A Very Highland Holiday - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,15

“Yer brother was a proud man. As his younger brother, ye’re supposed tae look up tae the man and believe him perfect. Isna that what younger brothers do for the older ones?”

James leaned back against the wall of the stall, his attention returning to the lovely woman with the big, brown eyes. “A-Aye,” he said. “B-But I always looked up to him.”

“He knew,” Gaira said honestly. “And I think that perhaps he thought it would show weakness tae give ye the letters he’d written. Ye’d see that he was a man of flesh and bone and feeling, not the perfect earl who was anything but perfect.”

James’ brow furrowed. “S-So you’re saying that he was embarrassed to give them to me?”

Gaira shook her head. “Not embarrassed,” she said. “But a man has his pride. I think pride kept him from showing ye that he was just as sensitive as ye are. Now that he’s gone… he knew that the letters would make their way back tae ye and that ye would read him. There’s a letter he wrote tae ye the night before the battle at Culloden, in fact. If ye dunna read the others, just read that one. Yer brother took the time tae write it, so it’s important that ye do.”

James stared at her a moment and Gaira could see the thoughts churning behind those brilliant eyes. With a faint sigh, he looked to the stack of letters in his hand.

“H-Here?” he said. “I-In this group?”

Gaira nodded. “’Tis right on the top,” she said. “I organized them by date, so the last one is on the top.”

James looked at it. He wasn’t certain that he was strong enough to read it, but something inside him was pining for it. The last words from his brother, perhaps a hint of approval or a glimmer of hope for those he left behind.

This was what he’d come for, after all.

Something of his brother.

He untied the twine and retrieved the letter on the top.

The paper was yellowed, the seal broken. It was dog-eared on one side as he opened it up to see the familiar handwriting. It was like a dagger to his heart simply to see Johnathan’s carefully-scripted letters, but he fought the grief it provoked.

He continued.

My dearest James –

If you are reading this, I’m assuming that I did not survive the battle. I’m further assuming that some kind Scots family has sent you my possessions, such as they are, and that you realize you are now the Earl of Worcester. Although I am no expert on the post, as I suspect I did not do our family justice, I have no doubt that you will be a much finer earl than I ever was. How do I know this?

Because I know you.

When Mother was pregnant with you, I was a tiny lad, but I knew enough to know that I wanted a brother. I remember praying aloud for a brother and the priest would slap me on the head in the midst of my prayers because of it. That old bastard, Father Bernardo. I know you remember him. I think he slapped you a time or two, also.

And then you were born and I had a brother. Mother would leave you in your bed to cry at night and I would climb in with you to comfort you. I know you do not remember that, but I did. I would lay beside you and tell you what great things we would do together, the both of us. I was convinced we would ride side by side into battle in the morning, vanquish the enemy, and be in the tavern drinking wine by evening. I was convinced we would be inseparable.

I think, in a way, we are.

In my possessions, you’ll find a stack of letters that you wrote to me. Every single letter you ever wrote to me. I have always kept them with me, even on a battle match. There was one in particular that I kept in a pocket next to my heart because it meant a great deal to me. When I came to Culloden without you, the letters came with me. Whether or not you knew it, you were by my side with every step because I knew that no matter what happened, you would be there for me in spirit if not in presence. Those letters are you, even more than if you were with me in the flesh. In them, you have entrusted me with your