Page 95 of Playing to Win

“Glasgow.” Colin didn’t offer specifics and hoped they wouldn’t be requested.

“That’s an exciting place of late,” George said. “Were you at that kids’ debate at the Hydro arena today?”

“No, sir. That was for sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds.”

“And you’re what age?”

“Nineteen,” Colin replied, though the question seemed a semi-rude one, based on the rustlings of discomfort from Andrew’s parents.

“Ah, sorry. I took you for younger, probably because you’re wearing Andrew’s old clothes.”

“George!” Lady Kirkross exclaimed. “Apologize this instant.”

“What for? They look good on him, and it’s a fitting way for Andrew to mark his territory.”

Colin’s hairline prickled with the heat of shame. He was torn between the instinct to smash George’s doughy face and the knowledge that to do so would end his life as he knew it.

But Andrew had already leaped from his chair and was now advancing on his brother, wielding the sorbet spoon. “You will apologize to Mr. MacDuff, or I will carve out your eyeball and feed it to the dogs.”

“Oh,” Lady Kirkross said softly.

George, who was at least fifty pounds heavier than his younger brother, didn’t back away an inch. But he did turn his head to Colin and say, “I’m sorry if I offended. Please forgive me.”

Colin looked to the marquess and marchioness for cues. Their eyes begged him to defuse the tension. He stood slowly, straightening his blazer in what he hoped was a dignified manner. “Of course. No offense taken.”

“Thank you.” George stepped back. “Mother, Father, my apologies again for interrupting. Enjoy your evening.” He turned for the door.

“Lord Ballingry.” Colin’s sharp voice echoed back to him from the castle’s stone wall.

George stopped and looked around, as if wondering what insignificant entity could be addressing him. “What is it?”

“You’ve not apologized to your brother,” Colin said.

“It’s all right.” Andrew started to move back to the table. “Just let him go.”

“It’s not all right.” Colin put a supportive hand on Andrew’s back.

“An oversight,” George said. “In my haste to depart, Andrew, I neglected to specifically include your delicate self in my blanket apology. Consider it said.” He spun on his heel again and disappeared into the house.

Floored, Colin turned to Andrew and blurted the singular thought exploding through his mind. “What an absolute cunt!”

CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE

“IAMSO, so sorry,” Colin said for the hundredth time as Andrew parked the car beside his beloved boathouse. “I still cannae believe I said that.”

“The only thing to be sorry for is not saying it to his face.” Andrew felt positively giddy. He’d barely stopped grinning ever since Colin’s spot-on pronouncement of his brother’s nature. “I’ve not heard my father laugh so loud in years.” Even Mum had smiled into her teacup, and later joked that henceforth they shall refer to George in his absence as “A.C.”

He and Colin entered the boathouse, which Dunleven’s part-time housekeeper, Beatrice, had prepared for their arrival, even leaving a basket of fruit, cheese, and wine for their late-night consumption. With steps quiet as a cat’s, Colin explored the two-room house and its adjoining porch overlooking the loch.

Andrew slipped off his shoes and stood barefoot in the open doorway. Peace settled into his bones at the sound of the water lapping against the foundation beneath him. He couldn’t imagine spending his last night in the boathouse with anyone else.

Colin peered down into the loch, then turned and reached up to touch the edge of the porch roof. “I like this place. It’s cozy. Friendly.” He crossed the porch to examine the wall hanging, a weathered wooden carving of a salmon rising from the waves. “It’s also veryyou.”

“That’s because it’s mine.”

Colin looked at him, eyes glittering in the soft porch light. “Yours? How?”

“My brother and sister live in enormous houses elsewhere on the estate. But this wee cottage is mine, and personally I think I got the best deal. It’s remote, it’s sturdy, and of course it’s on the water.” He stroked the weathered, butter-yellow siding next to the door. “It’s perfect.”

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