Chapter Fourteen
Just whom had he married? Alan asked himself that question after he parted from Annista and watched her return to the house with her head high and that indefinable look still in her eyes—the one that frightened him just a little.
Aye, he had recognized her for a strong woman—the opposite of her sister. But never had he expected her to suggest that he acquire a mortal sin upon his soul.
Such it would be, to achieve Evan’s death.
Did he believe in such sin? He no longer knew. His new wife was right in one regard—Evan’s mere existence was a kind of sin in itself.
That did not mean Alan could redden his hands with his brother’s blood.
Not that he’d never thought about it—especially when younger. When he’d had fewer defenses against his brother. There’d been nights when he’d lain in his bed wishing—wishing the unspeakable.
Had Annista merely put into words what had long been at the back of his mind?
Nay, and nay. He would not allow for it.
By any road, such thoughts had ever been confined to the back of his mind—firmly trapped there. He could not allow their escape.
Standing now in the courtyard, he glanced at the house where his wife had disappeared. Was she not in her way as much a caution as Evan?
She wanted revenge. That much seemed apparent. She’d adored her sister and would not mind letting Alan exact what she believed Evan deserved.
Alan could not let her influence him. Nay, he could not. Despite the fact that something within him responded to what so clearly existed within her—a part of him he’d never suspected might exist. It recognized her strength and her hatred.
She had good reason to hate Evan, aye. So did he.
He walked slowly across the courtyard, not in Annista’s wake but to the stable. He did not feel quite able to enter the house, to face his mother. To keep watch over his wife.
As soon as he set foot inside the stable, he knew something was very much wrong. An odd tension filled the air and he could hear voices, the grooms exclaiming. As he started down the lane that divided the boxes, his mount, Chieftain, thrust his head over the half door and rolled his eyes.
“What is it, lad? All right?”
Chieftain stamped his hooves a little and blew air. Alan ran a swift hand down his neck. He seemed well enough. But something was not.
Only a few stalls farther on was a commotion. Hurrying up, Alan saw three grooms in the box. Three grooms and—
Ah, what had happened to Tempest?
Even as Alan paused at the door, he knew. His heart did. And that dark instinct that lurked inside.
Still and all, he gasped. “What’s happened?”
All three grooms turned to look at him, Angus and Tommy on their feet, and Billy kneeling beside the stallion, who was down in the straw, thrashing.
It was Billy who answered him. “Found the horse like this, Master, when we come in this morning. He was taken out last night. Ridden hard. Then—”
Words failed the man. Words were not needed.
Evan.
He had beaten the horse before, they all knew of it. Christ in heaven, even Annista had recognized that. When charged with it, Evan claimed the horse was disobedient. In need of breaking.
He appeared broken now.
Tempest’s beautiful chestnut coat showed stripes of blood. More gathered in the foam that dotted his mouth. His eyes—usually defiant—had gone dull.
Alan swore long and low and edged into the already overcrowded stall, struggling to speak. “Why did ye no’ call me at once, when this was discovered?”
The gathered servants exchanged glances. Billy once more answered. “We did no’ wish to—well, draw attention to wha’ Master Evan has no doubt done. We thought we could tend the beast and did no’ realize how bad it was, at the outset.”
Alan tried to curb his annoyance. He could feel the men’s distress. Moreover, their fury. They were, the four of them united in their love of horses. Their anger and horror rivaled Alan’s own.
“Evan left him like this,” Alan said flatly, sickness crawling up through his belly.
“Aye,” Billy agreed bitterly. “Must have had him out most the night. Reduced the beast to this condition—for wha’, we can only guess.”
“He does no’ need much of a reason. Where is he now, does anyone ken?” Alan’s hands involuntarily closed into fists.
“Dunno,” muttered Angus. “Didn’t see him when I came in. Only—Tempest down like this.”
Alan met Billy’s gaze. “Will the horse recover? Can ye save him?”
“I canna say, Master Alan. I ha’ never seen this beast down and do no’ like to imagine wha’ could mak’ him so.”
But they did not have to imagine, did they? The evidence lay before their eyes.
“Tak’ care o’ him,” Alan bade the men. “I am going to find Evan.”
The grooms exchanged swift glances. Billy, at least, was aged enough to remember how things had been between Alan and his brother while the two were growing up. The younger grooms had no doubt heard stories.
Billy got to his feet. “Ye will ha’ a care, Master Alan?”
Alan nodded. At the moment he did not feel as if he would need to take care. Anger filled him and, as he started across the courtyard to the house, he realized he was trembling.
Not with fear, not this time.
He entered through the rear and was not quiet about it. The maids in the kitchen followed him with their eyes, as did the footmen. He found his father, mother, and Annista in the great hall, apparently talking. They all turned when he crashed in.
“Alan? Wha’ is it, son?”
“Where is Evan? Ha’ ye seen him?”
Father shook his head. “Nay this morning.” Father’s eyes narrowed abruptly. “Why?”
Alan did not waste breath in answering. He marched back out and up the stairs to the galley.
They followed.
“Alan,” Mother called. “What—”
“I need a word wi’ Evan.”
He needed more than a word. In truth, this should have come a long time ago.
Everyone knew Evan had been abusing that horse—just as they’d known he’d been cruel to his wife.
They’d found reasons to turn a blind eye to it.
The horse was wild and needed discipline.
And no one interfered between a man and his wife.
Suddenly that seemed a craven sentiment. An indefensible one. Evan may not have abused his wife physically. At least, she’d never claimed so. But was not covert cruelty the equivalent of what he’d just seen?
Evan’s room lay at the end of the upper gallery, well past Annista’s chamber and his own. Alan did not bother knocking at the door. He crashed in.
Dark the place was, even though the sun now stood proud in the sky, the heavy drapes being drawn. Alan did not need to see much. He could tell by the reek that Evan was there.
By God, he could hear the lout snoring even over the sound of the blood pounding in his own ears.
A lump in the bed proved to be his brother. A trail of shed clothing led thence. Alan stumbled over some of the garments as he marched up and glared down at the sodden hump in the blankets.
“Get up.”
No response. The reek of whisky was enough to make Alan’s eyes water. So Evan had got drunk and gone riding. Lost his temper with the stallion. It was no excuse.
“Alan,” Father spoke behind him, for all three of them had followed him into the chamber. “What has happened?”
Alan did not bother to answer. He reached down among the blankets, seized Evan’s shoulder, and hauled him up, surprised at the strength his rage lent him.
Evan came up with his head dangling to one side. Senseless. And naked. Not till Alan had hauled him up did he realize his brother had shed all his clothes. And with Mother and Annista present!
At that moment, he barely cared. He shook Evan like a rat and watched his brother’s eyes slit open. He barked, “Ye bugger! Ye bastard! Ye’ll pay for wha’ ye’ve done. This time ye’ll pay!”
“Wha—” Evan began and got no farther before Alan’s fist slammed into his face. The impact—which included a collision with Evan’s teeth since his mouth dangled half open—should have hurt. It likely did, but Alan disregarded that also and drew back his arm to deliver another blow. And another.
Even in half unconsciousness, Evan’s instincts came to the fore.
They were ugly instincts and he emerged from his drunken stupor ready to fight.
He struck back hard, not to Alan’s face but his gut.
It might have progressed to an all-out brawl then had Evan not lost his balance—or Alan his grasp—and fallen not back to the bed but onto the floor, where he thrashed and grunted, and then disgustingly vomited.
It gave time for Father to rush forward. He stared into Alan’s face.
“What has happened?” he repeated. “Wha’ did he do?”
“Ask him,” Alan retorted and pushed past his father to the door. If he lingered, he might well kill his brother.
A sin, aye, of Biblical proportions.
On his way out, his eyes met those of Annista and it felt as if he could see—feel—all that was inside her.
I told ye, ye should kill him.
He left the chamber as swiftly as he’d entered it, fleeing his own impulses.