James leaned back against the wall of the stall, his attention returning to the lovely woman with the big, brown eyes. “A-Aye,” he said. “B-But I always looked up to him.”
“He knew,” Gaira said honestly. “And I think that perhaps he thought it would show weakness tae give ye the letters he’d written. Ye’d see that he was a man of flesh and bone and feeling, not the perfect earl who was anything but perfect.”
James’ brow furrowed. “S-So you’re saying that he was embarrassed to give them to me?”
Gaira shook her head. “Not embarrassed,” she said. “But a man has his pride. I think pride kept him from showing ye that he was just as sensitive as ye are. Now that he’s gone… he knew that the letters would make their way back tae ye and that ye would read him. There’s a letter he wrote tae ye the night before the battle at Culloden, in fact. If ye dunna read the others, just read that one. Yer brother took the time tae write it, so it’s important that ye do.”
James stared at her a moment and Gaira could see the thoughts churning behind those brilliant eyes. With a faint sigh, he looked to the stack of letters in his hand.
“H-Here?” he said. “I-In this group?”
Gaira nodded. “’Tis right on the top,” she said. “I organized them by date, so the last one is on the top.”
James looked at it. He wasn’t certain that he was strong enough to read it, but something inside him was pining for it. The last words from his brother, perhaps a hint of approval or a glimmer of hope for those he left behind.
This was what he’d come for, after all.
Something of his brother.
He untied the twine and retrieved the letter on the top.
The paper was yellowed, the seal broken. It was dog-eared on one side as he opened it up to see the familiar handwriting. It was like a dagger to his heart simply to see Johnathan’s carefully-scripted letters, but he fought the grief it provoked.
He continued.
My dearest James –
If you are reading this, I’m assuming that I did not survive the battle. I’m further assuming that some kind Scots family has sent you my possessions, such as they are, and that you realize you are now the Earl of Worcester. Although I am no expert on the post, as I suspect I did not do our family justice, I have no doubt that you will be a much finer earl than I ever was. How do I know this?
Because I know you.
When Mother was pregnant with you, I was a tiny lad, but I knew enough to know that I wanted a brother. I remember praying aloud for a brother and the priest would slap me on the head in the midst of my prayers because of it. That old bastard, Father Bernardo. I know you remember him. I think he slapped you a time or two, also.
And then you were born and I had a brother. Mother would leave you in your bed to cry at night and I would climb in with you to comfort you. I know you do not remember that, but I did. I would lay beside you and tell you what great things we would do together, the both of us. I was convinced we would ride side by side into battle in the morning, vanquish the enemy, and be in the tavern drinking wine by evening. I was convinced we would be inseparable.
I think, in a way, we are.
In my possessions, you’ll find a stack of letters that you wrote to me. Every single letter you ever wrote to me. I have always kept them with me, even on a battle match. There was one in particular that I kept in a pocket next to my heart because it meant a great deal to me. When I came to Culloden without you, the letters came with me. Whether or not you knew it, you were by my side with every step because I knew that no matter what happened, you would be there for me in spirit if not in presence. Those letters are you, even more than if you were with me in the flesh. In them, you have entrusted me with your fears and hopes and insecurities. I take that trust very seriously.
James, I know I have not been the easiest man to know. I can be aloof. I can be quick to temper. I was always jealous of you and the freedom you had, unencumbered with the de Lohr expectations as I was. You were young and brilliant and your laughter… James, I can still hear it. Your laughter is so easy. I don’t know how you do it and I always envied it so. But you are also annoying and insufferable at times and sometimes I want to kick you squarely in the fart hole.
Still, you are my brother and I love you.
I know I never told you that, but I do. I always have. Tomorrow, we are facing six thousand rabid Scots and their allies and although we are better armed and better prepared, there is still a chance I will not make it out of this alive. If I do not, I want you to know that it has been a privilege being your brother. I could not have asked for a greater honor. You will be standing beside me tomorrow as I fight the enemy and if I should fall, know that you will be among my final thoughts.
James, I have always adored you and reproach myself most stringently for never telling you so. But I know that my death will be quite devastating to you and as the reverend prayed for the regiment tonight, I prayed that God would send a guardian angel to watch over you after I am gone. I suppose that I was your guardian angel while on earth, but after I am gone, I pray another will take my place.
Do not grieve overly for me. Do not let Mother grieve overly. Take care of her and of yourself, and I wish you joy and happiness all your life. You are my brother, James, and most worthy of the de Lohr name. I have no final wish or instructions except for one – there are many brave men who will fight tomorrow and I consider it an honor to serve with them. Bring my body home, if it is possible, but leave something of me with my men in the place we have fallen. Not everyone will have the opportunity to return home, so leave something of me behind to watch over them.
Your mercy is appreciated.
Your loving brother,
John
Tears were running down James’ face as he finished. Still holding the letter, he put a hand over his face, giving himself the luxury of indulging in his grief if only for a brief moment. He pictured his brother, writing the letter by candlelight on the eve of a great battle. There was no fear conveyed in the letter, no cowardice or remorse. Simply a man wanting to ensure his affairs were in order and that his brother, the most important person in his life, understood what was in his heart.
He had been right.
James was devastated.
“I’m sorry if this has reopened a wound that was trying tae heal,” Gaira whispered, breaking into his thoughts. “But I saw the letter and I knew that ye should, too.”
James wiped at his face quickly, struggling to compose himself. “Y-You were correct,” he said. “I-I am glad I saw it. I only wish… well, my brother and I were not the type to speak affectionately to each other. We could laugh together, drink together, and argue quite well, but when it came to speaking of our feelings… it simply wasn’t done. T-That is why this letter means so much to me.”
Gaira smiled timidly. “I am glad.”
There was so much more she wanted to say to him, so much that wouldn’t come. Now simply didn’t seem like the right time. Before her was the man she’d fallen in love with through his letters but, at the moment, this was not about her or her feelings. This was about James and the loss of a brother.
She didn’t feel right saying anything more.
She had done what she’d come to do.
“I… I suppose ye’ll be leaving now,” she said. “I’ve heard they buried English officers in Inverness, so perhaps that’s where yer brother is. I do wish ye well, m’laird.”