Duncan felt heat climb up his neck to the freshly shaved skin of his jaw. He knew what she would say, and he wanted to take her arm and pull her out of the room—anything to stop her from telling this story in this place to these people.
“Och, do go on,” James said, motioning for the footman to fill his wine glass. “I would like tae hear this. Dinnae ye want tae hear, Mama?”
“I do.” Her eyes shone with mirth. She did not know what was coming.
“It’s late,” Duncan said, standing. “The ladies must want their beds by now.”
“Sit down,” Lady Charlotte said. “We have time for one story.”
Duncan looked at Ines, but she did not return his gaze. He knew what she was about. She wanted to say something about him that would impress his mother and brother. She wanted to boast about him. That was the type of person she was—kind and giving. She couldn’t know this story would not have the effect she anticipated.
“Ines,” he said.
James waved his wine glass. He was half-drunk or he might have caught at least one of the cues Duncan was sending. But then James had always been a bit of an arse, so maybe he would not have cared. “Let’s hear the story, lass.”
Duncan glared at him and James smiled, knowing exactly what he had done to raise his brother’s ire. “Forgive me. Miss Neves, proceed with the story.”
She gestured to Miss Wellesley. “We had stopped for the day near a river, and Miss Wellesley and I had gone to wash our hands and faces. We had taken the dog with us...”
She went on, telling the story of how Loftus had chased after a noise and how the ladies had followed and thought it might be a wolf. Duncan sat stiff and straight-faced while his mother and brother smiled at the idea of wolves and then watched as their faces slowly drained of color as they realized what the ladies had thought were wolves were actually reivers. Ines noticed, of course. She was used to watching people closely as any good merchant was. She obviously thought his family’s reaction was one of concern, so she hurriedly told them how Duncan and Stratford had ambushed the men and saved her. She gave Loftus praise as well, but when she had finished, no one spoke or smiled.
Miss Wellesley tried to fill the silence. “Thank goodness for Mr. Murray and Mr. Fortescue’s quick thinking else we might not all be here.”
“And I’m certain you were terrified, Miss Neves,” Stratford said. Duncan winced as his two friends dug his grave deeper.
“Não.” Ines said. “I knew Duncan would come for me.”
“Of course, he would,” James said. “He’s always looking for trouble, aren’t ye, brother?”
Duncan said nothing.
“Ye see, this isnae his first experience with reivers,” James went on, his face red now, but not from drink. “Years ago, he decided tae run away and had a run in with a group of reivers. He soon found himself their prisoner.”
“That’s enough, James,” his mother said, but her voice was barely a whisper.
James did not seem to hear her. “My father went after him, but he was nae as lucky as ye were. He was killed in the skirmish.”
“Excuse me,” Lady Charlotte said, rising and leaving the room.
Ines looked pale. “I am so sorry. I did not know—”
James waved his cup before refilling it. “Why would ye, lass? Duncan likes tae play the hero. He doesnae like tae talk aboot the time he got his own father killed.”
“Now wait a minute,” Stratford said, rising.
Duncan shook his head, and Stratford frowned at him. But why should his friend defend him when everything James said was true? Duncan was the reason his father was dead. His stupidity, his impulsiveness—traits that had earned him the playful sobriquet Lunatic in combat—were also the reason his father was dead.
“Nae worries, brother,” Duncan said. “I willnae stay home long. I dinnae want tae be a constant reminder of the worst day in yer life.”
“Yer such an idiot,” James said. “Ye think any of us want ye gone? It only hurts her more when ye leave.” James pointed to the ceiling, presumably indicating his mother’s room above. “But then ye always were a selfish bastard.”
Duncan did not even realize his feet had moved until he was on the other side of the room with his hand wrapped about his brother’s neck and James’s head pushed against a wall. For all his strong words, James was not a fighter. He had always been the diplomat of the family. Undoubtedly that was why their uncle valued him so much and why James was always at the laird’s castle. Now James struggled under Duncan’s grip, and as much as Duncan wanted to slam his fist into his brother’s face, it would not make his father come back.
He stared at James, and James stared back at him, and then Duncan felt a warm hand on his arm. He looked down, and Ines was there. “Não,” she said. And then, “I am so sorry.”
The look of true grief on her face all but undid him. Duncan dropped his brother as the pain tore through him. He felt as though he were being ripped apart. And how could he stand here, in the dining hall, and allow everyone to see his insides spill out? That was how it felt, as though someone had taken a blade and cut across his chest and now his heart was exposed and vulnerable.
With a growl, Duncan stalked out of the room, not seeing where he was going or caring. He just needed to get away. And then he just needed air, to fill his lungs with something other than pain and grief and, yes, guilt.
He stumbled into the night. Even though it was summer, it was still cool in the Highlands, and the chilly night was like a slap in the face. He did not know where to go so he made his way through the courtyard to stand at the edge and look up at the rising mountains and the blanket of stars above. He’d missed this in London. Once he’d been away from the city, he could see so many more stars, but he hadn’t taken the time to look at them until now. He remembered all the times he and James and Moira sat outside on a summer night and looked at the stars, the sweet smell of his father’s pipe tobacco drifting around them.
How many times had Duncan wished he could bring those moments back? How many times had he pushed the pain of loss away by running into danger? He’d loved his father, loved him as he’d never loved anything or anyone else, and he’d killed him.
The sound of a shoe crunching on a leaf made him turn. “Go back inside, Ines.”
“I think you should not be alone now.”
“I want tae be alone.” He turned away from her, but she came to stand beside him anyway.
“I do not think so. I am sorry my story brought up such painful memories. I meant—”
“I ken what ye meant. It’s nae yer fault. Ye dinnae ken.”
Her hand was tentative on his arm. He knew he should push it away, but he wanted her touch right now.
“Why did you not tell me? I knew there was something wrong after you saved me from the reivers, but I thought I had done something. Said something.”
He looked at her. He should send her inside, shouldn’t say anything more. But he was raw now and vulnerable, and he couldn’t seem to stop the words from gushing forth. “Ye did do something. Ye made me realize how much I cared for ye, and ye had almost been taken from me, lass. I cannae let that happen again.”