The Devil in Plaid(2)

Donald did not look up. “I will not feign affection. Yer return brings me no joy, just as yer choices gave our father nothing but heartache.”

Ranulf fisted his hands, resisting the urge to reach out and slam his brother’s head onto the table. “Our father lacked vision.”

Donald jerked his head up, meeting Ranulf’s gaze. “Our father was a man of compassion and sensibility.”

Ranulf shrugged, his gaze scanning the room for guards. “I live by my own creed now.” He swallowed the laughter that rushed up his throat when he realized they were alone. His brother was still a trusting fool.

“I’ve no doubt,” Donald replied, not bothering to hide his contempt. “One that I’m sure puts yerself first, even before God.”

Ranulf sighed, already bored. His brother hadn’t changed. He sat in the chair across from Donald. Again, he considered the study, but this time he imaged how he would change the room when he was laird. What it needed were some furs by the hearth and a naked wench or two to see to his needs. He closed his eyes as shining black hair and crystal blue eyes came to the fore of his mind. Donald wasn’t good for much, but he could tell him about the beauty who had caught his eye on the way to the castle. “I passed a rather large party from Clan MacDonnell just now when I arrived. What business did they have here?”

His brother shrugged. “Of late, we’ve enjoyed several visits from Clan MacDonnell.”

Ranulf grabbed a piece of bread. “Ye’re still as evasive as ever.”

“And ye’re as self-serving as ever,” Donald replied before setting down the knife and taking a bite of his bread.

Ranulf took up the knife and swept it through the butter.

“Help yerself,” Donald said, his tone revealing his displeasure.

Ranulf smiled at him. “I intend to.”

Donald’s face reddened. He set his bread down and interlaced his fingers, giving Ranulf a hard, assessing look. “Why did ye come back?”

Ranulf leaned forward, gripping the knife in one hand and his bread is the other. “I’ve come to take my land.”

Donald shook his head. “If ye’re talking about the land ye formerly coveted, then let me remind ye those lands are already owned. And I do not think the clans MacDonnell or MacLeod are going to just give it to ye.”

“I didn’t plan on asking them, brother,” Ranulf said, his voice deadly soft. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, they’re so busy fighting each other, they’d never even see us coming.”

Donald sighed, shaking his head. He sat back in his seat. “Ye should know that the MacDonnell and I have made an alliance. His daughter is betrothed to Adam. Isn’t that right, Adam?”

Ranulf’s nephew looked up from the table at which he sat and nodded. Ranulf’s thoughts once more returned to the raven-haired beauty. The idea of his bookish nephew taking Lady MacDonnell into his spindly arms turned his stomach.

“He isn’t fit to marry Lady MacDonnell,” Ranulf hissed, unable to hide his rancor. “Just as he is not fit to be laird. Look at him,” he scoffed, gesturing toward Adam. “A sword should be clutched in his fist, like my own son…not a blasted quill.” Ranulf turned then and motioned to Fergus who obediently remained by the door.

Donald’s eyes showed his surprise. “I did not know ye had a son.”

“Neither did I,” Ranulf answered dryly as he sat back in his chair. “I had a romp or two with a barmaid when I lived in Edinburgh. I didn’t believe her when she sought me out to tell me. But when she brought the lad to me, I could not deny his obvious parentage.” Ranulf glanced at his son who was a year younger than Adam and twice as broad. Fergus had inherited Ranulf’s black waves, dark eyes, and long, thin nose. “He’s a worthless bastard and half peasant stock, but I’d wager he’s more of a man than Adam will ever be.”

Donald scowled at Ranulf. “Yer goading will not unravel my control. Yer measure of a man’s greatness is a pathway to Hell.”

Ranulf glowered back. “Adam is soft, like ye. And that is why ye make alliances rather than taking what should rightfully be yers.”

Donald slammed his fist on the table. “And by what right should another clan’s land belong to me?”

The same old argument met Ranulf’s ear, but Ranulf was not the same man who, in the past, had to swallow his brother’s refusals. Now, he had wealth and power and was more determined than ever. “MacKenzie land surrounds theirs. Ye’ve more men and far greater wealth. Ye’re a fool for not taking what ye could have.” Ranulf stood up, still clutching the knife in one hand and squishing his piece of bread in the other. “Ye were never man enough, but I am. Had ye only given me an army when I asked for it ten years ago, the clans MacDonnell and MacLeod would have surrendered long since.”

Donald stood up, pressed his palms onto the table, and glared at him. “I will never give ye an army. Save yer breath, if that is why ye’ve returned.”

Ranulf’s heart thundered in his ears. “I have news for ye, brother. I don’t need an army.” A snarl fled his lips as he drove the knife into his brother’s heart.

Donald’s eyes bulged. He gripped the bone handle sticking out of his chest with both hands and fell back in his chair.

“Father,” Adam cried, coming to his feet. He raced at Ranulf, but all he had in his hand was his quill. Ranulf drew the dirk from his boot and thrust it into his nephew’s gut. Adam sputtered and gasped. Ranulf shoved him back. Adam fell. Blood puddled on the floor, seeping, spreading. His legs shook. He cried out, then grew still. Ranulf stood over him and watched a crimson streak of blood trickle down his golden beard.