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“I was a hellion. Even as a lad, I caused trouble.”
“We all did.”
“Not like me.”
Royal scoffed. “Have you met our brother, Logan?”
“You know I was the worst.” Now that he’d pulled down the dam, it all wanted to come out, like an ugly, raging torrent. “Mamma was delicate. She needed peace and quiet. She didn’t need a little bastard cutting up the peace and causing trouble. And that’s exactly what I did. It was a strain on her nerves and on her health.”
“Father actually told you that?”
Graeme thought back to that horrific night. He had been seven, and it had been a few weeks after Mamma’s death. He’d cried himself to sleep, then awakened from a nightmare. He’d turned to Grant, seeking comfort. But his twin, who’d barely been able to sleep for days, ill with grief, was finally slumbering. Graeme had found his little robe and had gone to look for his grandfather. But Angus wasn’t in his room, so Graeme had wandered about until finding himself in the library.
Where his father sat, disheveled and bleary-eyed, behind his desk.
Father had always been a tower of strength, a laird and clan chief who never wavered from duty. But on this night, he’d seemed just a weary old man, riven with sorrow. Graeme had wanted to comfort his da and receive comfort in return.
Instead, the earl had unleashed a verbal hammering so ugly it had nailed Graeme to the floor. It only ended when Angus rushed into the room. After exchanging a few sharp words with Father, Angus had swept Graeme into his arms and taken him up to bed. He’d tucked him in and stayed by his side, holding his hand until he fell asleep.
From then on Angus had appointed himself Graeme’s special protector, never again mentioning what had happened that awful night.
“Laddie?” Royal’s gentle prompt brought Graeme back to the present.
“Father told me exactly that.” He tried to sound like he didn’t care.
Royal leaned forward, his gaze intent. “Listen to me, Graeme. Our father was a stern man, but a good one. But after our mother died, he became as angry and bitter as arsenic. He fell into a whisky bottle and never climbed out. And his anger poisonedeveryone.”
“Not Nick.”
“Even him. That’s why Nick wanted Angus at Kinglas. We needed someone to love us, and that was Grandda.”
“But I was—”
“Did you know Father also blamed Kade for Mamma’s death?”
That was another punch to the gut. Poor, wee Kade had barely survived the birthing and had then been robbed of his mother.
“That’s insane,” Graeme said.
“As insane as blaming a little boy like you for her death.”
Graeme frowned into the peat fire. His brother patiently waited him out.
“But before that,” Graeme finally said, “Father claimed I drove Mamma crazy with my antics. Said I was too much for her.”
Royal snorted. “We all got that lecture, especially poor Logan. Father tore a strip off him on a regular basis.”
“I . . . I don’t remember that.”
“You were very young. And I think you’ve forgotten the way things were before our mother died.”
“Like what?” Graeme cautiously asked.
“Like who taught you to ride?”
His father.
“And how to fish.”
