I took their orders, trying not to dwell on Eredine’s beauty, and failing immensely.
* * *
A third whisky was in my hand as I watched couples take to the dance floor. I’d danced the “Gay Gordons” with Eredine and “The Dashing White Sergeant” with Eilidh before hiding in the bar area for a while. The hooting and hilarity brought me back out, though, hoping against hope that the levity and joy of those around me might burst that damn cloud over my head.
Unfortunately, my mood only worsened as I watched a guy I didn’t recognize ask Eredine to dance.
And she said yes.
I could tell by the look on Arro’s face that she was surprised too.
The guy was good-looking. I could see that objectively.
Bloody hell.
Who was he?
My eyes narrowed as he smoothed his hand over Ery’s lower back, his fingertips almost touching her arse. That wee fucker …
“Jared McCulloch.”
I blinked, turning to look down at Regan, who’d appeared at my side. “What?”
“Eredine is dancing with Jared McCulloch. Collum’s grandson.”
Collum McCulloch was a local farmer, and he had a problem with the Adairs because he swore our ancestors had taken land from his family. I’d grown up avoiding the miserable auld bastard—he always had a harsh word for me.
I knew his granddaughter worked at Ardnoch Castle as a housekeeper, but I hadn’t known there was a grandson.
“He moved here a few years ago to help Collum.”
“Has anything …” I took another sip of whisky. “Ery and him?”
Regan shook her head, expression much too knowing. “He actually asked me out last year.”
I thought of Thane snapping my head off earlier. “Does my brother know?”
“Yeah. He wasn’t too happy.”
“Don’t let him push you around by being a possessive arse,” I muttered. I loved my brother, but he didn’t own Regan.
“He’s not like that, I promise. We both have gotten jealous in the past, but we feel secure with each other now.”
“So, what was tonight? A special treat just for me? The untrustworthy black sheep of the family.”
Regan frowned. “No, no, Arran. I think he just can’t see when you’re being charming and when you’re being genuine.”
“I don’t know if that’s an insult,” I murmured with a smirk. Then my gaze hardened on Ery as she laughed at something Jared said. He’s too short for her, I thought immaturely. They didn’t look right together at all.
“It’s not an insult. An observation. See, to the casual observer, you are flirtatious and charming with all women. But if you look closely enough, it’s obvious there’s only one woman you’re interested in.”
Ery laughed again, and jealousy cut through me.
Was she interested in this guy? I’d only ever seen her laugh like that with Brodan.
My mind raced as the dark cloud began to drip, drip, drip on my head, every hit of its cold misery telling me I wasn’t good enough for Eredine, anyway.
I threw back the rest of my whisky. “I’m getting another drink. You want one?”
“No, I’m—”
But I was already walking away before Regan had finished talking.
9
ARRAN
The whisky’s numbing magic finally settled upon me, the pain of the past dulling as I wandered outside town hall for fresh air.
A cool spring breeze fluttered through my shirt as I weaved along the edge of the building, away from the smokers who’d come outside to light up. I’d abandoned my jacket inside, but fuck knows where.
Across the street on a bus stop bench sat a familiar kilted figure.
I squinted against the streetlamps.
Lachlan.
Concern filtered through my whisky fog, and I crossed the street to him.
He sat with a bottle of Clynelish in hand. A third of it was gone.
Without a word, I slid in beside my big brother, and he passed me the bottle.
I took a swig and passed it back, staring up at the sky full of a million stars but not a cloud to be found beyond the one over my head.
“Still worried about Robyn?” I asked Lachlan.
“I’ve been acting like an absolute prick,” he spat in self-directed anger. “It’s a wonder she hasn’t left me.”
I couldn’t imagine Lachlan treating Robyn with anything but respect. “Somehow I doubt that.”
“It takes a lot to make Robyn cry, and I made her cry last night. Because I’m a selfish arsehole.”
“What happened?”
He shook his head. “She tried to talk to me about the baby, about my worries. She’s been trying to talk to me for weeks, and I just … I won’t let her.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m ashamed I’m not stronger,” he answered immediately. “My wife is the strongest person I have ever met, and I am unraveling over her pregnancy because our mother died over thirty years ago. Pathetic, no?”
Compassion cut through my self-absorbed misery, and I patted my brother’s knee. “You can’t help your fears, big bro. They are what they are. They don’t make you weak. Not facing them, not facing your wife, that’s a different story.”