The great hall was dark, the drapes pulled closed over every one of the tall, narrow windows which lined both of the long walls. Their home was nothing like the Duncan house, whose great hall could easily have sat one hundred men or more, but the room was just as imposing as he’d remembered.

The table was still set, the servants only just clearing away what was left of the meal his brothers had shared. So much food for only two of them, with so much left over. What a waste. He picked up a chicken leg and sank his teeth into the succulent, if slightly cold, flesh.

He left the room through an arched doorway which led him to the entry hall. The walls were hung with rich tapestries depicting the history of the Andersons. He knew every one of them by heart, having studied them time and again throughout his youth. The glorious history of his clan had always interested him, something which had pleased his father to no end.

It was one of those tapestries he was examining when Alan’s voice rang out. “You think you’ll find something there you haven’t already learned?”

He sounded pleasant, perhaps even glad to see his brother, and Rodric turned to face him with a smile.

What he saw shocked him, though he thought he did a good job of concealing the surprise at what his once-strapping brother had become.

He’d gained weight. Quite a lot of it. The man wasn’t yet thirty and yet looked at least ten years older. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and a permanent flush colored his cheeks and nose. Too much food and drink. He’d always had a weakness for overindulgence.

The two clasped hands, Alan holding on a bit longer than he needed to. “Aye, you’re looking healthy,” he observed, his grey eyes shrewd. Waiting to see what his brother’s response would be.

“And you seem to have taken well to your position in the clan,” Rodric replied as diplomatically as possible.

It seemed unlikely, his brother’s change in appearance, seeing as how he’d always been rather vain about his physique. Always looking to impress the lasses with his strength, the broadness of his shoulders, the thickness of his arms and thighs as he rode on the back of his favorite stallion.

Why concern himself with that anymore? He was head of the clan. That was impressive enough.

“Aye, I have at that,” Alan agreed, clapping Rodric on the back before leading him to the room just off the entry hall which had served as their father’s study.

It would be Alan’s study now.

“The house and fields are well-kept,” Rodric continued, wondering if his ploy to get in his brother’s good graces was as obvious as it felt coming from his tongue. “You’ve truly taken to leadership.”

“You needn’t sound so surprised.” Alan sat in a high-backed chair behind a long table which Rodric could remember being filled with advisors during clan meetings. It looked strangely empty with only one man seated there, even if that man took of the space of three ordinary men.

“I’m merely complimenting you.” Rodric noted the absence of an invitation to sit, so he remained standing with hands clasped behind his back.

Alan shrugged. “It’s nothing, really. One thing Father taught me: leave the work you’re no good at to the men who are good at it.”

“I see,” Rodric murmured, nodding. “Who have you left this work to, then?”

“Padraig. He has a genius for such matters. I was never much good at managing the workers,” Alan admitted. “I’m not too big a man that I cannot acknowledge my shortcomings.”

Rodric bit his tongue at his brother’s unfortunate choice of words.

Once he was certain he wouldn’t laugh, he asked, “Where is he, then? I would enjoy the chance to speak with him. He’s a man by now, I imagine.”

“He is, though I make it a point to remind him who’s the youngest son.” Alan chuckled.

A young woman appeared seemingly from out of thin air, though Rodric knew she must have come through the almost hidden door in the wall between the study and the kitchen.

“Ale,” he barked. “And be certain to bring a tankard for my brother.”

Rodric had no intention of drinking, as this was not a celebration or even a mere social call, but he knew better than to refuse Alan. Best not to draw his ire too early.

“Please, sit, sit, no need to stand there as though you were a mere visitor. This is still your home, whether you choose to treat it as such or not.” A lock of dark red hair fell over his brow when he leaned forward. “And why have you been away so long? Why did you not return at the war’s end?”

“You ask the question so simply, as though the answer were that simple,” Rodric muttered with a smirk.

“Why does it have to be complicated?”

“Because it simply is. I needed something to do for myself, something which didn’t involve the clan.”

“There was more than enough work here for you, especially as I secured our holdings after Father died.” An edge crept into Alan’s voice which he didn’t try to conceal. The reappearance of the kitchen lass couldn’t have come at a better time. They remained silent as she poured the ale, not speaking again until they were alone.

“It seems you’ve handled everything very well,” Rodric reminded him, keeping his tone low and light. “I doubt I could’ve done anything to improve upon what you’ve built.”

“Stop complimenting me as if I were some trollop you’re looking to bed.” Alan laughed, not without humor. “You only see things now, after much work and many sleepless nights. When our father closed his eyes for the last time, the McAllisters took it as a sign that they could step in and take the lands we’ve held for centuries. The filthy bastards.” He slung back his first cup of ale as easily as though he were drinking water, wiping his mouth on his sleeve once he’d drained the vessel.

“You managed to hold them off without violence.”

“Indeed, though not without many rather interesting meetings between ourselves and his men. He lost several to my sword before finally giving in and agreeing to compromise.” Alan snickered. “Old Connor McAllister, the sly devil. He truly believes himself a master of negotiation, thinks he’s the smartest man in the room.”

“I remember that about him.” Among other things.

“Lucky for him, I was getting over a fall from my horse and not in full spirits, or I would’ve blackened both his eyes. But as it was, I felt a bit more generous than is normally in my nature, and I allowed him to talk me into an agreement.”

He cut his eyes to the side, away from Rodric’s, a familiar gesture which told more than he intended to tell. It wasn’t entirely Connor’s idea for Alan and Caitlin to wed, no matter how Alan tried to retell the story. Rodric would’ve bet anything Alan put the idea in the man’s head and then pretended that he’d allowed himself to be swayed.

“An agreement which, from what I understand, you’ve now forfeited,” Rodric murmured.

“He forfeited first.” Alan slammed down the pitcher of ale after filling his cup once again and draining it as expertly as he had before. Rodric wondered why he didn’t simply drink straight from the pitcher. “He forfeited when that bitch ran from me. That was the compromise we made. Peace, so long as we united the clans in marriage.”

Rodric drew in a deep breath, ready to give his brother a talking to—if not a good pummeling, for no man spoke of Caitlin McAllister that way in his presence—when the door behind him opened.

“I heard of your arrival but hardly believed it.”

A tall, handsome younger man all but crushed Rodric in a hug which stole the air from his lungs.

When released, he sputtered in surprise. “Padraig?”

But it couldn’t be. And yet, it was. He was the image of their father, much more like him than either of his elder brothers. As though Ross Anderson had come back to them in a younger form.

“Aye,” his brother grinned. “It’s been a long time.”

“Too long, if this is how much older you’ve become.” He’d imagined his baby brother as a bookish, quiet, shy little man who allowed Alan to push him around after hearing the truth of how the lands were managed. Not so. Padraig looked as though his ham-sized fists could easily pummel any man who dared speak ill toward him.

And yet the same softness was about his eyes and smile. The same boyishness.

“Our brother was just about to tell me how to run the clan,” Alan explained, already into his third cup of ale in mere minutes. It didn’t seem to affect him—at least, not yet. Hardly enough time had passed, and he was a very large man accustomed to drink.

“I wasn’t telling anyone how to do anything,” was Rodric’s testy reply. “I was merely addressing the fact that a feud has sprung up anew.”

“Aye.” Padraig ran a hand over the back of his neck, a rueful smile touching the corners of his mouth. “It’s a hardship, to be sure.”

“Hardship.” Alan slammed the cup down again, reminding Rodric for all the world of a child showing his temper. “It’s a damned break of the agreement we reached. I was to marry the girl and unite the clans. What does she do? She runs off like a thief in the night. So help me, if I find out who’s harboring her—”

“You don’t know that anyone is,” Padraig reminded him, his voice firm but gentle. Rodric reminded himself that his brother knew how to handle the leader of his clan. He’d been doing it for years. “And again, let us consider the situation from Caitlin’s point of view.”

“Point of view, bah!” Alan crossed his arms over his chest, his face more flushed than ever. “She had a duty, the agreement was set, and she reneged.”

“What has Connor to say about this?” Rodric asked.

“Claims it had nothing to do with him, he had no control over her. What I would expect him to say.”

“Why hold it against him, then?”

“Why not?” He stood, palms on the old, heavy table, and leaned forward. “For all I know, he told the girl to do as she did! Wanted to make a fool of me. Wanted the benefits of a peace between us and the protection of a much stronger clan.”

“Och, he cares nothing for the girl,” Rodric reminded his brother. “He wouldn’t have cared one way or another whether or not she wished to be wed. I strongly suspect this was her doing, and hers alone.”

“Even so, what do you expect me to do? You expect me to roll over and take this sort of treatment? What kind of message would that send the other clans?”

A fair point, reluctant though Rodric was to admit it.

“Is this why you’ve returned?” Padraig asked in a voice far different from Alan’s. He didn’t need to bellow and bluster to command attention.

“Aye,” Rodric admitted, turning his attention on Alan. “Word of this new disagreement has reached other clans, as you’ve suggested. The Duncans, in particular.”

“Bah, the Duncans. A curse on the lot of ‘em.” Alan shook his head as he poured yet another cup, full to the point where ale sloshed over the sides.

“I wouldn’t speak so flippantly if I were you,” Rodric warned.

“Why? Are they so much stronger than we?” Alan taunted. “You know the size of the force we had at our back when you and I were boys. Double that number, and you’ll have some idea of our current strength.”

“We all know how wealthy and powerful the Duncan clan is,” Padraig reminded both of his brothers, looking from one to the other. “Perhaps it’s best we solidify our alliances, rather than destroying what’s made us strong from the beginning. I, for one, do not wish to count Phillip Duncan as an enemy.”

“You’d be better off as a woman,” Alan snarled, glaring at his younger brother.

“Says the man who only just admitted what a wonder Padraig is,” Rodric spat.

“Aye, a woman can run a household, can she not? But she hasn’t the balls to run a clan,” Alan announced. “Which is why I sit in this chair, right here behind me, and why my word is the final word when it comes to clan business. And I say, damn the Duncans straight to hell if they think they can tell an Anderson what to do.”

He squinted at Rodric, who realized Alan was holding himself steady against the table and took this to mean his brother had already had more than enough to drink. “And damn you along with them, if that’s what you’ve come here for.”

“I should’ve known there would be no talking to you,” Rodric muttered. “You were impossible enough when you were sober, but now?”

“Stop this,” Padraig insisted, stepping between the two of them before Alan had the chance to explode. “Nothing can be achieved this way.”

“He wants to achieve nothing but what he wants,” Rodric pointed out, pushing his way past Padraig.

He had good intentions and would’ve made a much better leader than either of his older brothers, but he was still the baby of the family.

“Yes!” Alan cried out, eyes lighting up. “Let him come at me as he’s always wanted to. Now that he’s a big man, a soldier, he thinks he can take on his older brother.”

“I could’ve taken you on years ago—when you were still in shape,” Rodric added. “Now, you’re nothing but a shadow of who you used to be and nothing like the man our father was. You can’t even stand up straight. And you can’t stand the blow the girl landed on your pride. Why not admit what this is truly about?”

“I ought to kill you!” Alan lunged, missing Rodric completely and falling against the chair.

Padraig went to him in spite of the cruelty he’d just shown and helped him to sit.

Rodric drew a deep breath, regaining control of himself. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to lose his temper. He shouldn’t have allowed his tongue to run away from him.

His brother was a pathetic, quivering wreck of a man. It was the same as abusing a defenseless creature, really. There was little defense Alan could offer in his shameful state.

Except one.

“A shame you’ll likely be away again when I find the bitch,” Alan snarled as he leaned his head against the back of the chair. His breath came in ragged gasps, like an animal.

“Why is that?” Rodric whispered. The dirk he always carried was at his waist, concealed by his tunic, but he was more than ready to clasp the hilt and withdraw the thing.

Alan’s smile held no humor. It was the nastiest, most repulsive thing Rodric had ever seen. “I would hate for you to miss witnessing the punishment I’ll surely deliver.”

“Alan, please,” Padraig urged. “That’s enough. I won’t hear any more of this.”

“Then leave. I didn’t invite you in.” His eyes bored holes into Rodric as he spoke. “She’s my wife. Mine to do with as I choose. And I choose to make certain she never gets away from me again. If it means she no longer walks, so be it.”

A cold hand gripped Rodric’s heart even as his blood began to boil. “You won’t touch so much as a hair on her head.”

“Ah, and there it is,” Alan chortled. “I knew it! Pretending to only care about the future of the clan, and whether the Duncans hold the Andersons responsible for breaking the peace. As if I didn’t know all along that it was the old feelings you had for the girl that truly brought you to my door.”

“That isn’t true,” Rodric murmured with a shake of his head. “I didn’t know she’d deserted you rather than take your bed.”

Padraig roared. “Enough!”

When Alan tried to stand, Padraig placed a hand in the center of the man’s chest and shoved him back into his chair before whirling around to glare at Rodric.

Padraig scowled at Rodric. “After all these years, the two of you fall right back into your old ways. I’ve managed to grow up a bit over the last few years. A pity neither of you has—still at each other’s throats like a pair of children.”

In spite of his brother’s harsh words, in the back of his mind, Rodric couldn’t help but marvel at just how like their father Padraig was. He even sounded like him when he scolded them.

Padraig turned to Alan, staring down at him with contempt but not without a bit of love and sympathy mixed in. “It’s barely nightfall, and you’re already at the point of falling down. Perhaps it would be best for the two of you to continue this discussion in the morning.”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Rodric murmured. “We all know it. Drunk or sober, some things never change.”

Alan nodded. “Aye, such as my pride. A man’s pride.”

Rodric merely snickered. “I did what I could. Let it be said that I came here in good faith, wishing to broker a peace between the clans.”

“Talk to McAllister about it, then,” Alan slurred.

It was Padraig who answered, his voice as sharp as a freshly-honed blade. “You were the one who started the old feud back up, and we all know it. If a peace were to be arrived at, you would have to be the one to extend a hand.”

“Which will never happen, unless my bride is returned to me.” Alan squinted at Rodric, struggling to bring his face into focus. “That’s my final word on the matter.”

“So be it,” Rodric replied, casting a regretful look at his younger brother before turning on his heel and marching from the room, then out of the house entirely.

It looked as though he would be her only protection.