Jamie hadn’t been prepared for that question; he couldn’t think of a response.

Reeve arched one dark eyebrow in affable triumph. “That’s what I thought,” he said, as though Jamie had answered him. “You didn’t fight because you wanted to bed the lass, and despite your sticky fingers, mate, you were too honorable to do that without marryin’ ’er first!”

Jamie felt as though scalding hot water had been flung all over him, so keen was his rage at being taunted with his past. He stepped back and unfastened the scabbard from his belt, setting that and the blade aside. “Per’aps,” he said through his teeth, “Maggie’s parlor wouldn’t be the best place for this to be settled.”

Reeve nodded, unbuttoned his shirtsleeves, and rolled them up, one after the other, as he led the way out through the garden doors. Since Elisabeth was no longer playing in the side yard, he stopped there, turning to face his brother squarely.

And God in heaven, Jamie reflected, the bastard was bigger than he’d ever realized.

Reeve smiled, as though reading Jamie’s thoughts. “Aye, lad, I’m still your big brother,” he said smugly. “Like I was in Brisbane three years ago, and in Dublin before that.”

Jamie seethed at the reminder. No man, besides Reeve, had ever bested him in a one-on-one fight. “Aye, in Dublin. That would be when I was a pickpocket,” he responded, putting an emphasis on the last word.

Reeve spread his hands, damnably confident of his ability to defend himself. “That would be the time I meant, all right,” he answered. “I guess I shouldn’t ’ave expected a petty thief to treat ’is wife properly.”

Jamie swallowed a bellow of rage. Reeve would be pleased if he lost his head; it would give him an advantage. He clenched his jaw tight and stood his ground.

Reeve gestured with both hands. “Come on, lad,” he taunted. “You’re the man every bleeder in New Zealand is afraid of. Show me why.” He paused, drawing a deep breath and letting it out again. “Just remember, though, that this is Australia. ’Ere, you’re just Reeve McKenna’s baby brother.”

A shimmering red fog moved in front of Jamie’s eyes. “You bastard,” he breathed, and with those words the fury he’d held inside him escaped in a torrent. He lunged at Reeve, with all the power that love turned to hatred can unleash.

Reeve hardly responded to the blow Jamie landed in his stomach. He gave a breathless, chortling laugh and returned the punch.

Jamie’s rage was fathomless. “Where—were you?” he demanded as they struggled, too equally matched for the fight to fall easily to one or the other. “Where the—hell were you—when that bastard was laying open me back!”

Reeve was caught off guard, but only for a moment. In a move as swift and unpredictable as a bolt of lightning, he caught Jamie in a neck hold that cut off his breath. “What the devil are you talkin’ about?” he wanted to know.