Chapter 8 #2
“I hate you,” whispered Tiffany weakly as she slumped against the cushions.
Bonnie grinned triumphantly and swept from the room.
No matter what her feelings were for Lyon Oliphant, they were in the past, and she now had a future to create.
And she could do it without crying over losing him.
She had to. There was no other choice.
“Come on, auld man! Ye’re slowing down!” Keith danced just out of reach, his fists held up to protect his face as he taunted Lyon. “My grandmother could fight better than ye!”
Growling, Lyon stalked forward, jabbing uselessly at the air where his younger brother-turned-companion used to be. “Stay still for once, ye fooking butterfly!”
Chuckling, Keith twirled out of reach again, then darted back in for two quick jabs to Lyon’s side. “What’s wrong with ye? Ye’ve been slow for the last week!”
That’s because when Bonnie left, she took his fire with her.
Still, Lyon couldn’t admit that out loud, so he concentrated on his sparring partner, managing to land a blow across Keith’s shoulder when he turned at the last minute.
“Oof! That’s more like it. Come on, man. Ye’re hitting like a weakling!”
He was. It was true, and Lyon wasn’t sure how he felt about it. There’d been a time when Keith’s taunting would fire his blood, and his anger—at the accusations, but more importantly, at his injuries and his slow recovery and the world itself—would push him into a blind rage.
When Bonnie had been there, that rage had been replaced by a lust he couldn’t contain, and sparring with Keith helped him find a different kind of release.
But when Bonnie had gone, the rage hadn’t returned. The lust was still there, but now, the emotion sitting on his chest, making it hard to breathe, was…sadness?
Contemplating feelings during a match was a stupid idea, as evidenced by the fact Keith used his distraction to slam his fists into Lyon’s chest twice, knocking him backwards. Now it was hard to breathe for an entirely different reason.
And as he stumbled back, dazed, Keith landed a vicious uppercut, which slammed Lyon’s head back, his teeth knocking together hard enough to loosen them before he fell backward on his arse.
And since he’d already been knocked on his arse, he might as well just lie his head back against the cold stone of the great hall’s floor and pretend that’s what he’d meant to do the entire time.
Above him, the distant ceiling swam into focus, and he could imagine it festooned with banners and tapestries, the sounds of raucous feasts and medieval music lingering just past his hearing.
Well, fook. Must’ve hit my head harder than I thought.
Then Keith’s concerned face interrupted the vista. “Lyon? Are ye alright?”
“Ye hit me hard enough to hallucinate,” Lyon mumbled, his jaw aching.
“Och, well, ye were distracted.” Shrugging, Keith lowered himself to sit cross-legged beside the supine man and began to unwind his fist-wrappings. “When are ye going to talk about it?”
“Never.” And when he was feeling well enough to stand, Lyon had every intention of stalking off to the loch and easing this headache with ice water. But judging from the way everything was fuzzy, perhaps he ought to lie here a bit longer.
“She has nae reason to return, ye ken.”
Since it hurt to turn his head, Lyon sent the younger man a sharp glance. “I dinnae ken what ye mean.”
Keith clucked his tongue and tossed the wrappings to one side. “Of course ye do. Having Bonnie here was nice. She made the place feel…more like a home, I guess.”
To Lyon’s surprise, the younger man stretched out on his back beside him, stacking his hands behind his head and staring up at the ceiling.
“Mrs. Oliphant—the new cook, I mean, no’ the auld Mrs. Oliphant—asked about her, and when I said she’d left, the woman cursed most soundly.
I guess even she liked Bonnie, and she’s nearly as grumpy as ye. ”
There wasn’t much to say, not in the face of such cheerful observations. Lyon grumbled, “She never met Bonnie.” He shifted slightly so he could see the younger man’s face.
“Nay, but perhaps she could sense the difference in the castle.” From his supine position, Keith shrugged. “I think she really liked ye—Bonnie, no’ Mrs. Oliphant. Although I suppose Mrs. Oliphant likes ye well enough.”
Lyon didn’t need to hear this. “To hell with Mrs. Oliphant!”
Keith’s smile seemed to grow, although his attention was on the ceiling. “She does make delightful roasts, does she no’?”
“I dinnae want to hear this.” Deciding he could abide a headache for a bit, Lyon began to roll to his feet, but Keith’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.
“Easy, Lyon. Lie easy a bit longer. I’ll stop teasing ye about how much Bonnie liked ye, or how beastly ye’ve been since ye let her leave.”
“Ye’re doing a piss-poor job of it,” Lyon grumbled, but he allowed the younger man to push him back to the stone floor.
Keith just shrugged unrepentantly as he grinned.
Was he right?
Bonnie had wanted to stay; Lyon had seen it in her eyes when they’d begged him not to let her go. But if he had given in to her—and to his own heart, or perhaps cock—he knew she’d end up miserable.
Or dead.
His younger brother eyed him worriedly. “Ye ken, I havenae asked ye why ye allowed her to walk off, and I’ll no’ ask ye now. But if ye were interested in having her back in yer life, I dinnae think it would be verra hard.”
Lyon scowled, of course. “She’s better off without me.”
“Ye cannae think that,” scolded the younger man. “Ye are a good man, Lyon, nae matter what ye believe about yerself. I see that, yer brothers see that, and Bonnie sees that.”
Did she?
Is that why she’d seemed so hurt to leave?
Of course, ye idiot.
Was Keith right? Would it be so easy to leave the castle, which had been his cave for so long, and go to her and tell her how he felt?
How do ye feel, then?
He felt as if the light had gone out of his world when she’d left. She’d taken his light, his heart, the only remaining bit of life with her.
God help him, but he missed her.
Keith settled back down beside him, shifting to make himself comfortable on the stones.
Lyon glowered, happy for the distraction. “What are ye doing?”
“What?”
“I ken why I’m lying here, but why are ye?”
The younger man managed to shrug. “I didnae want anyone to wander by and think I’d managed to knock ye out, so I’m lying here so anyone who sees us assumes we’re just two men, looking at the ceiling together.”
Lyon was strangely touched by the sentiment. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said gruffly past the lump in his throat.
His brother seemed to understand. “Ye’re welcome,” he said cheerfully. “Is that a crack in the plaster? We need to have that looked at.”
Squinting, Lyon followed the younger man’s pointing finger. There was, indeed, a small crack in the plaster ceiling. “What are we doing now, then?”
“Looking at it,” Keith agreed.
There was a sound by the entrance to the lower story, and Lyon managed to turn his head far enough to see Phineas and Lysander troop up the steps and stop dead upon seeing the two men stretched out on the floor.
“What are ye two doing?” Lysander finally called out, amusement in his voice.
“Examining the ceiling,” Lyon supplied the excuse with a dry tone.
“Together,” Keith added. “Because that’s what we’re doing. No’ that Lyon was knocked unconscious or anything.”
“Ye’re terrible at subterfuge,” Lyon growled under his breath.
His two brothers strolled across the great hall. Phineas’s head was craned upward, as if he too was interested in the ceiling. But Sander’s hands were in his pocket, and he seemed only a few moments away from whistling.
He stopped beside Lyon and nudged him with the toe of his shoe. “Why are ye really there?” He nudged again.
“Ow,” growled Lyon, shying away. “Stop that. It hurts.”
Sander poked him again. “Then sit up and talk to me.”
“I can talk fine lying down.” Lyon’s head was still pounding.
“And it’s difficult to examine the ceiling without lying down,” Phineas agreed, dropping to his arse on Keith’s other side and gently lowering himself to his back on the stones. “What are we looking at?”
The younger man pointed. “That crack up there. I suggested we have someone come look at it.”
“We’re looking at it now,” Phin pointed out.
“Someone who kens something about plaster. Unless ye’ve taken a job as a plasterer and I dinnae ken it?”