Gwen looked highly amused. "If you say so. How did the two of you meet?"
If you say so? Now just what did that mean? And how to answer the question about how they'd met? Chloe opened her mouth and shut it again. Surely not, I snooped through his penthouse and he tied me to his bed. And then I started turning into a person I hardly recognize anymore. "That's a long story," she said warily.
"Those are the best kind—I can't wait to hear it! I have a few of my own." Gwen looped her arm through Chloe's and steered her toward the staircase. "Farley," she called over her shoulder to the white-haired butler, "would you have tea and coffee sent up to the solar? And some snacks. I'm starving."
"Right away, milady." With a doting look at Gwen, the butler rushed off.
"Why don't we get to know each other while they catch up?" Gwen asked, turning back to Chloe. "They've not seen each other in quite some time."
Chloe glanced again at Dageus. He and Drustan were still standing in the middle of the great hall, talking intently. Just then, as if he felt her gaze on him, Dageus looked at her, tensed, and started to walk toward her.
Surprised by his concern for her at what was dearly a difficult moment for him, Chloe shook her head, assuring him wordlessly that she was fine.
After a moment's hesitation, he turned back to Drustan.
Chloe smiled at Gwen. "I'd like that."
* * *
Chapter 13
When the lasses hastened off to the solar, Drustan and Dageus adjourned to the privacy of the library. A spacious, masculine room with cherry bookcases recessed into paneled walls, comfortable chairs and ottomans, a dusky-rose marble fireplace and tall, bay windows, the library was Drustan's retreat, much as the glass-faced solar that overlooked the gardens was Gwen's.
Drustan couldn't take his eyes off his twin brother. He'd nigh given up hope that Dageus would come home. He'd been dreading what he might have to do if his brother didn't. But he was here now, and the tight fist that had been clutched around his heart since the day he'd read and, in a fit of fury, burned the letter their da had left him, finally, blessedly, eased a bit.
Dageus tossed himself into a chair near the fireplace, stretched out his legs, and propped his feet on a stool.
"What think you of the castle, Drustan? It appears to have withstood the centuries well."
Aye, that it had. The castle had surpassed all of Drustan's expectations. If ever a man had received proof of his brother's love, it had been in the gift of their home. Then Dageus had topped even that gift by sacrificing himself to ensure Drustan would survive to live in it. But Dageus had always been like that: though not a man to whom soft words came readily, when he loved, he loved to a dangerous point. 'Tis both his greatest strength and weakness, Silvan had oft remarked, and truer words had never been uttered. He had the wild, true heart of a child, in the body of a jaded man. Intensely guarded, unless he chose to give it, yet once given, it was given completely. Without thought to his own survival.
''Tis even more magnificent than I'd imagined when we worked on the plans," Drustan said. "I can't thank you enough, Dageus. Not for this. Not for anything." How did one thank a brother for sacrificing his soul for one's own happiness? My life for yours, his brother had chosen. Thanks weren't possible.
Dageus shrugged. "You drew the sketches." Ah, so he will pretend I meant only the castle and evade deeper issues, Drustan thought. "You built it. Gwen loves it too. And we've nigh finished having electricity and plumbing installed."
There was so much they needed to talk about, and naught of it would be easy to address. After a moment's hesitation, Drustan decided to confront it directly, for he suspected Dageus would talk circles around it.
Crossing to the liquor cabinet, Drustan splashed Macallan into two glasses, and handed one to Dageus. Thirty-five-year-old single-malt scotch, only the finest for his brother's return. "So, how bad is it?" he asked matter-of-factly.
Dageus flinched, a small, hastily contained reaction, but there. Then he tossed back the drink in one swallow and handed him the glass for a refill. Drustan complied, waiting.
His brother sipped more slowly at the second one. "Worse now that I'm back on Scottish soil," he said finally.
"When did your eyes change?" It wasn't only his eyes that had changed, Dageus moved differently. His most minute gestures were carefully executed, as if he could contain what was in him only by constant vigilance.
A tiny muscle leapt in Dageus's jaw. "How dark are they?"
"They're not gold anymore. A strange color, nigh like your drink."
"They change when it starts to get bad. When I've used too much magic."