‘We had no choice, then,’ Stuart said.

His brother looked at him. ‘There is always a choice. But Scotland’s nobles, as ever, were rich on both sides of the border, and few of them wanted to risk their own fortunes, so in the end, they sat down at the table. And our friend the Duke of Hamilton proposed that the selection of commissioners to talk about the Union should be left up to Queen Anne herself. He put it to a snap vote in the parliament when the opposition weren’t all in their seats, and so it passed by a few votes, and that meant virtually all the commissioners were pro-Union. That,’ Graham said, ‘was just one of the small, sneaky things that he did.’

‘So the Union went through.’

Graham grinned. ‘Did ye not go to school?’

‘Well, we have our own parliament, now.’

‘Aye, but that’s only recent. Christ, Stuie, you’re not that young, surely, that you can’t remember the whole campaign around the country for home rule? The Scottish National Party? Everybody marching in the streets?’ When Stuart looked back at him blankly, Graham shook his head. ‘You are a lost cause, aren’t you?’

Shrugging, Stuart took it in good part, and told his brother, ‘I was likely overseas, when all of that was going on.’

‘More likely sitting in the pub.’

‘It’s possible,’ said Stuart. ‘Does it really matter?’

‘Not unless your children ask you where you were the day our parliament re-opened after nearly three full centuries without one.’

I was privately inclined to think it wouldn’t be a problem. Stuart Keith was not the kind of man who married and had children. With him, life was all great fun and play, and staying with one woman while she aged, or sitting up with crying babies, simply wasn’t in his cards.

It had been interesting to sit here in my chair and watch the two of them while Graham gave his history lesson— both men with their different personalities, yet brothers through and through. Beneath the banter ran a deeper vein of genuine affection and respect, and it was clear they truly liked each other.

Jimmy, when he came back in to tell us lunch was ready, made the triangle complete, and from the way the three men interacted, I could tell that this had always been a happy home.

Could tell, too, that it hadn’t seen a woman’s touch in quite some time. This was a man’s house now, from the mismatched and practical earthenware dishes to the no-nonsense table we ate on.

From the sideboard, a silver-framed photograph smiled at us all. Jimmy noticed me looking. ‘My wife,’ he said. ‘Isobel.’

I would have known that without being told. I was already closely acquainted with eyes that, like hers, were the grey of the North Sea in winter. I said, ‘She was lovely.’

‘Aye. It’s a shame she’s nae here, the noo. She’d’ve hid a puckle questions tae speir at ye, about yer books. Allus wantit tae write one hersel.’

Graham said, ‘She likely could have helped you with your research, come to that. My mother’s family go a long way back, here.’

‘Fairly that,’ said Jimmy, nodding. ‘She’d’ve telt ye stories, quine. And she’d’ve geen ye a better meal.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with this one,’ I assured him. The roast beef, as Stuart had warned, was a little bit blackened and dry, but with gravy it went down just fine, and the carrots and roasted potatoes, though overdone too, were surprisingly good.

‘Don’t encourage him,’ Stuart advised. He had taken the chair at my side, and from time to time his arm brushed mine. I knew the show of closeness was no accident, but short of picking up my chair and moving it away there wasn’t much that I could do. I only hoped that Graham, facing me across the table, understood.

I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

This was not the way I’d hoped this afternoon would go. I’d thought it would be only Jimmy, me, and Graham; that we’d have a chance to talk, and maybe afterwards he’d walk me home, and…well, who knew what might have happened, then.

But Stuart had his own ideas. While he’d been content enough to sit through Graham’s history lesson earlier, he now appeared determined not to share the limelight. Every time the conversation turned away from him he deftly drew it back again, and Graham, calmly silent, let him do it.

By the time the meal had ended I was frustrated with both of them—with Stuart’s all but marking out his territory round me, like a dog, to warn his older brother not to trespass, and with Graham’s sitting back and letting Stuart get away with it.

For Jimmy’s sake, I stayed until we’d finished with our coffee, and he’d started clearing plates away to do the washing up. I offered to help, but he shook his head firmly. ‘Na, na, nivver fash, quine. Keep yer strength fer yer writing.’

Which gave me an opening, when I had thanked him for lunch, to announce that I ought to be going. ‘I left my book this morning in the middle of a chapter, and I ought to get it done.’

‘A’richt. Jist let me put these in the kitchen.’ Jimmy, with the plates piled in his hands, looked down at Stuart. ‘Stuie, quit yer scuddlin, loon, and go and fetch her coat.’

Stuart went, and Jimmy followed after him, which left me on my own, with Graham.

I felt him watching me. My own gaze stayed quite firmly on the tablecloth in front of me, as I sat sifting words, and then discarding them again while I tried hard to think of what to say.