any showing of caring for her, I would in an instant seek ways to help mend what should be between father and daughter. But until then, I will strive only for her well-being. And you are no part of that.”
Ensign pulled open the door, the winter air blasting through the room. With a nod, he strode to his waiting horse, not once looking back.
