Highland Jewel (Highland Heroes #1)

Chapter 10

White bandages crisscrossed Leith's chest, keeping the healing herbs packed against his wound and making him appear even more untamed and barbarous than usual.

Naked to the waist but for the bandages, his chest was dark, marred by innumerable battle scars, and rippling with strength. His belly was lean and hard, undulating with hillocks and valleys of pure muscle.

Dear God, thought Rose, leaning back to observe her handiwork. Even without his array of weapons the man looked to be the consummate warlord. Dressed in nothing more than his plaid and knee-high horsehide boots, he seemed not the least bit embarrassed. Nor did his wound seem to pain him now as he lay back upon a spread tartan.

"How are you faring, my lord?" she asked, noting with some misgiving that her voice was husky and low from the sight of him thus.

"Come here, lass," he said simply, and though she knew she should not, she did so nevertheless, for she could not resist him.

Their kiss was like magic, soothing and giving, yet frightening too, scattering a bevy of sparks through Rose's tingling body.

"Are ye a witch?" he breathed, his mouth moving seductively from hers to blaze a trail down her throat. "Or are ye an angel?"

“I-” She couldn’t think when he kissed her so. "I fear I am neither." His kisses slowed, lingering on the delicate hollow where her pulse thrummed a quick rhythm. "I am only human. Nothing but flesh and ..." She drew a sharp breath between her teeth, shivering when his tongue lightly touched the wee valley between her collarbones.

"Ah, me Rose," he whispered. "But such glorious flesh ye are. So soft and full and sweet. Well worth the fall from Beinn Fionn."

It took a moment for his words to sink into Rose's brain, but she stiffened finally, then pulled to the limits of his grip. "I thought you did not remember Beinn," she said softly.

Leith grimaced mentally. He was no good at lies or even shading the facts. He was a man who described things as they were and bore the consequences of those truths.

Sweet Jesu, why had he pretended to be mortally wounded? he asked himself. But when he looked into her eyes he knew the answer. She was not a woman to come easily into his arms, and he would lie again to feel her thus.

“I thought you did not remember," she repeated, a bit louder now, though she prayed she was wrong—that he had not lied to gain his own ends. But there was raw honesty in his dark eyes now. An honesty that made her heartsick.

"Leith," she said weakly, perhaps hoping he would lie again, to let her believe for a moment longer that he had not played her for a fool—made her pity him so that she would touch him—and be touched by him.

"I... " Leith paused, he too wishing to delay the pain, to prolong the pleasure and push reality aside. And though he knew it was not possible, he shrugged stiffly and tried a feeble excuse. "Me head has cleared?"

For a moment there was absolute silence as Rose tried to pretend she hadn't heard his pathetic words. But it was no use. "You lied to me," she said evenly, her face expressionless as she pulled from his arms. "Somehow I did not think you would lie."

"Rose," Leith said, moving to stand, his arms outstretched, wanting to draw her back into his embrace before it was too late.

But it was already too late.

"You lied to me!" she accused more harshly, fists like small mallets at her side as she backed away.

"Rose," he said again. "I didna—"

"Didn't what? Didn't really forget your fall, your horse, your—brother?" she shrilled, raising her fists slightly as her teeth gritted. "God, you must think me a fool!"

"Nay." He paced after her. "Nay, lass, but I didna ken how else—"

"Don't come near me!"

"Lass." He stopped, his expression losing some of the tension, for her anger seemed an easier thing to deal with than her pain. "I said things I should na have. But..." He shrugged again, hoping time would cool her temper. "I was wounded—and on yer behalf. I was na thinking clear." He touched his brow with his fingertips and tried another step toward her. "But me head has cleared now and I—"

"Your head has cleared?" Rose backed away another step as she snarled the words.

He took an additional stride.

She stumbled backward, over a branch, and, glancing down, saw the stout limb as a certain gift from God. Stooping quickly, she grasped the branch in both hands and raised it to shoulder level—drawn back and readied. “I will give you something to clear your head!" she said and swung with all her might.

Leith caught the branch only inches from his skull. "Hold, woman!" he ordered, his voice low, his patience ebbing. "I freely admit I said things I should na." He scowled at her, still holding the far end of the branch, and looking as if she should expect no more from him. "What ails ye now?"

She gasped at his cocky attitude, and snatching her makeshift weapon from his grip, circled at a half-crouch. “ You ail me!" she snarled, and swung a second time.

Leith snatched the branch again, but this time his left hand instinctively responded, catching the weapon in a tight grip. Pain raced along his arm to his shoulder and he winced. He drew a ragged breath between his teeth and glared. “Put down the stick, lass."

"I shall not," she declared stubbornly, but suddenly he yanked the limb and she was propelled forward. She fell with a thud against his naked chest.

They hit the earth together. Leith was on the bottom, his face pale from the trauma to his wound.

"Oh!" Rose gasped, seeing his expression.

Her eyes were wild and bright, her hair a fiery mass of glory about her lively face as she tried to pull away, but already his right arm had found its way about her back.

"Rose, sweet," he murmured, ignoring his discomfort and hoping they could find some sanity now. But he'd misread her mood.

"Don't!" she warned furiously, pushing away with all her strength. It was simple chance that caused her knee to strike his groin.

The air left his lungs in a hissing whoosh of anguish. A muscle in his face twitched with pain and his hands curled to fists. He dropped the branch.

"Don't you touch me, you depraved, warty-faced hog," she hissed, scrambling to her feet. "I'm going home. You can lie there and die for all I care."

She turned rapidly, searching for the black mare, but Leith had already gained some control and his fingers curled about her ankle in an iron grip.

"Ye willna turn back," he vowed. "Ye will come to Glen Creag!"

"Not till bluebells grow in hell!" she spat, bracing herself to give her ankle a wild jerk.

"I've been to England, lass," he growled, "and bluebells do grow there."

"How dare you..." She fell to her rear with a plop, gasping for breath. "... besmirch my country, you barbarian snake!"

"I do as I please," he snarled, drawing her nearer—hand over hand by the bare expanse of her leg.

Rose barely noticed Colin's arrival beside them, for she had just reached her beating stick. Taking a wild swing, she clobbered Leith, who only flinched slightly under her blows as he continued to reel her in.

"Ye are in my care, lass," he said. "And I'll—"

"Care!" She smacked him a particularly sound thrashing across his back and laughed, tossing wild tendrils from her face. "You call this care? I am mauled and—"

"Ye blame the action of brigands on me?" snapped Leith, his face only inches from hers.

"I speak not of the brigands, you braying ass. I speak of your maulings." She swung the branch again, but was too close to do any real harm.

"Maulings!" he snorted. "Ye play the prancing mare in heat. Only hiding behind yer robes when ye have na the nerve to admit yer needs!"

"Mare in..." She gasped in outrage. "Mare in..."

"Save yer sputtering pride for another," Leith warned, nostrils flared, eyes hard. "I know ye for what ye are."

"Mare in ..." she gasped again and just when he reached for her arm, she kicked.

The sandals she wore were simple and soft-soled, yet the thud of her heel against his fresh wound made him suck in breath through his clenched teeth.

Even Rose's face blanched at the suffering she'd caused, but when his gaze lifted to her, she did not wait to inquire about his health.

Raw, erupting rage shone in his face. She scrambled backward, finding her feet in a rush and fleeing with all the strength in her legs.

She made it a good fifty feet before he tackled her. They hit the ground hard with Leith taking most of the impact on his right hip and side.

Still the fall crushed the breath from Rose's lungs and she lay motionless and stunned just long enough for Leith to turn her over and struggle on top of her.

Fresh blood had seeped through his bandages but his hands were like steel bonds as he pinned her wrists to the ground above her head. She fought like a badger in a trap, writhing wildly against his heavy weight.

"Hold still, ye little she-devil," he grunted as her knees pummeled his backside, "or I'll forget meself and teach ye a lesson ye shan't soon forget."

"Teach me..." She bucked violently, nearly spilling him from his perch. "You couldn't teach a skunk to stink."

Leith's brows rose slightly as he considered her words. "Ye mean to insult me?" he asked with casual interest.

"You're damned right I mean to insult you, you lying son of—"

"I would help," called Colin from a safe distance, "but I canna decide who needs me assistance the more. And too…" He grinned. "I..."

His words stopped, his hand dropping cautiously to the dirk in his belt. "I think we have company."

All eyes turned to the tawny shadow at the edge of the woods.

Silken had returned, his sleek, powerful body pressed to the earth, his ears flattened as he waited.

It took a moment for Rose to realize the circumstances and even then the situation seemed incredible. Could it be that the wildcat had indeed followed her trail to protect her?

Her eyes turned to Leith's. "You may enjoy browbeating a poor postulate of the Lord," she said, her tone low and smug. "But would you care to try your luck with Silken?"

It was the biggest cat Leith had ever seen. Beneath the tawny coat each sinewy muscle was taut and ready. The golden eyes did not blink but watched him with breath-stopping intensity.

Leith remained as he was. He'd been wounded and battered and pummeled. He could not battle the cat. But neither could he allow Rose to leave, for her own safety as well as the safety of his clan. Many lives were at stake. Many precious lives.

"I may die, lass," he said softly, his eyes not leaving those of the golden beast's. "Or the cat may die. But I willna let ye free until ye've fulfilled yer promise."

Rose's breath came hard, for he was sitting on her abdomen and he was not a small man. But it was his eyes that held her attention. They were hard, flat, and deadly sober. He would die, torn to shreds by the razor-sharp claws of Silken before he would turn her loose.

"If ye care for the animal," he continued softly, "send him away."

"Get off me." Her tone held the same matter-of-fact flatness as his, and Leith loosened his grip on her wrists, slipping from her body without a glance at her face.

Rose drew a single deep breath and bent to a sitting position. "Silken." She said the name softly, holding the cat's gaze with her own. "Go play. Go," she wheedled gently, her tone much different now.

The cat remained flattened only a moment, then rose, his eerie eyes slamming to Leith and Colin before returning to Rose's face.

"Go," she urged again, and he left, slipping like a silent shadow into the darkness.

Colin drew a deep breath, his hand dropping from his dirk.

Against her thigh Rose could feel Leith's tense muscles relax slightly.

"Now," said Colin, settling back with a grin. "Ye two can continue where ye left off."

Every inch of Leith's body ached with an individual pain, with the whole of his form throbbing in synchronized agony. His eyes caught Rose's. They were wide and bright. Her face was pale and smeared with his blood. And her expression—pitifully guilty.

"Me," he said quietly, resisting the urge to touch her, "I would rather fight the cat."

Rose felt as if she'd been punched in the gut. Was it her imagination or had she just been beating the man with a tree limb? And the blood that seeped from his bandage and was smudged along his heavy forearm—had she caused that?

She crossed herself without thinking, then lowered her gaze to shakily draw up the fabric the brigands had torn at the front of her robes.

Though the humor of the situation was not lost on Leith, he did not smile, for he doubted if he could withstand more of the lass' temper without kissing her again. And truly, it would not look good for the laird of the Forbes to be killed by a mere girl for the sake of a kiss.

He cleared his throat and tried to do the same with his thoughts. "We will need to find ye a new garment, lass," he said softly.

Rose blinked before raising her eyes to his. "Got any sackcloth?"

He chuckled quietly, unable to resist her wit, though her expression was painfully woebegone.

"Colin," he called, not taking his gaze from her sweet, pale face, "fetch the woman's clothing from me pack."

Colin rose with a frown, but paused before leaving. "Ye willna start battling again afore I return?"

"Colin," Leith warned darkly, and the younger man laughed.

"Clothing it is, me liege," he acquiesced meekly, and strode off toward his brother's pack.

Silence settled over the camp, but despite herself, Rose found she could not raise her eyes to Leith's.

"I fear I have behaved..." She curled her fingers, scrunching the torn wool of her humble gown and clearing her throat. "... in a rather ... unholy manner."

She looked like a forsaken puppy, aching to be held. But beneath that soft flesh lay the body of an enchanted fairy and the spirit of a wildcat, Leith knew. "Ye think ye acted in less than a saintly manner?" he asked with careful sobriety.

Rose scowled, seeming distrustful of his somber words. "Well, it's your fault!" she declared.

Despite everything, Leith threw back his head and laughed. Never in all his life had he met such an entertaining woman. Contrite one moment. Enraged the next.

Bringing his amusement under control, he eyed the girl's angry expression and found she watched him as if wondering where to punch him to obtain the most beneficial results.

"What has happened since I left?" questioned Colin, hurrying back to the scene.

"The lass apologized," Leith said, choking on the chuckle he confined in his throat.

Rose's left brow rose with her ire and Leith lifted his hands in panicked appeal.

"Please," he said, doing his pitiful best to stop the laughter. "Forgive me, wee Rose. It is just that ye have such a ..." He shook his head helplessly. "Such a ... winning way about ye."

"That she does," agreed Colin. "But I like her best when she's flailing ye with a tree limb. Have ye plans to do so again this night, lass?"

Rose shifted her eyes downward in abject guilt and Colin sighed.

"It seems na," he deduced with some disappointment. "So I will see to the widow, who sleeps like the dead." He turned, then paused to add, "Have a care what she mixes in yer drink, brother, or ye may sleep till the Christ's next coming." From the darkness his laughter drifted back to them as he strode away.

Rose cleared her throat, then sucked in her lip. Her scowl was solemn. She cleared her throat again. "You might be surprised to know that I... " She paused, still holding her poor mistreated robe together at its top. "I used to be quite a nice person."

Leith didn't dare challenge her words.

"It's true." She nodded, as if he must surely be doubting her. "There were people who actually liked me. My father called me his sweet, gentle babe."

"Sweet, gentle babe?"

"Don't you laugh," she warned, her expression as dark as a storm. "Or I shall do something I'll regret."

"And I shall regret more, no doubt," Leith added, keeping his expression sober as he covered his wounded chest with a hand.

She lifted her eyes to his, then dropped them morosely. "I'm a horrid failure," she whispered hoarsely.

"At being a nun?" he asked, watching her small face.

She nodded, her bottom lip trembling, and against his will, Leith reached for her.

To his utter astonishment she did not resist, but drooped against him—like a parched flower too long in the sun.

God! The touch of her fine, young body against his bare flesh torched Leith's senses, but he closed his eyes above her head and steeled his will. "There now, lass," he soothed gently. "Ye take this too much to heart."

She said nothing, but sniffled again and he shifted his hand to the bright mass of her glorious auburn tresses.

"What made ye think to become a nun, lass?" he questioned absently. "Surely there is nothing in this world ye fear, that ye would lock yerself behind those sacred walls."

Still she did not speak and he raised his brows and continued. "Was it a man, then? Someone already wed, mayhap, who hungered for ye, causing ye to choose such a course?" He glanced at her face. A pair of fat tears had squeezed from her eyes, wetting her downy lashes. "Or ..."

" 'Twas my mother," she said quietly.

"Yer mother?" he asked in surprise, then nodded and sighed. "Ah, I ken. The good woman always wished for ye to become a nun—in atonement for her own sins."

"No." Rose shook her head. His chest felt firm and lovely against her cheek. "She never mentioned such a course until..."

"Until," he prompted.

"Until her illness," Rose finished brokenly. "She took the fever, shortly after Father died. She said ..." Rose scowled at his chest, trying to stem the tears as she smoothed a wrinkle from the bandage where it crossed near his nipple.

The shock of her fingers brushing his flesh sent excitement rippling through Leith's body, but he hardened his jaw and remained still. "Go on, lass."

"She said that it was Father's wish too." Rose raised her eyes to his.

Leith didn't breathe. Her eyes were as deep and mysterious as the loch near Inverness. A man could become lost in those eyes—never to return. Never to wish to.

"But why?" she asked softly.

Why? Leith had completely lost her line of thought and he exhaled, longing with every inch of his being to lay her down and stoke her desire. But common sense held him still. Let the lass speak, he thought, for her soul ached.

"Why would they wish for me to become a nun?" she questioned. "They were not the religious sort. Oh ..." she hurried to explain, her wide eyes on his face, "they were good people. So good, so kind." She smiled. "But they were..." She shrugged. "They were not afraid to laugh."

He stroked her hair and kept himself from touching her lips where they curved up at the memory of her parents.

"Ye miss the laughter, wee lass?" he whispered gently.

"Yes. I mean, no!" Her body became immediately stiff as she tried to pull from his arms. "I am to be a nun. And a nun is what I shall be," she assured him quickly.

He loosened his grip only slightly. "Whether God wills it or na?"

She nodded, then scowled and shook her head violently, realizing her mistake. "Let me up."

"We were discussing yer parents," Leith reminded her, trying to soothe her with his tone. "They gave na reason for their request?"

She settled back against his chest with a sigh, realizing somewhere in the hidden recesses of her mind that there was nowhere she'd rather be. "Mother said—just before she passed on, that I was too... odd to trust..." Rose sucked in her lip and wondered for the hundredth time at her mother's words.

"To trust with what?" Leith scowled and Rose's eyes fell shut.

“To trust to this world," she finished hollowly.

Leith urged her head gently against his chest.

"Me sweet, gentle babe," he murmured. "And ye thought her words a rebuke?"

Rose could hear the strong beat of his heart and above that thrum was the endearment her father had used. "Gentle babe," he had said, but the words sounded different from Leith's lips, like a forbidden fruit, sweet and dangerous.

"What else but a rebuke?" she asked, raising her gaze.

He shook his head. "Ye dunna see yer gifts, wee lass, for it seems ye have long denied them. And ye are too young to know the punishment for being special."

She scowled at him.

"The English still hang witches, lass," he said quietly, seeing her confusion.

"Do you call me a witch?" she breathed. Did he believe the very thing she feared herself? Did he believe her to be evil? The devil's tool? Could it be so? Or was there some other explanation for the shadowy images that appeared with more and more frequency in her mind?

"There is a great difference betwixt what ye be and what people deem ye to be, wee Rose," Leith murmured gently.

A hundred thoughts scrambled through Rose's mind, but she lifted a hand to cover her eyes and shook her head. "I do not know what I am, but this I know—I have promised myself to the abbey. And I shall keep my word."

"Rose—"

"No." She uncovered her eyes, placing both hands against his hard form. "I cannot deny that you move me," she whispered hoarsely. "But I must do what I must do."

Their gazes held, and neither one breathed.

But Leith spoke finally, his voice so low Rose had to lean slightly closer to hear him. "Did ye know I had a sister once, lass?" he asked.

Rose frowned, wanting to ignore his words, to be alone with her thoughts, but the image of a feminine version of Leith suddenly seared across her mind.

"She was beautiful," Rose said softly, suddenly knowing that it was true.

Her words hung like a cloud in the air, quiet and eerie.

Leith pulled himself from the pools of her eyes, only vaguely understanding the impact of her words as he nodded.

"Aye. That she was. Lovely as a spring flower."

Suddenly Rose could see her. She was a dark-haired girl with a ready smile and a small dimple in her chin that deepened when she laughed. A bonny, friendly imp of a girl who could wrench one's heart with her laughter—who could—

Dear God! Rose panicked, feverishly swiping the image from her mind. Where had such a vivid mental portrait come from? Perhaps she was a witch. Perhaps Leith's words were true, she reasoned, but he was now deep in thought, not realizing her terror.

"She was dark like our mother," he murmured. "With black hair and dimples when she smiled. Sweet as an angel. Gentle as a wee lamb."

"Yes, well..." Rose began, groping for some way to banish the eerie feelings that crowded in on her, smothering her senses. "Heritage is a strange thing."

Leith scowled questioningly at her words.

"Gentleness," she answered quickly, her face tense. "It is strange how Eleanor inherited gentleness, while you ..." She nodded toward his broad, bandaged chest.

"Ye imply I am not gentle?" Leith grinned, leaning close to prove otherwise, but suddenly his expression changed to stark intensity. "How do ye know her name, lass?"

Raw terror tore through Rose as she stared, horror-struck, at his face.

"Eleanor," he whispered hoarsely. "How did ye know?"

"I don't know," she breathed, her face ashen.

Leith reached for her, but she'd already sprung to her feet and was fleeing toward the horses. He followed more slowly, wanting to allow her time to think, yet worried for her safety.

When he reached her, she was struggling to tighten the girth about Maise's glossy barrel.

"Rose." He stood some feet behind her.

"No!" She refused to face him, but hurried all the more at her task, though her fingers felt stiff and uncertain. "Do not speak. I must return home. I must." Her voice was weak.

"Eleanor died on MacAulay land," Leith said quietly.

"No." Rose closed her eyes, saying the word like a prayer. "I don't wish to hear."

"Because ye already know," he guessed.

"No!" She turned quickly, her hands curled to fists, her words panicked and quick. "I don't know. How could I? I was not there. How—"

"Shh." He reached her in a moment, enfolding her in his arms, and she clung to him.

"How could I know?" she whimpered fearfully.

Leith remained silent, closing his eyes above her head and stroking her hair.

Midnight noises surrounded them. Her arms were tight about his hard waist.

"Ye have the gift, lass.,” he said in a ghostly soft tone. " Tis naught to fear."

"No." She breathed the denial against his bared chest. "I am a simple postulate. I am to become a nun." She pulled quickly from his arms. "I must return home."

A thousand reasons for her to stay crowded Leith's mind, but his gaze fell to the white stallion that stood not far away. Dried blood made a dark stain on his massive shoulder. "Ye must do what ye must," he said quietly. "But first I ask that ye would see to Beinn Fionn. He has need of yer gentle healing."

"Beinn?" Rose drew a shaky breath. Her eyes shifted to the stallion and she nodded. "Yes." She sounded relieved to put her hands to something she understood. “I will need hot water—and your assistance," she said softly, and Leith nodded.

"I am here for ye, lass," he assured her quietly. "I am here."

Her hands were like magic, Leith thought, watching her quick, careful movements.

Beinn Fionn did not move so much as one heavy forelimb as Rose cleaned the blood and debris from his wound.

Leith watched in silence. Many of his warriors had refused to touch the stallion. In fact, it was a joke amongst his clan that should any man shirk his duties, that same man would be put in charge of the white destrier's care. 'Twas a threat capable of striking fear into the most stout of hearts. And yet here was this lass cleansing the beast’s wound as if he was no more fearsome than an orphaned fawn.

Leith shifted slightly so as to watch Rose's fluid movements. She'd pulled a long black hair from Maise's tail and now threaded the coarse, pliant strand through a needle.

"Ye will stitch his wound closed?" Leith asked.

Rose pressed the flat of her palm to Beinn's heavy neck and spoke softly. "He is such a handsome beast. The stitches will hide the wound. It would be a shame to have his fine coat marred."

Leith raised his brows as he eyed the many battle scars that marked the stallion's gigantic body. "As ye say, wee lass."

Beinn's hide twitched once as the needle pierced it, but he did not move. Leith tightened his grip on the rope nevertheless and set his mind to his mission.

"Eleanor rode a white steed," he said softly. "Beinn's dam, in fact. She came home with an empty saddle one autumn day."

Leith could see Rose's face but could discern none of the girl's emotions.

"We followed her hoof prints and found me sister's body at the bottom of a gorge on MacAulay land."

Silence echoed around them, broken finally by a soft question wrenched from Rose's heart. "How did she die?"

Leith shook his head, thinking perhaps it would make more sense to ask her that question. "I once believed Owen MacAulay, the laird's son, had strangled her before throwing her body to the bottom of the gorge."

"And now?" Rose placed the last stitch and raised her eyes to Leith's, not wanting to hear his response, but unable to avoid asking.

He was silent for a moment, watching her.

"Now," he said, his voice low and gravelly, "I ken that Owen was na the murderer."

"Then who?"

He shook his head. "I dunna ken, but this I know—enough blood has been spilled." He clenched his fists, and on his right cheek the jagged line of a scar showed clearly against his dark skin. "Young Myles lost the use of an arm during a raid on MacAulay's cattle. And bonny Rachel..." He leaned his head back slightly, blaming himself for the pain endured in the few years since the feud caused by Eleanor's death. "Rachel died bearing a child forced upon her by a MacAulay. The bairn lived for two days before following his mother into eternal sleep. How many more need die?"

She said nothing.

"I would have me people see peace."

"But they cannot forget Eleanor's death," Rose murmured.

"There is much for us to forget," Leith said. "And much for the MacAulays also, for they surely mourn young Owen's death just as we do Eleanor’s.

"Owen is dead?" Rose whispered, seeing a handsome man's face mirrored in her mind.

"Aye. He is dead. Killed and thrown into the same gorge where Eleanor was found."

Rose remained still as a thousand thoughts pressed forth for consideration.

“There is much to forget," Leith repeated, shaking his head. "Much that will na be forgotten if the MacAulay dies. For though he is a wily bastard and a thieving hound, he does na want bloodshed."

"And what if I go with you? What if I do all I can, but the Lord takes the MacAulay to his final resting place—despite my efforts?" Rose asked softly. "What then?"

"Then Dugald will be chieftain," Leith said. "Dugald, whose wife was Owen's sister. Dugald, who has sworn to avenge the death of his brother by law." He nodded slowly, his expression solemn. "There will be blood."