“Well, no.”
Graeme snorted. “Never took ye for a coward, lad.”
“I will knock your block off, twin. Don’t think I won’t,” Grant said with a growl.
“It’s nae that,” Angus said to Graeme. “It’s that our lad doesna think he’s good enough for Kathleen.”
Graeme rolled his eyes. “Of course he’s good enough. He’s miles better than the rest of us, especially me.”
“Och, yer all good lads. But I agree that yer twin is as fine a man as ye could ever hope to meet.”
Grant’s throat went suddenly tight. “I appreciate your support. But the fact remains that Kathleen wants a different sort of life than marriage with the likes of me.”
Angus kept his focus on Graeme. “It’s because of what happened with yer dad. Our Grant has never gotten over the guilt, ye ken.”
For an awful moment, Grant’s brain seemed to freeze. “That’s . . . that’s ridiculous,” he finally said. “It has nothing to do with our father.”
“No, Grandda’s right,” said Graeme. “You’ve carried this guilt much too long, old boy.”
When Grant responded with a grimace, his brother fetched the whisky decanter and refilled their glasses.
“Ye never told us exactly what happened that day, son,” Angus quietly said.
The old bitterness leached up, like a deadly poison. “What for? You all know.”
“What happened to our father, but not to you,” Graeme pointed out.
The instinct to retreat behind an indifferent façade resurfaced. Grant had never been able to talk about that night, not even to Nick or to Graeme. Both had tried more than once to pry it out of him. But every time, a door in his head had slammed shut, keeping the memories safely locked up.
He realized now he’d been lying to himself, because those memories were always lurking below the surface, whispering awful things that were impossible to forget.
His grandfather’s hand came to rest on his arm. “Time to let it out, son.”
“Aye, that,” Graeme quietly said.
“Och,” Grant gruffly replied, “you’ll never stop pestering me if I don’t, will you?”
“We’ll never stop loving ye, lad,” Angus said. “Ye can be certain of that.”
“Bloody pests.” Then he took a deep breath. “All right, then. We were coming up on Kade’s second birthday, you remember?”
Angus sighed. “Aye, that was a bad time. Yer da was strugglin’.”
“He was drinking himself to death,” Graeme said in a grim tone. “He never even noticed the rest of us were grieving, too.”
When their mother died a few days after Kade was born, felled by childbed fever, the effect was catastrophic. The children were left devastated and bewildered, and their father had never recovered from the blow. If not for Nick and Angus, the family would have fallen entirely to pieces.
Angus grimaced. “The laird should have been there for ye. Instead he let his grief and anger poison everything for everybody.”
“Not me,” Grant softly said. “I was his favorite.”
Graeme nodded. “You were the one bright spot in his life. Thank God for you.”
“It was rather a mixed blessing,” Grant replied.
“Aye, but a blessing nonetheless,” Angus said. “Ye were always a guid boy, with yer kind, sunny ways. And ye brought that sunshine into your da’s life.”
Grant had always possessed a knack for handling his father. Even when Da was in his blackest moods, Grant could usually get a smile out of him or convince him to put aside his whisky glass. They’d go riding, his father on Big Red, an enormous roan, and Grant on Geordie, his Highland pony. Out where water and sky met Kinglas lands, his father’s mood would lift.
“It was a hell of a burden to put on a little boy’s shoulders, though,” Graeme sharply said. “We were only nine when our father died.”
“I know, son,” Angus said. “But your da was lost. He couldna see a way out.”
“He had his children,” Graeme argued. “We would have helped him. Instead, he piled it all on poor Grant.”
“For all the good it did,” Grant said. “I still wasn’t able to save him.”
And that failure would stay with him for the rest of his days.
After a few moments of silence, Angus gently prodded Grant’s knee. “Go on. Tell us what happened.”
“I remember that everyone had scattered after dinner.”
“Da was in a particularly foul mood that night,” Graeme said. “We all wanted to get away from him.”
“Yes, but I followed him to the library.”
Unfortunately, none of Grant’s usual tactics had worked. His father had sat at his desk, pouring whisky down his throat while his state of mind grew bleaker and bleaker.
“I thought if I got him away from the whisky, he would calm down,” he added. “So I suggested we go out to the stables. One of the mares had just foaled, and I said I wanted to see the newborn.”
Graeme nodded. “Da was usually better around the horses.”
But once they’d checked on the mare and her foal, Da had made the impulsive decision to go riding. Grant had tried to talk him out of it, since night was falling and his father was drunk. More drunk than usual.
“The head coachman and the grooms were in the servants’ hall, having supper,” Grant said. “There was just one stable boy left on duty, and he’d only been working at Kinglas for a few months. Da told him to saddle Big Red.”
Graeme winced. “And that poor lad was not been about to argue with the Laird of Arnprior.”
“No.”
When his father then ordered Grant to go back to the house, for once, he’d disobeyed him.
“After Da rode out, I asked the boy to help me saddle one of the mares. I knew my pony could never catch up. Then I sent the lad to find our coachman and tell him what happened.”
“Ye were a brave lad, even back then,” Angus said with pride.
“Grandda, I was scared to death,” Grant ruefully replied.
“Aye, but ye didna let it stop ye.”
Grant had spotted his father cantering toward a stand of woods east of Kinglas. “It was daft to be riding into the woods, especially with night coming on so fast. So I called out to him, and he stopped and waited for me.”
“What happened when you got there?” Graeme asked. “How did he react?”
“He gave me a good tongue-lashing.”
“Of course his did.” His twin sighed.
“You suffered worse.”
“Yes, but that was not the last conversation anyone would wish to have with his father.” Graeme’s gaze was full of understanding.
“It was what I said next that truly upset him.”
“What was it, son?” Angus gently asked when Grant paused for a few moments on the horrible memory.
“I called him a mean old man and said he was scaring everyone. I told him that if he didn’t stop it, I would never talk to him again.”
Graeme covered his eyes. “Poor, poor lad.”
Angus sighed and again patted Grant’s arm. “The laird did not take that well, I reckon.”
“He cursed at me and told me to go home. Then he lashed out at Big Red. The poor horse was already jittery from all the yelling, so when Da hit him with his crop, he reared and almost went right over on his back. It was a miracle he didn’t.”
What happened next wasn’t a miracle, though. As his father pitched off the horse, one foot caught in the stirrup. Big Red bolted and dragged him for several dozen yards over the rocky ground before he came free. Grant threw himself from the mare and ran to his father, who was motionless, his face covered with blood.
Grant had shrieked at him to open his eyes, to get up, even move a hand. Over and over again, he’d begged his father not to leave him. The only answer had come from the wind, a hollow cry that echoed his boyish sobbing.
By the time he finished describing the scene, Grant had to clear his tight throat. “Yo
u know the rest, Grandda. You and Nick found me. I don’t know how long it took, but it seemed forever.”
“We found ye almost right away,” Angus said. “But I have nae doubt it felt like forever. I wish I could have spared ye that sight, lad. I wish I could have spared all of ye so much.”
Grant shook his head. “If I’d listened to Da when he told me to stay behind, or even if I hadn’t said those terrible things to him, he might still be alive today.”
It had been an accident, of course, but there was no denying his actions had played a role. It was something he’d never get past.
Graeme crouched down in front of him, his gaze now almost stern. “Grant, it wasn’t your fault. You were only a little boy.”
“A little boy who disobeyed his father. If only I’d listened—”
“We all disobeyed Da at one time or another,” Graeme said. “It was practically my mission in life to drive the old man crazy. And Logan was a bloody master at it.”
“But it was different with me. Da listened to me. And I could get him to do things, at least sometimes. He let me take care of him.”
“The way yer always tryin’ to take care of the rest of us now?” Angus put in. “Like it’s yer job?”
Grant frowned at the sharp note in his grandfather’s voice. “I’m not sure what point you’re making, Grandda.”
“Mayhap the point that ye feel so responsible for the old laird’s death that ye have to make up for it. By tryin’ to keep us all safe.”
Graeme straightened up. “That does sound right, Grandda. He’s always trying to take care of everyone. Especially me—we all know that.”
“You’re my twin,” Grant protested. “I’m supposed to take care of you.”
“Do I look like I need taking care of?”
“At one point you did,” Grant said, feeling defensive.
“Well, those days are long gone,” Angus barked. “And I have news for ye, son, there was nothin’ ye could have done to save the old laird, anyway.”
“But—”
Angus jabbed his pipe at him, scattering tobacco on the floor. “Yer dad was on the path to ruin long before that sad night. He was set on killin’ himself, if not on a horse then with all his drinkin’. The drink would have taken longer, draggin’ us all down with him.” He let out a disgusted snort. “There be days where I wish yer da was alive, so I could wring his neck for puttin’ ye all through hell, the nasty old bastard.”
Grant exchanged an astonished look with his twin. They’d never heard Angus talk of their father with anything but the respect due to a laird and one of the great clan chiefs of Scotland.
“And another thing. Who said ye were the old laird’s favorite?” Angus barked at Grant.
Graeme frowned. “I did. It was obvious.”
“Well, ye were wrong, ye booby. Nick was always his favorite. He couldna put a foot wrong with his father. And after yer mother’s death, yer da relied on Nick to keep everythin’ goin’. If ye want to feel sorry for anyone, save it for yer puir brother, not yer da.” Their grandfather shook his head in disgust. “Jinglebrains, the pair of ye.”
Grant threw a perplexed glance at his brother. Graeme shrugged, clearly as mystified as he was.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Grandda,” Grant said.
Angus made a visible effort to control himself. “Ye had a terrible time of it, and I’m right sorry for that. All ye lads had a hard time. But what about how I felt, I ask? Did ye ever think about that?”
“Felt about our father’s death?” Graeme cautiously asked.
“No, about yer blessed mother. How do ye think I felt after she died? She was my dear daughter, and my only child. And I’d already lost my Fiona, yer grandmother. To then lose my daughter . . .”
He broke off, muttering and making a show of knocking his pipe tobacco into the grate.
Widening his eyes, Graeme looked at Grant. “We are a pair of jinglebrains, aren’t we?”
“The worst, apparently.”
Grant stood and reached out to his grandfather, carefully pulling him up from his chair.
“Och, ye big oaf,” Angus exclaimed. “What are ye doin’ now?”
When Grant wrapped his arms around him, his heart wrenched at the feel of his grandfather’s skinny limbs. They’d always thought the old fellow was invincible. Right now, though, he seemed so frail in Grant’s arms.
“I’m hugging you, you old goat,” he said. “And telling you how much I love you. We never would have made it without you, Grandda. We owe you everything.”
“Aye, that,” Graeme softly said.
For a moment, his grandfather returned his embrace before shoving his way free.
“Apologies are all well and good, laddie boy,” he said with a scowl designed to cover his show of emotion. “But that nae fixes the problem.”
“What problem is that, again?” Graeme asked.
Angus pointed a gnarled finger at him. “That yer twin needs to stop bein’ a bloody ninny and ask Kathleen to marry him.” Then he rounded on Grant. “And I’ll nae have more excuses from ye. Get the job done.”
Then the old man turned on his boot heel and stomped out, slamming the door behind him.
“What the hell just happened?” Grant asked.
“Angus happened, as usual.”
Grant couldn’t hold back a laugh. “I just bared my soul to the man, and he called me a bloody ninny.”
“That’s our grandda.”
“Our entire family is completely deranged.”
Graeme’s smile was wry. “And we wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I thought I’d find you here,” Grant said.
Kathleen put down her trowel. Of course he would find her grubbing about in the dirt, even though she’d picked a secluded corner behind the gazebo. “I suppose I have become entirely predictable.”
“Just a lucky guess.”
She scoffed. “Sabrina told you, didn’t she?”
“Och, yer too smart for me, lass,” he teased.
“I thought I would be safe out here.” When his eyebrows shot up, she flapped a hand. “From David, not you.”
Never you.
She eyed him, feeling a little annoyed. Grant looked perfectly wonderful in his tailored coat, form-fitting breeches, and polished boots. Even his cravat was starched to a nicety and crisply folded.
“I do wish that just once we could have a conversation where I wasn’t covered in dirt,” she groused.
“You look beautiful. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you, love.”
Kathleen felt a flush rising to her cheeks. “That’s hard to believe, given how dreadfully I behaved yesterday. May I have a hand up, please?”
Grant cupped her elbows, lifted, and set her on her feet.
“Which part of yesterday are we talking about?” he asked. “Because I distinctly remember some very delightful behavior, too.”
Since she was not ready to have that conversation, she made a show of batting dirt and bits of grass from her skirts.
“You should use a pillow or a blanket to kneel on while you’re working,” he suggested.
“So I wouldn’t get so dirty?”
“Because it would be easier on your knees, daft girl.”
She sighed. “We’re doing it again, aren’t we?”
“Talking at cross-purposes?” Grant casually shrugged. “Seems to be the way we go about things.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“It’s bound to get better if we keep working at it. Practice makes perfect, after all.”
She huffed out a laugh. “In our case, I think it would take a great deal of practice.”
“Probably even a lifetime.”
Kathleen decided she was still not ready for that conversation. “Is it safe to assume that David has departed the premises?”
Fortunately, Grant went along with the change in topic. “Sweetheart, you cannot permanently hide in
the garden like a deranged hermit. One of these days you’ll have to tell yon vicar the truth.”
“I know. I just couldn’t face him after that dreadfully awkward encounter outside his house last night. And Jeannie was so eager to see him, too. It’s a gruesome tangle, I’m afraid.”
“Aye, it’s a ridiculous situation.”
“And Captain Brown—I’m still tempted to stab him with my clippers.”
Grant laughed. “I love a fierce, bloodthirsty lass.”
“You absolutely do not. You and your twin act like Sabrina and I are frail princesses who must be locked away in a tower for our own good.”
“Och, no tower could hold you lassies. You’d just break out.”
She started to clean up her tools, dumping them into her workbasket. “Well, this princess is going to clean up—if the coast is clear, that is.”
“After exactly one cup of tea, Sabrina promptly sent the brothers Brown on their way. She made the required apologies on your behalf and kept Jeannie well in hand.”
“How do you know?”
“I was there, and what fun it was. David glared daggers at me while the captain smirked like a simpering dandy.”
“How awful. Why did you go in the first place?”
“I wanted to make sure Captain Brown kept his blasted innuendoes to himself. He quickly figured out that I would knock his block off if he didn’t.”
She exhaled a sigh of relief. “That was so kind of you, Grant. Thank you. I do worry about the captain’s behavior with Jeannie, though.”
“His conduct was more akin to that of an older brother. He brought her a collection of Celtic fairy tales to entertain her while she recovers from her injury. Sabrina deemed it appropriate for a girl her age.”
Kathleen couldn’t help feeling dubious. “Jeannie didn’t seem inclined to flirt with him?”
“She very prettily thanked the captain, but it’s clear she still fancies herself in love with David.”
“I can’t imagine the vicar found it very comfortable spending time with Jeannie—or with you, apparently.”
Grant shrugged. “When he wasn’t sending me death threats with his eyes, he was exceedingly kind to Jeannie. The fellow does have good manners, I’ll give him that.”
The Highlanderâ??s Irish Bride Page 32