corner of his mouth.
“Father Ambrose? What did he say to ye?”
Graham—his brother—shrugged. “We were discussing the benefits of forgiveness and how it might serve the future when it comes to Laird MacKinnon, and he said, ‘For as the Holy Scriptures tell us, do no’ avail thyselves of the growth of the interior of thy nostril, for sticking yer finger in yer nose is how tiny invisible demons who spread disease get into thy bodies.’ ”
Kiergan had to chuckle. “Less than a fortnight ago he told me I had to cover my mouth when I sneezed, or I’d risk spreading those tiny invisible demons. Then he told me, according to the Apostle Roger, ‘twas vital I immediately wash my hands.”
“The Apostle Roger, eh?” Graham shook his head and settled his weight, crossing his arms over his chest in a stance identical to Kiergan’s. “The thing is, medical texts tell us ‘tis dangerous no’ to wash our hands and to be careless about nose-picking. I just dinnae recall it saying so in the Bible.”
“Och, Father Ambrose is good about attributing things to the Bible. Mainly ‘tis just his suggestions on how to live healthier. Ye’re a medical man then?”
After Graham’s dramatic arrival the previous afternoon, he and Da had ensconced themselves in the room Kiergan had come to think of as Alistair’s solar. They hadn’t even joined the clan for any of the meals yesterday. Today, before the wedding ceremony, Da had formally welcomed him and introduced him as his son, without giving any further detail.
This was Kiergan’s first chance to get to know his new brother.
Finally, Graham nodded, the move hesitant as his gaze went to the MacKinnon, who was on the other side of the great hall. The old man was sitting with Aunt Agatha on his lap again, with Davina hovering behind him.
“I studied at St. Andrews under several noted medical scholars. My grandfather had nae use for me, but my uncle—who is now Laird MacVanish—was willing to finance my study, as long as it occurred elsewhere. He has five sons of his own and didnae want me hanging around, in the odd chance I might be in the running for leadership one day.”
Awkwardly, Kiergan hummed in understanding. “A doctor is naught to sneeze at, if ye’ll pardon the joke.”
One corner of Graham’s lips curled upward. “I’ve heard worse. And aye, I have helped many people in the short time since I left school, but there are some who believe a bastard nephew of a laird is no’ worth much at all, medical education or no’.”
Kiergan followed his brother’s hungry gaze again and saw the way Davina returned the look.
Ahh. So his brother was behind Davina’s strange behavior.
“I see,” he murmured.
With a sigh, Graham scrubbed his hand across his face. “I still cannae believe yer father and my mother... All these years, I had nae idea.”
“Yer father,” Kiergan gently corrected.
His brother’s, “Aye,” was quiet.
“He really loved her, ye ken,” Kiergan offered. “When he found out she’d died—a lie, I suppose, from yer grandfather—he was heartbroken. He, ah, ‘took solace’ in the arms of quite a few other lasses.” Grinning now, he elbowed his brother. “So I suppose ye’re just a wee bit aulder than the rest of us, eh?”
He was coming to learn that Graham’s personality was more similar to Duncan’s, so when the man’s lips twitched, Kiergan knew he’d been successful.
“I have six brothers,” Graham stated, as if having trouble believing it. “Six brothers and a sister. For someone who grew up unwanted…” He shook his head.
“Och, well, ye and Rocque and Malcolm should have a chat about that.” Kiergan’s brothers had been treated like shite when they’d been lads by the distant relative of theirs who’d raised them.
“Are ye speaking of us? All good things, we hope?”
Graham and Kiergan both turned to find Rocque and Malcolm strolling toward them. Malcolm held a half-empty flagon in one hand. His son, Tomas, was propped against his shoulder, while Rocque was chewing on a leg of mutton.
Kiergan grinned. “Naught but the worst possible rumors, I assure ye. I was telling our new brother here all about how ye cried when ye fell out of the tree, Rocque. Remember? We were thirteen, or thereabouts, and ye’d skinned yer knee.”
Growling, Rocque leveled the hunk of meat at Kiergan’s nose. “That’s an outright blatant lie. Besides, ye swore ye’d never tell anyone about that.”
Chuckling along with Malcolm, Kiergan leaned forward and tore off a hunk of mutton with his teeth, reasoning he’d need