I take a piece of paper and jot it down.
It’s just that sometimes it’s personality—nature, as it were—and sometimes it’s nurture, not nature. My brother was kind when he was little. He learned hatred and bullying from my father.
She smiles sadly. “Isn’t that the truth?” She stirs the large pot of tatties on the stove. “Can you fetch me the salt, love?” she asks, gesturing to a shaker to my right. I hand it to her, as a door clangs and a booming voice yells to us.
“Flora! Where the hell are you?”
It’s Leith’s dad, and he’s in a right state.
Her body jolts, and she drops the pepper grinder with a clang on the counter. She looks around the kitchen and points to the pantry.
“Go in there,” she says. “He won’t hurt you, but if he’s in a mood, it’d be best if you’re out of sight.” Heavy footsteps come toward us. “Go.”
I’m startled by her reaction. I don’t like Leith’s father, but I didn’t suspect he was the type one would have to hide from. I crouch in the pantry, and shut the door just as he enters the kitchen.
“You feeling better, then, Bram.” I imagine Flora continues peeling vegetables as he comes in.
“Aye,” he says. “Bit better.”
“Why are you so riled up?”
“Because I just found out that Leith didn’t have the fucking bollox to do what he should have.” Something crashes to the floor, and I’m grateful I can’t scream, because I know I’d give myself away. I cringe. What will he do if he finds me here? And why’s he so angry at Leith?
“Now, Bram,” Flora says calmly. “You appointed him Captain. It isn’t healthy for you to question why or how Leith does anything, and you know it.”
Something else slams to the ground. “Don’t give me that, woman. As Clan Captain, I’ll always do what’s right, as I’m always a Clan Captain. You know appointing Leith wasn’t my choice.”
It wasn’t? Then why did he do it?
Flora doesn’t respond at first. I imagine she’s steadily preparing the meal and avoiding his wrath. I definitely can relate to that.
“Where’s the mute?”
I cringe. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, but I haven’t heard it since I came to this house.
“Not sure what you mean,” Flora says coolly. “Surely we don’t refer to handicapped people by their handicaps, Bram? Is this the Middle Ages?”
Good for her.
She isn’t afraid of him, then. She’s afraid of him for me.
He grumbles. “Where’s the imposter girl? Is that better?”
Oh, God. No. No, it isn’t much better.
“Oh, not sure,” Flora says. “Spoke with her a little while ago. Did you hear back from Mac yet? Any word on the Aitkens?”
“Fucking Aitkens,” he mutters. “Aye. They’ve been caught carjacking along the road to Inverness, suspect they’re trying to find someone out, but they’ve not been back to the church. I know the boys went into town on a lead but they haven’t filled me in on that either.”
“Well, that’s good, anyway, ‘bout the Aitkens.”
“Good? Are you mad? They probably know it was our boys that roughed them up and killed one of their own.”
“You think?” She doesn’t sound worried at all. I wonder why she’s so nonchalant.
“Who bloody knows, with the way they fuck things up? Dinnae ken, Flora, sometimes I think the only son I had that wasn’t a right blather—”
“Don’t say it.” Her voice is pained as she pleads. “No, Bram. It isn’t true.”
I’m on my feet before I know it. I shouldn’t interfere. I shouldn’t let him know I’m in here. My hand is on the doorknob. I want to scream at him, shake him by his shoulders and tell him that Leith is as good a son as anyone could ever hope for. That he’s smart and loyal and kind, that he’s witty and intelligent, and so good to me I want to pinch myself sometimes. I want to tell him it’s his fault that Leith is down on himself, because he fancies he’s never good enough, like Tavish. And I want to tell him that's all his fault.
I freeze with my hand on the doorknob as they continue talking. She might suspect that I’m on the verge of leaving my hiding place, because I hear her put the vegetable peelers down and her voice turns away, as if she’s heading to the doorway.
“Now, Bram, let’s get a cuppa in the library and finish the bookkeeping that we started last night, eh?”
“No, I’m not in the mood to do numbers,” he mutters, like a spoiled toddler who doesn’t want his milk. “I want to know why they went into town.”
“Well, then, I’m not the one who can tell you that. I’m sorry, they said they’d tell us when they had more information.”
“He’s a fucking idiot, that son of ours. I never should’ve appointed him Captain. Never.”