The bearded man shook his head. “Nay, laddie, my apologies. But I’ve gotten the impression yer brother’s a man who kens more than one way around a castle, if ye catch my drift.”
Alistair rolled his eyes. “Kiergan and I both took our first steps across this floor, Father Ambrose. He kens his way around better than anyone, I believe.”
“Aye, but I was being metaphorical. As in, there’s more than one way to gut a fish.” The priest winked.
Narrowing his eyes, Alistair tried to work his way through the priest’s meaning, but failed. “What?”
But the older man just smiled and patted his belly. “ ’Tis glad I am to see ye out of that solar of yers, my son. It does ye nae good to stay locked away, even ‘tis for the betterment of the clan. For do the Scriptures no’ tell us that ale left too long in the keg either turns to vinegar or bursts the staves?”
“I will take yer word for that, Father,” Alistair mumbled, already shifting away from the strange conversation.
“Our holy writ merely reminds us ‘tis important to find yer ease occasionally. Ye’re too uptight, lad!”
“Aye, so I’ve been told.” Alistair shook his head. “ ’Tis why I’m searching for Kiergan.”
“Oh, well then.” Ambrose shrugged. “Check yer solar?”
Since that’s where he’d been heading anyway, Alistair thanked the old man with a nod and hurried away as fast as politeness dictated. But as he approached the room, his steps slowed when he saw his door stood ajar and candlelight seeped out to dance on the castle’s walls.
He crept forward, remembering the welcome he’d received the last time he’d approached thusly, and sure enough, there was something balanced above the door, though not a pail this time, but what looked like…a plate?
With a silent sigh, Alistair rocked back on his heels. “Kiergan?” he called.
From inside his solar, he heard his twin brother hum nonchalantly.
“Could ye come here?” Alistair called.
Kiergan’s steps were slow, but eventually his face appeared through the crack between the door and the jamb. “Aye?” he drawled innocently.
Alistair frowned at his brother. His twin’s hair was a different shade than his own, but they had the same build and the same eyes, enough so they had been mistaken for one another when they were younger, though not as identical as Finn and Duncan.
“What are ye doing in my solar?”
Kiergan started, as if surprised to find himself inside the room. Then he shrugged. “Why dinnae ye come inside, and we can discuss it?”
“I cannae,” Alistair said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
His twin’s eyes widened. “Why?”
“Because some utter twit has balanced something atop the door.” Alistair kept his tone bland.
“Really?” Kiergan craned his neck to peer up at the door. “ ’Tis odd.”
So he was still going to maintain his innocent act, was he? Alistair shook his head. “ ’Tis stupid, after the last time dinnae work.”
Through the crack in the door, his brother blinked innocuously. “The last time, Ali?”
The childhood nickname never failed to irritate Alistair. He dropped his fists to his side and stepped forward until he stood at the edge of the jamb. How ridiculous to be having this conversation through such a small opening.
“The last time, when some arsehole tried to douse me with a bucket of—well, let us just say, ‘twas liquid,” he growled.
Kiergan slapped his hand against his chest and gasped theatrically. “Ye dinnae think that was me, do ye?”
Aye, Kiergan definitely needed another way to occupy himself.
As if sensing the joke was over, his twin offered, “Would ye like me to get it down, whatever ‘tis?”
“Please,” Alistair said blandly, then listened to the sound of his brother dragging a stool—which must’ve been right out of view—closer.
As Kiergan climbed up, Alistair rested his hip against the jamb. “Ye ken what’s interesting? Whatever is up there must’ve been placed atop the door after ye arrived.”
“Really?” grunted his twin, while lifting down the plate. “How strange.”
When Kiergan hopped down from the stool, Alistair nudged the door open with his toe and sauntered into the room. “Ye ken what else is strange? The way that stool was so handily close, when I’d left it over there next to my desk.” That had been the stool where Lara had sat as he’d spent himself on her command. He would never forget that.
But Kiergan didn’t know that, and his brother’s eyes were twinkling with something like merriment. “Aye, that is strange.” He lifted the plate. “Berry tart? They’re my favorite.” When Alistair just glared, his twin waggled the platter. “Lara makes them.”
With a sigh, Alistair gave in and reached for a tart. ‘Twas delicious of course.
“Why are ye here, Kier?” he asked around a mouthful of pastry.
His twin brother looked at the tarts, then glanced at the door and grinned. “I cannae recall,” he lied.
Alistair chuckled.
It surprised him, and surprised his brother as well, judging from the way Kiergan cocked his head and stared at him.
“What’s wrong?”
Alistair shrugged and moved toward his desk. “Naught’s wrong.”
“Ye’re usually glued to yer business, and ye laughed, Ali. Are ye ill?”
His brother’s words quickly quashed his good humor. “Dinnae call me that. And sometimes, I do laugh.”
“No’ lately,” Kiergan said simply.
His brother was right.
Alistair shrugged. “I’ve been reminded that I need to relax. Apparently, I’ve been a little…”
“Stiff?” his brother supplied, as he placed the plate of tarts on the desk and appeared…excited?
Alistair peered at him. “Why are ye so pleased about this?”
Shrugging, Kiergan held his gaze. “I’ve missed ye, Alistair. The way ye used to be.”
St. Elzear’s big toe!
Alistair swallowed and turned his attention to the neat piles on the desk. He hadn’t realized his brothers might’ve noticed—or cared—about his transformation over the last few years.
Clearing his throat, he found the scrolls he’d been looking for. “It’s recently been pointed out to me that I do too much.”
“And are too uptight,” Kiergan pointed out, unhelpfully.
Glad to be able
