Chapter 50

The great hall was boisterous as the welcome home lunch extended throughout the day and well into the night. Men who had traveled with my father would return to their own towns and homes later, but tonight, safe again on Ellesmure's soil, they would swill their ale and shout bawdy jokes and compare their battle scars. After years spent enjoying a more domestic, empty castle, I found it all off-putting. Celebrating a war long-finished with the slovenly ruckus of thousands of ill-mannered brutes felt like a punishment. I slipped away from the festivities as early as I could and sought the quiet comfort of my rooms. Any discussion of importance could wait until morning. Or, afternoon, depending on everyone's hangover.

Feeling raw and prickly and inclined to annoyance, I forced myself into bed long before I was tired. I tossed and turned and fell into a light sleep. I woke in the dark when Alex squirreled his way under the covers and wrapped his long limbs around me.

"You reek of ale," I complained.

His apology was to laugh and ply me with sloppy kisses.

"Stop it, you traitor," I growled, pushing his face away.

"Traitor?"

I laughed at his wounded tone. "You got just as drunk as the rest of them."

"Oh, and you've never been drunk," he teased, biting my earlobe.

"I am the very definition of piety and temperance."

"Liar," his voice was a growl, it skated up my spine, made me shiver. Squeezing me tight to him, he fell asleep before I could come up with a retort.

In the morning, we went about our usual routine and after breakfast, Alex and I found ourselves in the study. Waiting. Alex sat in his usual perch across the desk from me. He studied the grand clock on the mantle as it ticked through the seconds. He looked bright and alert, no sign of last night's indulgence lingering in the lines of his face. I could only pray that I looked as presentable.

The incessant ticking of the clock made my skin itch.

"Surely he is coming," Alex said with a raised brow.

I huffed a laugh.

The transfer of power from me to my father was a stressful enough situation. There were so many details to review, items to discuss. I had hoped to speak with my father before starting the day's work — but even an hour after breakfast he had not arrived and now we were running behind.

"Maybe he is leaving it all to you," Alex suggested with false cheerfulness. He opened a logbook and started reviewing the information within. "Might as well get to work in the meantime."

I shook my head, "No. That's not possible."

There had been a little too much boasting and puffery on my father's behalf last night to understand that we would broker no argument on the MacLeod left in control of Ellesmure now that he was back.

"Well, if it becomes too much, join me later in the barns. There is a fair bit of work that needs to be done. Unless you'll once again be confined to the castle?"

I laughed, "I'd like to see them try."

Alex smiled, "Good."

Both of us started on our work, eager not to fall behind in our responsibilities.

After three hours, Alex threw down his pen and gawked at the door. "This is preposterous."

I laughed despite myself, about to joke that we'd at least maintain authority until lunchtime when my father walked into the room.

"Oh!" I said, standing up. "We didn't expect you!"

"There you are, Lord MacLeod," Alex said with a disapproving glower.

Father shot me a withering glance that made me feel two feet tall. He swept his eyes across the study and grunted.

"So the pants were not a crass welcome home prank?" He said, voice rough from shouting and singing the night long.

"They are easier to work in," I explained. It did not surprise me that Father disliked the pants. It had taken Mother weeks to stop griping about how offensive they were to her nerves.

"No daughter of mine should work," Father boomed, coming around the desk and shooing me away.

I sprang out of his way, retreating to the side as he lowered himself into the chair. Watching him settle behind my desk and flip through my papers with disinterest made bile rise in my throat.

"I, uh, thought we could review some of the account books, Father? I could show you how things stand and give you an idea of the projects we have in progress around the estate," I said, pointing toward the open ledger by his elbow.

Father looked down and scanned a few of the pages, flipping them back and forth. He grunted and looked up at me with a pinched expression. "I think I am intelligent enough to comprehend your scribbles."

My mouth fell open in shock and my vision went red. "You were gone for almost a decade. We've changed things, have different partners and vendors and ways of working —"

"None done with my approval," he barked. "Like your damnable building project in the library. Why do we need to house books?" His eyes moved around the room, cataloging the changes. "You rearranged everything by the looks of it."

Alex rested his hand on my back and I swayed against it.

Father huffed, shutting the ledger book. "I meant what I said last night, you've done a fine enough job here, Eilean. Now let someone who knows what they are doing take control."

My heart pounded in my chest and my breath came fast. Alex stood up and took a small step, angling himself between me and my father. With a stern look from me, he stepped back.

"We paid off the entire debt, Father. And I changed the schedule for rent payments, so there is a continual cash flow into the estate rather than an annual input. I think you will find that someone did know what they were doing."

"Very good, very good," he said, waving me away.

I noticed his eyes were unfocused, they rolled around in his head clouded and unseeing. He couldn't maintain eye contact, and he swayed unnaturally in his seat.

"Are you alright?" I asked, leaning over the desk to get a closer look at him.

He looked up, his flighty gaze pausing on my face for a mere moment before moving on to the fireplace, the walls, the ceiling. "I'm fine. Maeve, I've told you about your womanly fussing."

A chill ran down my spine. "Father..."

"Eilean!" He said, snapping his attention back to me and grinning. "What the devil are you doing here? Go find your brothers. I need to speak to them and I can't have you underfoot. I'm sure there is a dancing lesson you're late for. I grow weary of paying for you to blow off tutors, child."

"Sir —" Alex started, but I cut him off.

"I am hardly a child that is underfoot! For the last six years, I ran this estate. You would overlook me so cruelly? Call in my brothers who have no experience in handling these affairs?"

Alex shifted his weight. I could tell he was uncomfortable, but this was my battle to wage, and he knew that.

Father scoffed and shook his head, swinging his head back and forth and back and forth on a loose neck. "No, no, no, your brothers have more experience than you, lassie. I'd like to see you shoe a horse or determine the best harvest rotation."

"I have done all of that and more while you pranced around on your stupid quest for glory," I sneered.

Father turned back to the ledgers, flipping them open and slamming them closed. He repeated the same movement a few times, something fanatical and haphazard in his violent movements.

I looked at Alex in disbelief, but he was studying my father. Concern twisted across his brows as he bit the inside of his cheek, thinking. Puzzling out the erratic behavior.

"Father, do you hear me?" I asked, attempting to be reasonable.

He looked up and jumped. He let out a slight hoot as if surprised to see me standing before him. "Oh! Eilean! It's you! Don't you look beautiful today!" He grinned at me with a dazzling smile.

I stepped back. Now I was spooked. Was this some kind of game?

"Will you go fetch Thomas for me, love? I need to discuss his marriage. He's cavorting with that kitchen girl again. Terrible business. Your mother is livid, of course."

Thomas was dead. Had been for many years. Walther had been the one pursuing "that kitchen girl". My hands went numb with trepidation. There was something wrong, very wrong. My stomach was cold. Dread turned me into a stone. My father had lost his sense of reality. Battle madness, I realized. Looking at Alex, he nodded, our thoughts following a similar vein.

Father slapped the desk, making us jump.

"Did I or did I not give you a command?" He shouted, his eyes black with fury.

My blood ran like ice. Taking a deep breath, I nodded, "Yes. Of course, sir." I answered as meekly as I dared, then turned to leave.

Alex followed behind, pulling the door shut once we were in the hallway.

"Alex —" my voice shook.

"We should go talk to your mother and brothers at once. We need to confirm our suspicions. Then, and only then, we can devise a plan." Alex ran his hands through his hair. His eyes were stark and hopeless.

Taking a few shaky breaths, I agreed.

An enraged yell came from inside the office, then the shattering sound of pottery. An inkwell or teacup hurled across the room. I wished for the ability to see through solid oak, to understand the secrets now hidden behind the thick doors. I wished I could push open the doors and find my father there — the father I remembered with my remaining scraps of childhood recollection. The anger I could endure. The aloofness was familiar. But something fundamental in my father's makeup was gone. Never to return.

"Come on," Alex said, holding out his hand. His face fallen and his smile more like a grimace.

I let him lead me away.