And yet he was her brother still an

And yet he was her brother still and had been her ally in the past. She nodded with a grudging spirit.
He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Then, tell me, how is your life among this clan? How do they treat you?”
She thought for a moment to tell him they were of the most brutal sort, for it was John who had given her over to them with no concern for her well-being.
“It is too late for such a question, don’t you think? Any damage would already be done.”
His cheeks flushed with heat. “I know. I have carried that burden with me since the day you left. Though I’m sure you do not believe me, I’ve worried for you every moment. So, answer. Are they wicked or kind?”
He looked earnest, more so than she had seen him look in years, and her spite cooled.
“They are kind, John. More gracious than you could imagine. They have welcomed me as one of their own.”
A whisper of relief passed over his features. “And what manner of man is the earl himself?”
Fiona hesitated, wondering how much she might impart. Not so long ago she had despised Cedric for cruel deeds he did not commit. But John knew nothing of his innocence.
She reached out and took her brother’s hand. “He is not the monster we thought, John. In fact, I have great cause to think he was not responsible for what happened to our mother.”
John pulled his hand from hers, and his eyes narrowed. “What makes you say so?”
He would not believe her. He’d spent a lifetime, like her, thinking the worst of Cedric Campbell.
She must choose her words with caution. “It seems he and our mother were friends, even after James claimed his throne. They...corresponded.”
“Did the earl tell you that?”
“No. He’ll not speak to me of her. But I’ve seen her letters.”
His eyes opened wider at this admission. “What letters?”
Fiona pressed her hands together. Such news would be a shock, but telling him was her best course.
“Though it would seem impossible, I believe our mother cared for him. And he for her. The letters spoke of love.”
John remained unmoving in his seat, his face devoid of surprise or judgment. As if he’d known. Fiona looked into his eyes and saw relief.
“He told me something similar on the day of your wedding. At first, I thought he wove a tale for some purpose of his own, but over these past weeks, I’ve grown to wonder at the truth of his words. And things that mother herself told me before she died. Things that made no sense at the time.”
“What things?”
“She said I wasn’t like the rest of you. That I was different, meant for something grand.”
A restlessness overcame Fiona. “I am not certain he is ready for whatever may come to pass,” she whispered.
“What?” he asked.
“Mother wrote that in her last letter to Cedric. Have you any idea what she meant?”
John ran his hands over his close-cropped hair and stewed a moment, as if his thoughts were too muddled to formulate. Then his breath came out in a huff.
“She meant that Cedric Campbell is my father.”
His lips stung at the words, but John felt such relief at finally setting the truth free. He was Cedric Campbell’s son. When the earl had told him as much on the day of the wedding, disbelief had governed him. But the more he pondered the matter, the more sense it made. Snippets of advice his mother had whispered in his ear, his height, so much greater than any other Sinclair. Even the way Hugh Sinclair had treated him after Aislinn was murdered.
He watched astonishment splash across his sister’s face. She fell back against the chair as if pushed, and pressed both hands to her chest.
“Cedric is your father?” She spoke slowly and precisely, as if she had not heard correctly.
He nodded. “He told me so himself, and though I was as shocked to learn of this as you are now, I can see no just cause why the earl would invent such a lie. It does him no good.” He stood and paced, unable to keep his seat a moment longer. Time was slipping away, and he had so much more to say. “I think our fath—I think Hugh may have known. About me, even.”
Her eyes went rounder still. “What makes you think so?”
“Do you remember, days after mother died, Hugh beat me so soundly my ear bled?”
Fiona nodded mutely.
“He struck me for daring to suggest ’twas not Cedric who harmed her. Mother had confessed their friendship to me, you see, though I had no idea how long it had gone on or to what depth.” He paced about as he spoke, trying to evade the bitter memories. “But when I said as much to Hugh, he called me a wicked liar and said if I ever breathed such falsehoods again, he’d drown me in the loch.” Passion gave his voice a thickness. He coughed it away and faced his sister. “He knew it wasn’t Cedric. He was just looking for a reason to kill him. And now I suspect mother was preparing to tell me about my paternity. Cedric gave her the brooch to pass to me.”
“Why?” His sister’s voice was faint, her cheeks flushed.
“He said he’d claim me as his own and that the brooch would grant me safe passage through any Campbell land if I chose to join him