son.
But there were benefits to sharing the space with Patrick. Such as having only half the rent due each month, and rekindling his acquaintance with the friend he hadn’t seen since they had left Cambridge eleven years ago. Although it was a little hard to appreciate that sentiment when that friend had a death grip on his arm.
They stumbled into the kitchen. William shoved aside the sawdust-filled bag that James used for exercise and sparring, and kicked a chair closer to the sunlight-filled window before pushing him down in it.
“Sit,” his brother commanded, as if he were Gemmy.
Hell, as if he were lower than Gemmy. A protest rose to James’s lips, but before he could give voice to it, Patrick moved in, squinting down at him like a commanding officer. For a moment James was tempted to bare his teeth and give the veterinarian a better look in his mouth.
“I was concerned when you did not come home last night.” Patrick pushed the lids of one of James’s eyes apart and stared at it, his upper lip curled in concentration. He trailed a finger slowly in front of him. “I’m glad William was able to find you. Follow my finger, please.”
James followed the bobbing finger, and when it came close enough, he grabbed it and twisted. “Would have preferred it if you set Gemmy on me,” he growled. “Why in the bloody hell did you send my brother after me, anyway?”
Patrick dropped his hand, apparently satisfied James could see well enough if he could swipe at him so precisely. He grinned. “The rent’s due. I needed your share.”
James winced. Ah, the rent. That had been tangled up in his money purse too. His morning’s debt was accumulating faster than ice in winter.
“And the dog would not have enjoyed it half so much.” William sniggered. He pulled out his money purse and shook it, making the coins inside rattle as viciously as the thoughts in James’s head. “I’m serving as Jamie’s banker today. It’s nice to have him beholden, after so many years of him shunning all offers of help.”
James glared at William before shifting his gaze to his friend. “Can you put my brother to work shoveling the sheep pen?” he asked. “Two hours into the morning and I’m already sick of the sight of him.”
Patrick crossed his arms. “Sick of the sight of your own brother.” He clucked his tongue with mock sympathy. “Is that why you look so terrible? And here I thought it was that great gaping wound on your head. Which requires sutures, in case you were wondering.”
“I’ll just step outside,” William offered, his feet already threading their way toward the kitchen door. “I’d hate to see my own brother reduced to tears. Begging, perhaps. Aye, that would be nice, though I doubt we shall live to see that.” His deep-throated giggle followed him through the doorway and down the hall.
James heaved a sigh of relief he didn’t know he had been holding. “It’s been maddening having him around this morning. I can’t think when he’s hovering over me like a mother hen, clucking and squawking and scratching about.”
Patrick cocked his head. “Someday,” he said slowly, “you are going to learn how fortunate you are to have a brother to annoy you. Family is a blessing, MacKenzie, not a curse.”
James snorted. “Spoken like a man who has never lived in the shadow of the Earl of Kilmartie. What the hell do you know of curses?”
Patrick leaned back, a frown snagging low on his thin face. “Enough to know yours is not as bad as some.”
A pulse leaped below his friend’s right eye, and not for the first time, it occurred to James he knew very little of Patrick’s history. They had been roommates at university, commiserating about their lot in life as useless second sons with an all-too-frequent pint. It was only natural their friendship had continued when Patrick had mysteriously shown up in Moraig six months ago, a lean, hunted look on his ribbed frame. Money was tight, and sharing a
But there were benefits to sharing the space with Patrick. Such as having only half the rent due each month, and rekindling his acquaintance with the friend he hadn’t seen since they had left Cambridge eleven years ago. Although it was a little hard to appreciate that sentiment when that friend had a death grip on his arm.
They stumbled into the kitchen. William shoved aside the sawdust-filled bag that James used for exercise and sparring, and kicked a chair closer to the sunlight-filled window before pushing him down in it.
“Sit,” his brother commanded, as if he were Gemmy.
Hell, as if he were lower than Gemmy. A protest rose to James’s lips, but before he could give voice to it, Patrick moved in, squinting down at him like a commanding officer. For a moment James was tempted to bare his teeth and give the veterinarian a better look in his mouth.
“I was concerned when you did not come home last night.” Patrick pushed the lids of one of James’s eyes apart and stared at it, his upper lip curled in concentration. He trailed a finger slowly in front of him. “I’m glad William was able to find you. Follow my finger, please.”
James followed the bobbing finger, and when it came close enough, he grabbed it and twisted. “Would have preferred it if you set Gemmy on me,” he growled. “Why in the bloody hell did you send my brother after me, anyway?”
Patrick dropped his hand, apparently satisfied James could see well enough if he could swipe at him so precisely. He grinned. “The rent’s due. I needed your share.”
James winced. Ah, the rent. That had been tangled up in his money purse too. His morning’s debt was accumulating faster than ice in winter.
“And the dog would not have enjoyed it half so much.” William sniggered. He pulled out his money purse and shook it, making the coins inside rattle as viciously as the thoughts in James’s head. “I’m serving as Jamie’s banker today. It’s nice to have him beholden, after so many years of him shunning all offers of help.”
James glared at William before shifting his gaze to his friend. “Can you put my brother to work shoveling the sheep pen?” he asked. “Two hours into the morning and I’m already sick of the sight of him.”
Patrick crossed his arms. “Sick of the sight of your own brother.” He clucked his tongue with mock sympathy. “Is that why you look so terrible? And here I thought it was that great gaping wound on your head. Which requires sutures, in case you were wondering.”
“I’ll just step outside,” William offered, his feet already threading their way toward the kitchen door. “I’d hate to see my own brother reduced to tears. Begging, perhaps. Aye, that would be nice, though I doubt we shall live to see that.” His deep-throated giggle followed him through the doorway and down the hall.
James heaved a sigh of relief he didn’t know he had been holding. “It’s been maddening having him around this morning. I can’t think when he’s hovering over me like a mother hen, clucking and squawking and scratching about.”
Patrick cocked his head. “Someday,” he said slowly, “you are going to learn how fortunate you are to have a brother to annoy you. Family is a blessing, MacKenzie, not a curse.”
James snorted. “Spoken like a man who has never lived in the shadow of the Earl of Kilmartie. What the hell do you know of curses?”
Patrick leaned back, a frown snagging low on his thin face. “Enough to know yours is not as bad as some.”
A pulse leaped below his friend’s right eye, and not for the first time, it occurred to James he knew very little of Patrick’s history. They had been roommates at university, commiserating about their lot in life as useless second sons with an all-too-frequent pint. It was only natural their friendship had continued when Patrick had mysteriously shown up in Moraig six months ago, a lean, hunted look on his ribbed frame. Money was tight, and sharing a
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