Their unexpected visitor arrived just after the Sunday lunch hour.

They had gone to the Isles and had lunch with Esme and Carlisle. Esme was remarkably talented at drawing Isabella out of her shell and engaging her in verbal sparring. It didn't always happen, but since Edward and Isabella's argument a few days before which had led to a sort of truce between them, Isabella seemed less tense and conversed with Esme with minimal hesitation.

Edward had briefly chatted with Alice who seemed to be enjoying her work with Esme and was not at all put out to be living at the inn. Isabella saw them out of the corner of her eye but had to look away when Edward pulled her into a warm, affectionate hug. Alice seemed to not harbor any hidden resentment about the odd situation her brother was in and had offered Esme a smile and a Glaswegian greeting of "Awright lass?"

No drive on their part of Skye was ever a long one. The inn, the distillery, and the house were all within a five-mile radius, so it was rarely a time for any level of in-depth conversation, but they did amicably comment on the increasingly chilly weather and noted that days were getting shorter.

They had barely gotten in the door and removed their shoes upon returning home when the front door opened behind them. Edward, both jackets in hand near the coat hook, tensed as the door swung open.

"Emmett!"

Edward's thin, brown-haired brother had swung open the door with a beam on his face, pleased to have succeeded in surprising his family with his bursting into the room.

"What are ye doing here, ye bawbag?" Edward asked, looking positively delighted as he hung up the coats and then embraced his brother.

Emmett returned the hug heartily, patting Edward on the back.

"Thought I would drop in, aye? Haven't seen ye since the nuptials." At that, his gaze turned over to where Isabella had taken a few steps back, giving the siblings space.

"Bella, lass!" he said with a smile that she was still not sure how to read for authenticity. "Bonnie as ever. How has Skye been treating ye?"

With a slight grin, she replied, "Treating me well."

"Aye," was all Emmett said before Edward smacked him in the chest.

"Why are ye really here?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Emmett put a hand on his heart. "Because I have no spent quality time with my kin in ages, ye eejit."

Edward kept his eyebrow raised.

"Aye, awright, I'm teaching a week-long piping camp in Inverness this week and needed a place to stay tonight," he admitted.

"The detour here only saves ye what…45 minutes of driving?"

"Well and I have no spent quality time with my kin in ages, ye eejit!"

Edward's laugh rang through the room as he clasped his brother on the back. "Good to see ye, man."

Isabella felt an inkling to play host for her husband's younger brother, the habits of a previous life pushing on her firmly. It had only been a few months since she had welcomed Tom into their home that lacked in warmth what it had in size.

Jake's brother, Tom, had always been too loud, too confident, and too entitled for her to truly connect with him. In her better moments, and certainly at the beginning of their relationship, she had developed a fondness for his youthful exuberance. With his lesser qualities, she knew she was annoyed by something about him, but could not articulate what that was exactly until she was away from people who similarly possessed those traits – often found in the echelons of Wall Street.

Both the Black Montgomery boys had been raised to take what they want and make noise along the way.

Isabella's mind flashed to Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery who had started the year with two healthy sons.

Isabella shivered, huddling into her sweater.

Rather than host, she observed as Edward easily interacted with Emmett, and Emmett made himself right at home.

She watched him pop into the fridge and help himself to some left-over beans and potatoes that Edward had cooked a few days ago. He spoke to Edward (and her, maybe, she really could not be sure), about the details of the piping camp he was teaching for the "elder folk in Inverness," with his mouth full of potatoes.

"They go and buy these fancy pipes and expect us to teach 'em how to use them when they cannae even get up and down a scale on the chanter," he explained.

Edward, upon seeing her confusion, explained that a chanter was a practice instrument similar to a recorder or whistle. Emmett swallowed another bite of potatoes before launching into how much some of the students pay for their instruments that they then have no idea what to do with.

As he spoke, she realized with a start that this was more his home than her home.

He had spent his teen years in this home with his father, brother, and sister, the two boys crammed upstairs.

This was more his home than hers.

The thought left her surprisingly unsettled.

~O~

A few hours later, Isabella had excused herself to bed, leaving Emmett and Edward still leaning against the kitchen counter opposite of one another. Edward was finishing his second pint of Tennent's and Emmett was enjoying a bottomless glass of 12-year Sleat whisky.

The pair had lapsed into a comfortable silence, having exhausted themselves from catching up. Prior to Edward's wedding, it had been a few months since they had seen each other. Emmett had left for Glasgow only two months before their father had died and it had been tough to go from a family of four to two in a matter of weeks.

In their silence, they could hear the hissing of the shower ceasing as Isabella finished up in the bathroom. Emmett continued to nurse his drink until they heard her feet pad a few steps across the hallway and into her room. If Edward had been counting, he would have sworn Emmett waited no more than four seconds after her bedroom door closed before turning his gaze squarely on him.

"How is this marriage scheme of yours suiting ye?"

Edward slowly lowered the beer from his mouth, looking carefully at his brother.

"What do ye mean by that?" he asked.

For a moment, he had hoped that he might be able to converse with his only brother about being a married man in a normal manner that he imagined brothers might be able to discuss such things. From Emmett's tone, however, he doubted that the easy acceptance that Emmett had managed to muster -or fake- at their wedding reception had lasted beyond their honeymoon.

Emmett rolled his eyes. "Are we pretending then, that it's a normal thing ye did a few weeks ago?"

Edward's lips settled into a hard line as he stared at his brother, privately stung.

"I did what I had to do," he finally replied.

"Aye," Emmett agreed slowly, a dubious tone to his voice that his brother narrowed his eyes at.

"What are ye on about?" Edward accused.

"I dinnae insult her honor or anything, mate," he argued lowly.

"Aye, but ye clearly have something ye would like to say on the matter," he challenged in an equally low voice.

"And is that so wrong?" Emmett asked evenly before emotion slipped into his tone, "Ye are my one and only brother! My closest kin. Am I not allowed to have something to say on the matter?"

"Aye, so bloody say it."

"It is perfectly reasonable to ask my brother how his marriage with a random American woman - who he knew for less than 24 hours before marrying in front of friends and family – a woman who has no real reason for marrying said brother but does have unexplained access to large amounts of cash, is going!"

"Lower yer voice," Edward growled, casting a look over in the direction of Isabella's bedroom as Emmett's voice increased.

Emmett gave his older brother the same careful look that he had just been on the receiving end of.

"No one said anything at the time," he continued, laying out the heart of what had been bothering him. "All I got was a call from Alice that a stranger had showed up to save the distillery and that I should get to Skye immediately with my pipes to play a wedding."

Edward made a distinctly Scottish noise, but Emmett continued.

It wasn't as if Edward could dispute the summary.

"You lied to everyone about it – aye, ah ken why ye did it but it was still a lie, and the people who did ken the truth seemed to have lost their minds, especially our crazy aunt! Did no one stop to tell ye that what ye were doing was – and still bloody is – insane?"

Edward's fingers clenched around the aluminum can, but he worked to unclench them. Rather than defend Bella or her role, he focused on the center of the accusation. "What would ye have me do then? I was out of time and out of money. MacLeod was going to take the distillery that Monday."

Emmett's eyes widened in surprise.

"What?"

Edward shook his head, losing some of the heat in his voice as he said, "It was bad, Em. We had no business days left with Sleat."

Emmett had the grace to look abashed. "How did it get so bad?"

The other MacDonald siblings who both technically had ownership rights to the distillery as well as Edward, knew that Sleat had been in financial trouble, and upon Isabella showing up with her proposition, Edward had been forced to inform Alice as to the extent of the trouble, but Emmett had not benefited from the same knowledge.

Edward a long drink of his beer. "The bloody recession and the bloody banks. The wee bastard trapped me and took great pleasure in doing so. We were close to the end there."

"Shite," Emmett breathed.

Edward nodded.

"So, when a braw lass shows up and offers me a way out of that fate in exchange for my last name, what could I do but accept?"

Emmett rubbed at his face as he processed this information.

"Ye ken nothing about her."

"We had no time," he retorted.

Emmett's mouth moved but no sound came out as he attempted to rebuke the story.

"Besides, I do not understand it exactly, but I trust her."

"Aye," was all Emmett said.

"If our visitor had come a month earlier, it would be a different story."

It was more of an internal musing that had slipped out of his mouth than an actual piece of conversation.

Emmett's brows furrowed and Edward realized his error before his brother even spoke.

"What visitor?"

"Oh no one, just a business man," Edward dismissed, swallowing a gulp beer.

"What business?"

"Not important."

"I dinnae believe ye."

"That's fine."

"Ye bawbag, what business?"

Edward shook his head.

Emmett leveled him with a hard stare, the warmth sliding out of his brown eyes. "Is that how it is between us now? Half-truths and secrets?"

The accusation stung Edward more than he cared to admit. He raised the beer back to his lips and assessed the sharp lines on his brother's face and decided that he would not likely back down on this without a fight. He rarely did.

"A business called Diageo," he said slowly.

"And what does Diageo do?" Emmett asked, equally as slowly.

Edward let out a deep breath.

"They're a drink conglomerate."

Emmett waited.

Again, Edward lost than standoff.

"They own Guinness, Smirnoff, Bailey's, stuff like that, ye ken?"

"And what? They want to own Sleat or something too?"

Edward sat down his beer on the counter and rubbed at the right side of his face tiredly and slowly.

"Aye, that was the offer."

Emmett studied his brother.

"And?"

"And what?" Edward asked in irritation.

"Are ye going to do it?"

"Do what?"

"Sell the distillery."

Before Edward could decide how to respond, Emmett was already continuing his line of thought.

"Ye would be oot the window if ye dinnae."

"Why do ye think we should sell?"

"Why wouldn't ye?"

"I can think of a few reasons."

Emmett was visibly flabbergasted. "And what the hell would those be? Sadism? Stupidity? Stubbornness? The pretty lass ye call a wife? Any combination or all of them?"

"That's your heritage! Sleat has been in the family for generations and ye well ken that!

"Aye, and it could certainly stay in the family. Dinnae tell me they would not let ye keep distilling?"

"That is no the point and ye well ken it."

"Then what is the point?"

When Edward said nothing, Emmett leaned back from the counter.

"It's her, isn't it?"

Edward shook his head with the very stubbornness that his brother accused him of being guilty of.

"She's got a plan."

Emmett slapped his head down into his palm.

"What plan? What is the plan? What the bloody hell could it be?"

Edward did not immediately say anything, and Emmett pounced once again.

"Ye dinnae ken, do ye? Ye have no clue? And let me guess – ye have no clue what she has ever done to make her even the slightest bit…the slightest bit qualified to run a business like this?"

Edward took a swig of his beer and narrowed his eyes but did not deny the accusation.

"Ye absolute numpty!"

"I trust her."

"And why on earth would ye do that? Ye know next to nothing about her – despite this farce of a marriage. Ye have no idea if she has any idea what she's doing or why she's doing it in the first place. For all ye know, she could be a spy! She could be a spy for one of…Diageo's competitors and this is a sabotage. Hell, she could be working for MacLeod!"

Edward straightened up and braced his shoulders as he exclaimed in a harsh whisper. "It's yer bloody bum that's oot the window!"

Emmett gave him a harsh look that indicated he did not agree.

"Do ye even hear yerself? Bella? A spy? Ye've lost yer mind!"

"No I havena – but I am no entirely certain that ye are of sound mind, brother! Why would I have any reason to think otherwise? I've spent 10 minutes dancing with her at a fake wedding, I can hardly ascertain her character from that!"

Edward shook his head, the spark of anger burning brighter, despite all his attempts to stifle it.

Emmett, however, was not finished yet.

"What is yer plan with her then? Did ye ever stop to think about that?"

Edward raised his eyebrows.

"Let's say her little plan works and Sleat is doing alright in a couple of months, maybe a year. Are ye going to stay in an arranged marriage in bloody 2008? Pay her the money back and divorce her? Not pay her the money back and divorce her? Does this little agreement of yers have any wee bit of details, ye great glaikit?"

Despite not actually having an answer to the accusations, Edward started to say, "We di-"

"-dinnae have time, sure. Well ye have time now! And have ye even so much as discussed it? Or are ye that enamored with her money and pretty face?"

"Bite yer tongue, ye grabbit!"

At Edward's sharp and furious tone, Emmett finally stood down.

"Perhaps the time to talk about Sleat was years ago, when we came back to Skye after Maw died and we helped Da out with distilling," Edward seethed, "But ye never wanted to run it, ye never wanted to be responsible for it…ye never wanted to be a distiller. Hell, ye never wanted to live on Skye! Ye left back for Glasgow the first chance ye had, leaving me and Da.

"And when Da died and it was just me….well I am sorry that I have no been able to pay back thousands and thousands of bloody pounds in loans or expand production and grow sales in a global recession. I am sorry for that, truly I am, but when ye left, ye lost the right to say a damn thing about it. Including how I run it now and what I may or may not do to keep the doors to our heritage open."

Edward swallowed back the rest of his beer and then pointed it to the stairway.

"Ye can stay upstairs for the night, it should be all set for ye. But don't ye dare come into this house and insult a woman who, under Scottish law, is my wife. Fake or no, she is my family right now."

Emmett raised his eyebrows incredulously, lifted the remaining contents of his glass to his lips and tossed it back, and then shook his head.

"I'll be gone before morning light."

Hmmm. Sometimes adult siblings can be tricky.

Up next: distilling some whisky.

All the love.