Page 78 of Return of the Scot
“Or perhaps ye were the idiot, as is evidenced now.” Lorne tried to convey his disinterest, which was an effort in willpower. Every inch of him wanted to break out into a furious diatribe. But his brother was a stubborn fool and a self-righteous one at that. Anything Lorne said, Gille would not accept. His brother only wanted to hear what he had in his own mind, and men like that could not be contended with. Best to let it lie where it was and state only the facts.
Lorne glanced down at Jaime, who had a protective arm around her nephew, and the lad looked back and forth between them all, something vulnerable in his eyes.
Mungo returned then with the sword, and without Lorne having to tell him, placed it back where it belonged.
“My duchess still holds the deed to the castle,” Lorne said. “So even as ye hoped to gain the cash and the lands, ye were gravely mistaken in that step, beyond the blatant reality that ye could no’ have legally sold my property.”
“Duchess?” Gille sputtered. “Ye married her?”
“Ye little thief,” Shanna hissed at Jaime.
This time it was Jaime who answered, sounding rather wearied herself. “Oh, Shanna, do no’ be ridiculous. I know the truth of what ye did, how ye spurned him for half a man. What was there to steal when ye’d already run off with your lover? Lorne came to me willingly. And as he stated, he was never yours.”
“Half a man?” Gille was practically purple at that insult. “I should have paid those bastards twice as much to make ye disappear,” Gille shouted, stabbing his finger toward Lorne.
Paid to make him disappear… That was a surprise. “Pardon?” Lorne blinked in shock.
Shanna’s head whipped toward her lover, and she slapped his arm. Gille blanched, clearly regretting saying those words aloud.
“What he means is, he would have paid for ye to disappear,” Shanna said. “But of course, he would never do that because it would be wrong. Right?”
“He did it,” Gordie said, his small voice steady. “I heard him say he did on the ship.”
“Ye little bastard,” Gille shouted toward the lad. Fists bunched, he marched forward.
However, Lorne need not have punched his brother in the mouth because Mungo did it for him, knocking Gille to the ground with Shanna screaming in frantic panic beside him.
“Sorry, Your Grace, but it could no’ be helped.”
“Completely understand. He deserved it. And if ye’d no’ have done it, I would,” Lorne said. “Ye have my permission to do so again should the situation require it.”
“My pleasure, Your Grace.” Mungo bowed his head, then stepped back to his spot by the door.
Shanna glanced to Lorne, to Jaime and her son. “How could ye allow him to be beaten?”
“How could ye see nothing wrong with him paying for Lorne to be imprisoned? For him being about to beat your child for telling the truth? Shanna, ye are astounding in your selfishness.”
“My selfishness?” Shanna screeched, turning as purple and ugly as her husband. How had Lorne ever found her pretty? “What about ye? Ye stole everything from me.”
“I did no such thing.” Jaime sounded exasperated now. This stupid argument was taking a toll on her.
“Our parents, the inheritance, the business, my husband. My child.” This time, her pointed glare landed on the lad who sank deeper against Jaime. “There, you have it.” Shanna pointed accusingly at Jaime. “He prefers ye, always has. I want to wipe that pitying look off your face.”
“I see,” Jaime said, without even a spark of the anger her sister had just spewed at her. “Well, that’s unfortunate, Shanna, for all I can do is pity ye. Legions of women were jealous of ye. Daughter of a lord, a castle in Ireland as your dowry, the attentions of a duke. London and Edinburgh seasons. The best gowns and slippers. And even when ye fell from grace, our parents allowed ye to stay at their Irish castle anyway. Your exile was the same as someone else’s fantasy. Yet, it was no’ good enough. Even when I, feeling awful that ye had been ill-used, believed your lies, and brought ye back to Edinburgh. Fed ye, clothed ye, spoiled ye all over again. And to what purpose—all so ye could go behind my back. Ye might as well have stabbed me with the Sutherland sword.”
Jaime shook her head as if the things she said were the saddest in the world. Then, her gaze directed at her sister—the pity gone, replaced by strength and by authority. “But hear this now—ye will return to Ireland. Ye and your lover. And ye will no’ set foot in Scotland again. Gordie is going to remain here with Lorne and me. We will raise him as our own—as the son ye proclaimed belonged to Lorne.”
“Ye canna do that! He is no’ the father of my son. I never touched him.” Shanna looked ready to attack them all, snarling like a rabid dog.
“Pity ye should have claimed such for the last decade then. All of society believes he is the duke’s son. It is only proper for a duke to claim his son and take him from the mother.”
“Gille, say something,” Shanna begged her lover, who was now rousing on the floor.
“Oh, do let the little welp go already, Shanna. Ye told me yourself ye loathed being a mother and I can no’ abide to look at his judging eyes another minute. He’s more Lorne’s son than anyone else’s, sharing that same disdainful expression. Who cares if I was the one to plant the seed?”
Lorne wanted to pummel Gille into unconsciousness again. He didn’t even recognize the man as his brother, so foul and cruel as he was.
“I want to stay here,” Gordie said, his voice even as he blinked up at Jaime and then at Lorne. “Does no’ anyone care to ask me? Aunt Jaime, please, I want to stay.”
