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Robert found Angus in the chamber which had been occupied by Flora. He was not surprised. After that of the earl himself, it was the best they had. Angus was tucking in to a meal of cold beef and boiled carrots, washed down by a generous mug of their finest ale. He blinked in surprise when confronted by his cousin.
“Robbie? I wasnae expectin’ ye. I ye had let us know, we would ha’—”
“Ye would have what? Covered your greedy, lazy tracks? Had the place made even slightly presentable? Had Flora brought back from exile at St Mary’s?” Robert bestowed an arctic smile upon his cousin. “Ye would ha’ done better tae make yourself scarce, tae avoid lettin’ me get my hands on ye.”
Angus got to his feet, somewhat unsteadily. He had clearly imbibed considerable quantities of ale. “Now, ye look here, Robbie. I have seen tae things while ye were away swannin’ about in France. Ye should be grateful I was ’ere. The earl is no better than a babe, an’—”
“Why is Flora not here?” Robert demanded, his tone deceptively quiet.
“The earl said—”
“My father is ill. You said as much just now. Why, when ye took charge at Roxburghe, did ye not immediately summon Flora to return?”
“I’ll no’ gainsay the earl,” Angus spluttered. “He was most clear on the matter.”
“And, when I go to see him, which I shall do next, do ye really imagine he will even recall having given that order?”
“I dinnae ken. He remembers well enough, some o’ the time.”
“Or, did ye have other reasons for leaving my sister tae rot among those merciless crows? Mother Immaculata has a formidable reputation as far as those she considers tae have fallen from grace is concerned. My sister will not be well treated there.”
“The holy sisters will—”
“Silence. I have heard and seen enough of ye tae last me several lifetimes. You an’ I both know what is at the root of your cruelty and neglect of Lady Flora.”
Angus relinquished his attempts to bluster his way out of the situation. “Aye, well, she dishonoured all of us by lettin’ the English dog lay ’is dirty paws on her. We can do wi’out ’er kind here. Your father knew it, he said as much. Called her a harlot an’ a trollop, an’ he was right. This is a decent house, a good, God-fearin’ Scottish house, and—”
He got no further. Robert’s fist connected with his jaw, and Angus staggered back, his expression one of absolute amazement before he clattered to the floor.
Robert bent over him. “Ye will never repeat such slurs. Not in my hearing, nor anyone else’s. Is that clear?”
Angus gaped up at him, gently fingering his already swelling chin. “Ye broke me bloody jaw,” he complained.
Robert doubted that, though he could be easily persuaded to have another go.
“Are. We. Clear?” Robert ground out. “Or do I need tae break your nose as well?”
“Aye,” Angus muttered. “I hear ye. But—”
“No more, Angus. I willnae warn ye a second time.”
At last, Angus had the good sense to remain silent.
Robert straightened. “Ye will be gone from here within the hour. Go to Byrness and remain there until I send for ye.” Robert did not add that he considered it highly unlikely he would find reason to summon his cousin to Roxburghe or anywhere else in the foreseeable future. “And, Angus, be absolutely clear on this. If I hear of ye causing even the slightest breath o’ scandal regarding my sister or this house, I shall come for ye, and ye willnae get off wi’ just a bruised jaw.”
He did not wait to hear his cousin’s response. Robert spun on his heel and strode back into the hallway. A maidservant was passing, and he hailed her. “You. As soon as my cousin is gone, ye will scrub every inch o’ that chamber. Make it ready for my sister’s return.”
His next stop was his father’s chamber. Robert hesitated outside the door, raised his hand to knock, then thought better of it and grasped the handle. The door swung open, and Robert stepped within.
The earl sat before the fire, his back hunched. He stared sightlessly at the flames, his bare feet outstretched towards the grate. He did not look up or in any way acknowledge Robert’s arrival.
“Father?” Robert started. “Papa…?”
The earl scowled up at him at last. “Do I ken ye, lad?”
Robert’s heart sank, though he had expected such a reception.
“I am Robbie, Papa. Your son.”
