Thorn in My Heart by Liz Curtis Higgs Page B

watched his father slowly lift one hand to silence her. When the man spoke, Jamie wished he had not.
    “You have brought shame to Glentrool this day, James McKie.”
    A dull heat coursed through Jamie's limbs as he shoved Evan aside, then used the overturned table to pull himself to his feet. Every part of him had taken a beating, not the least of which was his pride. He swallowed a mouthful of bloody spit, then forced out the words. “I'm sorry, Father.”
    “Sorry? Bah! You should be more than sorry for taking advantage of a
shooglie
old man.” He leaned on his cane, as though to prove his weak and tottery condition. “You know very well I can't see. And my hearing of late has me nigh to shouting at your poor, innocent mother.”
    Innocent?
Jamie closed his eyes as the truth sank in: Father knew nothing of his mother's role in their deception. Meaning his father would never forgive him. Meaning Evan would indeed see him dead, and soon.
    “It's your brother who needs to hear your apology, Jamie.” Alec nodded at Evan, then turned back toward the front room, mumblingover his shoulder. “See that the two of you come to some peaceful agreement, aye?”
    Jamie hung his head. What was their father thinking? There ci never been peace between the brothers, least of all now.
    Evan stood close behind him, his sour breath hot on his neck. “I've business to attend to elsewhere. And no interest in making amends, Jamie.” His voice was a low hiss in Jamie's ear, the words meant for him alone. “Watch your back, man. I'll plant my dirk in it the minute Fathers in his grave.” Evan slung his plaid over his broad shoulders without ceremony and stormed through the doorway into the wild, rain-swept night.

Seven
     
    Guilt's a terrible thing.
     
    B EN J ONSON
     
    J amie, nothing is gained by heaping guilt on yourself.”
    He shot his mother a withering look. “Who should I blame then? You? Almighty God?” Jamie wrapped his bleeding hand with a clean rag, shaking his head in frustration. “I'm guilty as sin. And a dead man as well.”
    “Keep your voice down, lad.” His mother pulled him farther away from the door to the parlor, where his father sat nursing his disappointment with a thimbleful of whisky. “I'll speak to your father. He'll come round by and by. Meanwhile, I intend to keep you safely away from Evans blade. I have a wee plan.”
    “Not another—”
    “Aye!” she hissed. “ ‘Twill secure what we both want.”
    “Och!
He threw the blood-soaked cloth to the floor. “What
you
want, you mean.”
    “Not me, Jamie. You.”
    “Is that so?” He thrust his face in front of her and ground out the words. “How can you possibly know what I want?”
    “Wheesht!” She lifted her hand, but he was too fast for her. Grasping her wrist in midair, he held it for a moment while his pounding heart slowed and his anger cooled. He met her hard-eyed gaze, noting the grim line of her mouth, then slowly pulled her hand toward his face. Ever so gendy he pressed his cheek against her palm in silent appeal.
    It had exacdy the effect he'd hoped for. Her eyes softened, and her jutting chin relaxed. “I'm sorry, Jamie.”
    “Not as sorry as I am,” he confessed. “I know you only want what's best for me.”
    “And what's best for Glentrool,” she added, dropping her hand and taking a step backward. “Which is why you must do as I say.”
    “Which is…”
    “Flee at once to my brother, Lachlan, at Auchengray.”
    “Uncle Lachlan? I barely know the man!”
    “Even so, he's kin. Lachlan will see to your bed and supper long enough for Evan to forget what you did to him—”
    “What /did? What
we
did, you mean.”
    She brushed away his protest like so much dust. “We both know your brothers ill temper never lasts longer than a fortnight. I'll send word for your return the minute I'm certain you'll be welcome again at Glentrool.” Letting out a lengthy sigh, she picked up the discarded rag and studied the stains, her