“Where the bloody hell is my daughter?” Hunt threw another punch, and Brodie knew this one would blacken his eye. After a few more hits, Ashton and Brock dragged Hunt away from him.
Blood dripped down Brodie’s chin, and his bottom lip stung. His whole face was a mass of pain as he got back to his feet. The old man was surprisingly strong. He would be lucky to see out of even one eye tomorrow.
“Brodie, where’s the lass?” his older brother demanded.
“Inside. She is safe and well. As is her sister.”
“What?” Hunt shouted. “Portia’s here too? How the devil—?”
“Easy, man,” Brodie said. “Your younger daughter only just arrived. She said she left her aunt in Brighton and traveled here alone. She thought she could rescue Lydia from me. She nearly killed me with a pistol.”
“Where are they? I demand to see them at once.” Hunt shoved past Brodie, who allowed him to storm the castle, as it were.
“Lydia! Portia!” Hunt called out as the door closed behind him.
Brodie sighed and winced. Ashton and Brock watched him solemnly.
“Christ, Brodie, do you have any idea of the trouble you’ve caused?” said his brother. “You’ll be fortunate if Hunt doesn’t challenge you to a duel.”
“That doesna bother me.” In truth, it did bother him, but after such a beating part of him would not mind shooting the old man in the leg just to even the score.
“It bloody well bothers me,” Ashton growled. “Hunt has just married Lucien Russell’s mother, which makes him practically family to me. If you kill him, it would not only break Lady Rochester’s heart, it would enrage Lucien. And believe me, you do not want that man coming for your blood. And since Brock is married to Joanna, you are my family, which means some small part of my own honor demands I defend you against one of my dearest friends. Do you see the dilemma we all face?”
Brodie nodded, but deep down he no longer cared. The day he had dreaded had finally come. He was losing Lydia. As he entered the castle’s grand hall, he found Hunt talking to his two daughters. He fiercely embraced them both, and then he berated Portia for leaving Brighton.
“You could have died!” Hunt exclaimed.
“Yes, I know, but . . .” Portia sighed dramatically and then gasped. “Papa, are you wearing a wedding band?”
Brodie felt strangely like an outsider in his own home as Hunt told his daughters about how he had married Jane Russell over an anvil.
“Oh, that’s famous!” Portia exclaimed. “How romantic! I only wish we had been there. Right, Lydia?”
“Yes, I’m so sorry we missed it, Papa.”
Lydia caught Brodie’s eye, and her excited smile faded as she noticed his battered condition.
“Brodie!” She pulled free of her father’s hand and rushed over to him, trying to touch his face.
Brodie caught her hands and gently held her at bay.
“Papa, did you do this?” Lydia demanded.
“I did. And I plan to do more once I see you and Portia safely away from here.”
“No,” Lydia said as she turned to look at her father. She was as beautiful as she was defiant in that moment. “You will not harm him ever again.”
“There is a matter of honor that must be settled, not just for me, but for Mr. Kincade as well. I have wronged him, just as he has wronged me. And to each of us I’m sure the other’s sin seems the greater. Isn’t that right, Kincade?”
The proud Scot in him was prepared to meet Hunt on the field of honor. The odds that one of them would die were great. He was an excellent shot, and while he could fire into the air, he had no guarantee that Hunt would do the same. If he could shoot as well as he punched, the odds that Hunt would kill him were high.
The problem lay with Lydia. No matter who lived and who died, Lydia would be heartbroken and would in time grow to resent the survivor. For everyone’s sake, he had to be a coward. He had to turn his back and walk away.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Hunt, but I have no honor. Take your daughters and go.”
Brodie turned on his heel and left. As he stepped into the brilliant late afternoon sunlight, a dark violent storm ravaged his heart from within. He went to the stables, and as soon as he had a horse saddled, he rode away, leaving the castle and his bleeding heart far behind him.
Lydia stared at the open doorway where Brodie had gone. A dull headache crept behind her eyes as she finally but unwillingly accepted that her time with Brodie was over. That the man she loved had not only walked away but in fact rode away as fast as he could.
She had run after him, but only as far as the tall oak doors. She had stopped there, stilled by an invisible force as she watched him flee. She wasn’t a fool. She knew why he had left. He was too good of a shot to miss her father, and if he refused to fire, her father would most likely kill him. So he had done the only thing he could and left. She understood, she truly did, but it didn’t mean that her heart hadn’t shattered at his abandonment.
“Lydia?” Her father put a hand on her shoulder. She tore her eyes away from the Scottish landscape.
“Yes, Papa?”
“Forget him. It’s time we both go home. Once the coach arrives with Jane, we’ll go home to Bath. Jane has already been engaging people to help explain your absence from Bath. Your reputation may yet be intact.”
She let him escort her into the drawing room, where he once again recounted his adventure with Jane and how after they had married, they had met up with Brock and Ashton on the road to the Isle of Skye. As Brock and Ashton’s wives were both pregnant, the women had waited to take a coach with Jane, which was meant to arrive in a few hours.
“I’m happy for you, Papa,” Lydia said, and she meant it. To have Jane as a mother would be wonderful. It meant Lysandra would be her sister, and all those charming Russells would be her protective brothers-in-law. But the joy she wished she could feel right now was impossible.
Portia joined her sister on the settee, while their father was momentarily distracted speaking to Brock. She reached over and clasped one of her hands.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Portia whispered.
“Know what?”
“That you fell in love with him. Heavens, I nearly shot the man.”
Lydia did not deny it. What point was there now?
“How did it happen?” Portia asked. “How did you fall in love with him?” The interest in her little sister’s eyes was unexpected. “It’s just . . . I keep hoping to fall in love. I was so certain that if I willed it in my head, my heart would follow. It’s been frustrating to find that I cannot do that. I thought I could make Brodie love me if he but stayed with me awhile, if he but kissed me . . .” Her sister’s tone was tinged with desperation and confusion, enough so that much of Lydia’s anger at her sister’s foolish actions eased.
“You cannot make love out of nothing. It cannot be forced or willed into being,” Lydia replied softly. “It comes on slowly, without one noticing. And when you do realize it, the feeling hits you like lightning. When I first saw Brodie at the ball, I thought he was the most handsome man I had ever seen, but I knew he was not meant for the likes of me. It was only after he took me north that things changed. Our anger with each other softened, and little by little as we got to know each other, I eventually realized I was in love with him.”