Lady Eilean

Chapter 51

Alex and I found Ian first, idling in the great hall, picking at the remains of his lunch. Calum sat at the head table with him. My friend lounging in the Laird's seat like an indulgent prince and watching my brother intently. He raised his eyebrows at me as I walked in.

"Calum?"

He swung his legs off the armrests and back onto the floor. "Forgive me for keeping watch. All is not well in paradise," he said archly.

"Then we're having a similar day." I quipped.

Calum narrowed his eyes and nodded.

"Was there some kind of... commotion?" Alex asked.

"John had a fit," Ian said, his voice dead and dull. He hadn't looked up at us as we entered, but he was clearly conscious of our conversation. The double meaning of our words.

"A fit?" I asked. Damn me, but I looked to Calum for an explanation and not my brother.

"A sort of... hallucination? I guess? He thought he was back in the war. Screaming at everyone, throwing plates around." Calum explained.

"Have you seen this in your own men?" I asked under my breath.

Calum shook his head, "No, fair lady." His expression was troubled. Dark brows low and furrowed, an uneasiness in his black eyes. "This is something unique."

I looked at Ian, recognizing that he was in bad shape. His posture was stooped and his eyes unseeing, but I needed answers and he would have to talk. In a way, I was glad it was Ian. Of all my brothers, I had the best relationship with him. Or I had. With his medical training and extensive knowledge, he seemed like the person most capable to explain.

"Ian," I said, pulling over a chair and sitting in front of him. "We need to talk about some things."

Alex sat down beside me. Calum moved a few seats down to sit by Ian's side.

Ian looked up sluggishly. Turning his honey-colored eyes toward me with a slow, tired roll. He was past thirty now. The face that high cheekbones and quizzical brows had once defined was now gaunt. Those lovely cheeks sunken in and tight against his bones. A jagged scar ran across his jaw, bright red, and angry it stretched from his ear to his chin. I hadn't noticed it yesterday, but he had taken the effort to shave and now it was on display. Up close, his crooked nose looked worse than it had in the courtyard. Battered, busted, flat against his face — a feeble platform for his glasses. His hair, which used to gleam like a bright fire, was now the color of dull rust, streaked with gray. It hung shaggy and misshapen around his chin as if he had hacked the ends of it off out of need, not style. Once brilliant, teeming with energy, he now seemed detached. Lost.

I swallowed back my shock at seeing him so changed. I forced myself to stare at his eyes and his eyes only, to resist the temptation of roving up and down his form to uncover other scars — physical or otherwise. What had the war done to my family if it could take so greedily from one man?

Alex rested his hand on my knee. When I looked at him, his face was somber.

"Eilean," Ian drawled, looking at me without feeling. Without recognition. He scoffed and brought his fork down hard against the plate, spearing a half-eaten sausage with brute savagery. "Did you need something?"

I let out a breath, accepting the thought that my brother might be... confused as my father was. Everything I thought I knew about Ian went out like a match.

"It's about Father," I said, watching as Ian stabbed the sausage over and over. "Does he seem... or rather, have you noticed that..." Gulping, I could not finish my question. I was too embarrassed. For myself, my father, and the once-whole brother now broken in front of me.