Ian's Rose: Book One of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Read Online Free Page B

God only knew where else. While women adored him, their fathers, husbands, and brothers hated him with equal passion.
    Frederick stood before the drunken sot, his feet braced apart, arms crossed over his massive chest, and waited for his brother to recognize his presence. Long moments passed before that happened.
    Ian clutched a cup of ale with his large hands, as if he were a man lost at sea and the cup was his last vestige of hope for survival. Listing side to side, he mumbled incoherent words that only he could understand in his current state of extreme inebriation.
    When Ian finally noticed his brother, he smiled up at him drunkenly. “Frederick,” he said with a slow inclination of his noggin. He took another pull at his ale then swept his arms out wide. The golden liquid sloshed over the rim of the cup but Ian took no notice. “Welcome to me island.”
    Frederick had no idea what his brother meant and in truth, he did not care. Before he could tell Ian why he was there and what his intentions were, Ian spoke again.
    “I fear ye do no’ belong here, brother o’ mine. This island is fer the wretched and unworthy.” His lips curved into a wry smile; he was apparently quite amused with himself. “Nay, brother! Men such as ye do no’ belong on the island of the lost!”
    Frederick let out a sigh of irritation before kicking a stool out of his way. “Ian, ’tis time we had a talk.” Grabbing his brother by his tunic, he hoisted him to his feet.
    Ian glowered angrily with bloodshot eyes. “What are ye doin’?” he asked, his speech slightly slurred as he struggled to free himself.
    “I be keepin’ a promise.” Frederick smiled deviously before drawing back one mighty fist then slamming it into his brother’s face.
    Ian fell backward against the stone wall, as dazed and confused as he was thunderstruck. White flashes of light floated in his eyes as blood trickled from his broken lip. Shaking his daze away, he looked up at his brother with nothing short of fury and hatred in his eyes. “What the bloody hell was that fer?”
    As Frederick pulled him to his feet, he answered in a calm voice that belied his frustration and anger. “That was fer breakin’ Rose’s heart.”
    Once he was certain Ian wasn’t going to fall over, he hit him once again. This time his fist landed on Ian’s left eye. And again, his brother fell against the wall. This time he could not keep his feet and slid onto his arse. Before Ian could question the why of it, Frederick said, “That was fer breakin’ yer word. A Mackintosh never breaks his word.”
    He hauled him to his feet yet again. Ian was barely able to stand on his own, but ’twas enough for Frederick to land a third punch. “And that was fer upsettin’ me wife!”
    Ian fell to the floor, his head lolled side to side while blood trickled from his nose and mouth.
    Frederick sighed disgustedly. He’d seen Ian in many a tavern brawl, far drunker than he was now, and he’d still been able to maintain his feet and fight.
    Nay, the young man lying askew, bloody and defeated, was not the same proud warrior. “What the hell has happened to ye?”

    * * *
    F rederick pulled his brother to his feet, hoisted him over one broad shoulder, and left the gathering room. Mumbling a curse under his breath he was appalled and disgusted at how easily his brother had given up. Hell, he hadn’t fought at all. ’Twas disgraceful for a man such as Ian to behave so dishonorably, no matter his reasons.
    Determined to get to the bottom of things, he carried his brother above stairs. Taking the hallway to the left, he went straightaway to Rose’s room and kicked at the door. Grudgingly, he cursed his brother as he shifted his weight. “Ye’re a bastard, ye ken that don’ ye?”
    Ian replied with an incoherent grumble.
    Cautiously, Rose cracked open the door. Though he could only see one vigilant eye peering through, that eye was red and puffy from crying. ’Twas fuel added to his already