Before going into the house, he had to stop and look at it, and the jealousy he felt was palatable. What man wouldn’t want a phaeton with high yellow wheels and red spokes. The vehicle was so lightweight, it probably traveled on air. Of course, it would be a slow slog for a man as big as Breccan. Owen’s horseflesh was good, too. The animal was a flashy gray in fittings trimmed out in silver. Ah, yes, any man would covet such a rig, but Breccan did not admire his cousin. They had a history. Some of Breccan’s dislike stemmed from Owen’s almost casual little cruelties. The man liked finding a weak spot and using it for his own gain. Of course, what he really wanted was land. Every Campbell did. It was in their blood. They equated land to power. Even Breccan understood this. Why else would he be sinking so much of himself into Wolfstone. He was building a legacy for his children, little beings he planned on creating the moment after he tossed Owen off his property.
