Chapter 2
Metal whistled as it traveled through the air, set up a fiercesome clang as it encountered an opposing metal force, then shrieked as it traveled along that bit of opposition, coming to rest quite forcefully against yet more metal that halted it in its forward progress.
Not that he cared overmuch for sheep foolish enough to use tarmac for a bed.
In another lifetime he would have skewered the creatures on the end of his sword and been happy for a nice meaty supper.
But that was then and this was now. Now he lived in a very civilized world where one did not flatten other people’s mutton for the sheer sport of it.
Then again, given his mood the day before, he supposed the only reason he hadn’t ignored modern conventions and done the little blighters in was because of the potential damage to his car.
Damage he’d done just the same by trying to avoid them, damn it anyway.
“Can you not at least pretend a bit of interest in this goodly exercise?”
Patrick looked at his brother’s face a hand’s breadth in front of his own, separated by their two swords, and gave him a casual smile. “When the swordplay demands my attention, I’ll give it its due.”
Jamie, his brother and his laird, reacted predictably with a great deal of cursing, a hefty shove that left Patrick no choice but to stumble backward a pace or two where he might again find himself within the range of Jamie’s quite lethal blade, and a ferocious attack that did indeed require quite a bit of Patrick’s attention.
As he endeavored to keep his brother at bay, he couldn’t help but admit that it was indeed the perfect morning for that sort of thing.
The sun was still below the horizon so there was enough chill in the air that a vigorous workout was not unpleasant in the least. He also couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the association with his elder brother.
He’d gone a very long time without Jamie’s companionship after he’d left home and found himself living quite a different life than he’d ever expected—
Jamie ceased suddenly with his swinging, jammed his sword into the dirt, and placed his hands quite forcefully atop the hilt.
“Had that been a real battle, you wee fool, you would have been dead.”
How was it his brother could still speak to him as if he’d been no older than ten-and-two and do it with a straight face?
“Fortunately for me,” Patrick said pleasantly, “we do not find ourselves in a fight for our lives and I can afford a distraction or two.”
“My sword is as sharp as it would have been then.”
“But you love me and it would distress you greatly to lose me.”
“I shouldn’t be forced to worry about protecting you,” Jamie continued with irritation. “That is your task. I rely on you for a satisfactory morning’s sport, which you are certainly not providing me with of late.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Patrick said with a low bow.
Jamie resheathed his sword in disgust. “I do not understand these foul moods of yours.”
Patrick didn’t, either, but there was no point in telling his brother that.
The saints only knew what Jamie would do with that glimpse into Patrick’s psyche.
Not only had Jamie acquired a host of new relationship skills during the course of his marriage to Elizabeth Smith, he’d also come to believe that the handful of pop psychology books he’d read over the past year were actually useful and he was the only one who knew how to use them to their best advantage.
And Jamie was, as it happened, laird of their little clan and had always felt responsible for the well-being of his clan members.
Well, that and he still looked at Patrick as if he were that laughing, carefree twelve-year-old who had loved nothing more than to get into trouble as often as possible and watch his older, more responsible brother come clean up the mess after him.
“You drive too fast,” Jamie announced. “If you drank, you would drink too much. In regards to wenching, who knows? You never bring anyone to supper, so I can only assume you find them, bed them, then send them on their way before the sun sets.”
Patrick knew giving his brother the truth of the matter would just send him off for another foray into his library, so he shrugged casually.
“Just because you’re the responsible one with a wife, two lads, and another babe on the way doesn’t mean you have to begrudge me my indulgences.
I have time, money, and freedom. What else am I to do with my largesse? ”
His brother ground his teeth. Patrick coughed to cover up a laugh.
If Jamie hadn’t been so easy to bait, he probably wouldn’t have done it so often.
But how could he help himself? It was one of his little pleasures, and, as he had just told his brother, he wasn’t about to deny himself what little pleasure came his way.
Jamie might have been relieved to know that he didn’t drink, but he surely would have been unsettled to know that Patrick hadn’t done anything with the women he’d dated, either.
Casual intimacy had never set well with him, and no one he’d met in recent memory had interested him enough to make the relationship more than casual.
Maybe Jamie would have been pleased to know that he wasn’t the only one Patrick was frustrating lately.
“You’re five-and-thirty years old,” Jamie said, reaching out to jab Patrick in the chest with his index finger. “Old enough to have done something with your life.”
“I did something with my life and look where it got me.”
Jamie hesitated, then scowled. “So you were once wed and you lost her—”
“And the child she carried,” Patrick said easily. He only said it easily now. He couldn’t have done the same six years earlier.
Had it been six years?
He shook his head in disbelief. It felt like yesterday. He’d almost been a father, almost held a bright-eyed, squirming babe in his hands and felt his life shudder because of it.
Almost.
“Perhaps ’tis time you ceased grieving and moved on with your life. On to something constructive.”
If it was only grief he felt, he might have been able to move on. Unfortunately there was a great deal more to the tale than a simple loss and Jamie knew it. Jamie opened his mouth to speak, and Patrick could see in his brother’s eyes that such was precisely the matter he intended to discuss.
But Patrick had no desire to discuss the matter at all, so he agreed quickly with his brother. “I should move on. Definitely.”
Jamie pursed his lips, but let the moment pass. “You should do something more useful than that foolishness you do to earn your gold. You have more than enough with what I’ve given you. You should cease with that other work.”
Patrick had no answer. They’d been having this conversation for years.
Jamie didn’t like Patrick’s choice of occupations, and Patrick didn’t like his brother telling him what he could and couldn’t do.
It was his life; he could risk it if he wanted.
Besides, there was far less risk involved than Jamie suspected.
He’d spent the whole of his youth preparing in one way or another for his current line of work.
“You should also,” Jamie said, “go write your feelings down.”
Patrick blinked. “What?”
“Write them down. We’ll study them later.”
Patrick could scarce believe his ears. “You’re daft.”
“I am not. Write down what you’re feeling, and I’ll put my considerable intellect to the challenge of determining where you’ve gone wrong.”
“When hell freezes over,” Patrick said crisply, “and not a moment before. You’ve no idea what you’re doing.”
Jamie stiffened. “I’ve spent my life studying the men about me and divining their innards. These books have only strengthened my gift for it.”
“Divine elsewhere,” Patrick said.
“I’ll look for richer pastures when I’ve finished with you,” Jamie said stubbornly. “And at least I’m interested in doing something with your sorry self. Far better that than wasting my life doing nothing, which is what you’re doing.”
Patrick was not sitting about doing nothing and his brother bloody well knew it.
He earned a living honestly. He spent time with his family.
He was a fabulous uncle. And he might marry again someday.
Aye, an older widow with children safely tucked away at university where he wouldn’t have to see them too often, wouldn’t have to grow close enough to them to love them.
But even if he never looked another priest in the eye to repeat marriage vows didn’t mean he wasn’t living a goodly life. Who the hell was Jamie to discount that?
Patrick found himself with a sudden urge to cut off his brother’s head. And given that he had a reputation for indulging his whims at any given moment—a reputation he seemed to have acquired thanks to his brother’s wagging tongue—there was no sense in not living up to it.
Jamie’s eyebrows went up as he ducked down to miss Patrick’s first mighty swing. He came back up with a mocking smile on his face, and Patrick knew that he’d started something he would be finishing whether he wanted to or not.
Fair enough. He needed the distraction.
An hour later Jamie took a step back and held up his hand.
“Peace,” he said.
Patrick dropped his sword and leaned on it, breathing heavily. Nothing else he did in life to keep his body fit equaled swordplay before the sun was truly up and about. Too bad he couldn’t discipline his thoughts so easily. He sighed, then turned toward the stables.
“Stay,” Jamie said, catching him by the arm and stopping him. “Stay for a meal at least.”
Patrick looked at the sun peeping over the horizon. “Tempting, but perhaps another day.”
“Damnation, Patrick, I didn’t buy you that bloody wreck so you’d spend all your time there.”
“I never asked you to buy me anything, and I protested quite loudly when you did. But since you felt compelled to purchase me a house of my own, you’ve given me no choice but to go live in it.”
“I never intended—”