Chapter Thirty-Seven
When the physician arrived with an exhausted Jock hitching a ride on his carriage, Alan met him at the door. The footmen were all otherwise occupied and, anyway, he was too anxious to do aught else.
“Master Robertson. Thank ye for coming.”
“Thank yer man. He caught me just as I was starting out to make my rounds.” The physician’s gaze met Alan’s. “He said ’tis grave?”
“Very much so, I fear. Come along, please.”
Alan led the physician to his father’s chamber where Mother still sat—he had been unable to persuade her away. Indeed, she insisted on remaining at her husband’s side while Master Robertson performed his examination, even as Alan lingered inside the chamber, his back pressed to the outer door.
He did not need the physician’s distressed murmurs to tell him just how poor was his father’s condition. He could smell it in the strong scent of blood and tell it by the fact that Father had lapsed into senselessness.
The physician took his time, sent for water to better clean the wound, and wrapped it carefully. When he finished, he spoke first to Mother in a low voice. Her expression, which appeared frozen, did not change.
Master Robertson stepped next to Alan’s side. “May we speak elsewhere?”
The solar lay mere steps away. Alan led the man there, thinking all the while, This cannot be good. What will he say to me that he would not say in front of Mother?
“It is as well ye sent for me wi’ all due haste,” the man began when they stood in the chamber, neglected for fire, and dim. “But I do no’ think aught I did back there can save your father. Ye maun prepare for him to die.”
Alan staggered. It felt as if the strength to which he’d been clinging so hard left him all at once and his legs near failed him.
The physician clutched his elbow. “Forgive me, I should no’ ha’ been so abrupt. But I thought ye should know.”
“Aye, so,” Alan breathed, his thoughts racing. He could not lose his father. The heart of Kallan, he was, for better or worse. The one holding everything together. And, by God, without him they would all be at Evan’s mercy.
He would be left to face off against his brother. Without his father’s wisdom.
He gazed hard into the physician’s eyes. “There is nay hope, then?”
Master Robertson hesitated. “I never like to say so, but in this case, very little. If there are affairs to which ye need to tend beforehand, I would urge ye to see to them.”
Alan nodded dumbly.
Master Robertson hesitated again. “I understand ’twas your brother—your father’s heir—who inflicted this wound.”
“Evan, aye. Ye may ken—”
“The young man has a reputation, aye, and in fact I was called to the Duncans’ no’ long since. He is no’ here, your brother?”
“We do not ken where he is.”
“Aye, well. As I understand it, he will soon come into his inheritance.”
“By God,” Alan breathed. What was he to do? “My father—d’ye think he will regain his wits before…”
Very gravely, the physician contemplated it before shaking his head. “I very much doubt it. But—” Now it was his gaze that met Alan’s. “If ye would like me to say he had, and to act as witness to any final words he might say, I am willing to do so.”
Swear that Father had made him, Alan, heir in Evan’s stead, the man meant. And what would Evan have to say about that when at last he turned up? For, to be sure, he would come to claim what he believed to be his.
His look of astonishment caused Master Robertson to raise his eyebrows. “Do no’ be so surprised. If your brother struck him down, should not justice be served? Does your brother deserve to inherit?”
“I do no’ suppose I am equipped to mak’ that judgment.”
“Who, then? Who needs must live wi’ the consequences?”
When Alan did not answer, the physician touched his shoulder. “I will stay a while. In case I am needed.”
For either cause, he implied.
“Aye, thank ye, Doctor.” Alan’s throat had gone dry. “How long—”
“Difficult to say. His heart is strong. It may be a while.”
“I appreciate it that ye stay. I maun speak wi’ my mother.” And my wife. Where was Annista now? His need for her pulled at him.
How had he come to need her so?
“I shall call someone to light a fire for ye and bring some refreshments. Ye shall be comfortable here?”
“Aye,” the physician agreed.
Alan hurried out, asked the first person he met—who happened to be Mother’s maid, Morag—to supply the physician’s needs.
“He will stay a time, to see—see—”
Morag gazed into his face. “How fares the master? Is it grave?”
“Grave. Grave indeed. Ye maun prepare to support your mistress. She will need ye.”
And him? Was he to galvanize the whole household to stand ready, should the new master come home? Did they not already stand ready?
He hurried down the stairs, his feet rattling on the dark oaken steps. What would Evan’s reaction be if he came home to find Father dead—dead by his hand? Would he even care? Aye, so he must.
The man who had raised them both—not with complete fairness, as Alan could attest—but who had always been there. And the favoritism had leaned in Evan’s direction… Surely, surely it must mean something.
And yet he remembered Evan’s reaction—or should it better be called lack of reaction—at Robena’s death. Cold indifference, it might best be deemed. A growl and a sneer when her body was found at the foot of these very stairs.
Had she also died by Evan’s hand? Alan could not but ask himself. Had Evan pushed her?
And—was Evan capable of regret or remorse? Was he capable of anything resembling love?
He located his wife in the kitchen, helping out like one of the maids, and his relief at seeing her was staggering. He hurried to draw her aside even as Morag, who’d followed him, gave instructions for the physician’s comfort.
“Come awa’ outside wi’ me.”
They went into the yard where—already—it began to grow dark. Where had the day gone?
Annista seized his hands and looked into his eyes. “How is your sire? What says the physician?”
To Alan’s horror, a rush of emotion near choked him, and tears blurred his vision. He never wept, not any more. Evan had taught him the fallacy of it long ago.
He shook his head.
“Och, Alan!” she exclaimed softly. “Is there nay hope?”
“He says we maun prepare for Father to die. That means—”
Alan gazed about the yard, at the house, and the hills beyond. This place that, despite the travail of his youth, he loved so well. Perhaps he’d never known how much till now.
“All this will land upon ye,” Annista finished softly. Her voice said what the words did not, the responsibility he would then carry. The grief.
“Aye,” he said. And Evan would be coming. He would be coming soon. It was as if Alan could feel that in his blood and bone.
And, as his bone and blood cried out, he must protect this place. These loyal folk, even now coming out from stable and kitchen to hear him. This woman, who stood before him.
Aye, he must protect her with his life.
The thought—like her touch—heartened him. “We maun be prepared,” he told her. “Mother is wi’ Father now. Leave her there. Help me call the servants fro’ the house, and I will summon the rest. I maun speak wi’ them all.”
“Right. I will.” She let go of his hands and turned to go, before swinging back again. “Just know—ye are no’ alone.”
Aye, and if he had to choose a companion in all of this, it would most assuredly be she.