Page 77 of Return of the Scot
Less than a minute later, voices were heard in the entryway as Mungo and Mrs. Blair greeted the newcomers. The voices of Gille and Shanna were distinctive, pinging painfully in his memory. He had a sudden realization that he’d heard the two of them talking, recognizing their voices before he’d entered that study to find them all those years ago. His mind had blocked out Gille’s voice even then. But hearing them muffled together now, rather than seeing them, brought the memory swiftly and painfully back. Lorne gritted his teeth, and Jaime squeezed his hand.
“’Tis lucky for us that they chose betrayal,” she said. “Else that would be your wife, and ye and I could never have been together.”
“I’d never thought of it that way.” He glanced down at her and smiled. “What a relief it is no’ so. This is why I love ye. But I still will no’ be easy to forgive.”
As planned, the trio was ushered into the great hall, the main door blocked, and upon entry, they did not see Lorne and Jaime by the hearth, but the young lad did.
Gordie shrieked, “Aunt Jaime!” and rushed toward her, arms outstretched and a massive smile on his face.
Jaime knelt to catch him while Lorne stared, stunned at seeing a mirror image of himself. He did a double take, raking his memory for any moment he could have fathered the child. But he never made love to Shanna. Never so much as kissed the ungrateful, conniving wench. So how was it possible that the lad could bear such a resemblance?
Lorne returned his gaze to the couple by the door who stood equally stunned, faces pale at the sight of them, not having expected to find them there. At least their ruse had worked. The lad favored Gille. Before now, Lorne had not realized how much he and his half-brother were alike, always believing his brother to favor his stepmother rather than their shared father.
“Glad ye could finally join us,” Lorne drawled out.
“Ye’re alive.” Gille’s words sounded like an accusation. “And here.”
“Clearly,” Lorne said dryly. “And the two of ye have been scheming, it seems, for quite a long time.” He glanced down pointedly at the child, then back up at them, the expression on his face as blank as he could make it, though he felt fire in his chest. A rage that wanted to be expressed through pounding fists.
“Well, ye can no’ have it all, brother,” Gille said. “Prodigal heir, favorite of the clan. I was tired of playing second fiddle, and so I fiddled with what was yours.”
Shanna had the good sense to look appalled at that statement, but Lorne didn’t react at all, even though his first instinct was to pummel Gille into the ground. Even now, the thorny blackguard showed no remorse for his actions.
“Och, do no’ kid yourself,” Lorne said. “That woman was never mine.”
Shanna’s mouth dropped open, an unladylike snort popping out of it. “Jaime, are ye going to let him speak about me that way?”
Jaime, who’d been silent up to this point, let out a short, bitter laugh. “Ye can no’ be serious.”
Shanna’s jaw dropped lower, her shock palpable.
“I’d close your mouth, else risk a bat flying in.” Jaime pursed her lips, looking as ready for a fight as Lorne felt.
Lorne had never heard that kind of statement before, but it seemed to work as Shanna did close her mouth. The woman crossed her arms over her chest and glared at his duchess. Not that her misdirected anger made a difference. Jaime did not back down.
Lorne turned to Mungo. “Search their belongings for the Magnus sword.”
Mungo nodded and left the room with Gille protesting loudly, “Do no’ touch my things, ye mewling lapdog! Ye have no right—”
“Oh, brother,” Lorne said, “do shut up. Ye’re in no position to argue or negotiate. Ye’re lucky I’ve no’ had ye arrested.”
Gille whipped back around, his cheeks ruddy with anger. “Arrested? For what crime?”
Lorne ticked off the reasons casually on his fingers. “Breach of contract, theft, embezzlement—the list goes on.”
“Breach of contract?” Gille’s arms flung about wildly, in danger of knocking into Shanna or the marble bust of King Robert the Bruce. “I’ve no contract with ye. Lies!”
Och, but this was going to be exhausting. Lorne wished it were already over. “Aye, but I had a contract with your wife, Shanna, and ye aided her in breaking it.”
“All right, that is true. But nothing else. Not the castle. How can I be blamed for the theft of something that was my own?” This time the back of Gille’s hand did come into contact with Robert the Bruce’s nose, and his brother yanked his hand back, glaring at the bust as if it had bitten him on purpose.
“It was never yours.” Lorne held out his arms. “I’m no’ dead.”
“This is preposterous.” Gille rubbed his hand, a little bit of spittle flying from his mouth to land on his knuckle.
“As is your behavior,” Lorne said, trying to keep his tone bored. “Some things never change, I suppose. Were ye no’ given everything ye wanted?”
“No. I was no’ and I resent ye for that,” Gille had the audacity to say. “Even when ye had gone to war, and I was left in charge, the blasted people of this medieval clan would no’ defer to me. It was always ‘What would Lorne do? What would Lorne say? That’s no’ how Lorne does it.’” He quoted these queries in a singsong, nasally voice that made Lorne want to knock him out. “One grows rather tired of such idiotic statements.”
