Page 5 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
“You ran away.”
The sound of flesh on flesh echoed.
Alana gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Aidan staggered backward, blood dripping from his nose. With a snarl, he flung himself forward, crashing into Patrick and knocking his brother to the ground.
“Stop!” Alana yelled as they rolled across the filthy ground.
A small crowd gathered around them, murmuring and pointing.
She glanced behind her at their father, who perched on her trunk, an amused smile on his face. “Da! Do something.”
“What can I do?” He grinned, tilting his head. “One does not interrupt two dogs when they are fighting. Let them get this out.”
“Ma would be embarrassed by this behavior.” She appealed to his sentimental side.
“Then it’s a good thing your mother is not alive to witness this.”
Alana growled.
Of course, he would be lucid for this particular incident.
Straightening her jacket, she marched over to her brothers, leaned down, and grabbed Patrick’s ear, which she wrenched until he cried out. Before Aidan could swing, Alana grabbed his ear as well, dragging them both to their feet.
They bent at the waist, craning their heads toward her, twin expressions of agony on their faces. The crowd around her clapped as she hauled them back toward the coach, flinging them at its side.
“You should be ashamed,” she muttered, her eyes dancing between them. “A public spectacle of your private disagreement.”
She shook her head and lowered her voice, using her most stern tone. “I expect the two of you to end this absurdity, right now.”
“He started it,” Aidan murmured, staring at the ground. He dug his elbow into Patrick’s ribs, who shoved Aidan in return.
“Stop!” They froze under her hissed command. “I’m leaving for America in less than an hour. However, after this childish display, I’m concerned leaving the two of you unchaperoned might result in the death of one or both of my brothers, despite the physical distance between you.”
She raised her arms, cupping each of their cheeks.
“Aidan, can you not see that Patrick was suffering from rejection and didn’t know how to cope with the magnitude of that social snub? And Patrick,”—she cut off Aidan’s retort—“can you not see that Aidan felt abandoned, left to deal with everything that should have been theolderbrother’s responsibility?”
They stared at each other, processing Alana’s comments. Slowly, they leaned forward, embracing.
“I’m sorry, brother,” Patrick said.
“As am I.” Aidan released Patrick and turned to Alana. “When did you become so intelligent?”
“I’ve always been,” Alana replied. “It’s just taken you some time to recognize my abilities.”
Offering him a genteel smile, she looped her arm through her father’s, lifting him to his feet, and returned her attention to Aidan. “As an apology to me, you may carry my trunk.”
Patrick stopped her. “Before you leave, I have something for you.”
He collected his bag from the ground. Untying the rope, he dug into the bag, extracted a smaller bag, and tossed the sack to Alana. Peeling open the top, she giggled and glanced up at him with a wide grin.
“Where did you find them?”
“Washed ashore a couple of weeks ago. They’re too small for someone of my size, so I figured…”
“Thank you.” Alana rose up on her toes, planting a kiss on the side of his bearded cheek.
“It’s just a bag of clothing.” He reddened, squeezing her tightly. Leaning down, he murmured in her ear, “At least, this should deter you from borrowing mine.”
