The stag isn't quite at that point when he hears Tilney's words - he has no swords to swing, and his snarl is marginally less feral than it could be. But those jade eyes of his - always so kind, gentle, full of laughter - are as hard as emeralds. Stricken by sadness at his sister's moving, the scimitar is in no mood to humour fools. He marches towards his brother with his muscles bunched and rippling beneath his tri-toned skin, his head flung high and his ears pinned to the half-braided, tangled mane that thrashes upon his broad neck. Oh, Tilney has got a cheek. The boulder that his brother sends crashing down to the ocean below is nothing in comparison to the bay beast that the chestnut now finds himself facing; a picture of cold, composed fury.

"Please, Gods, tell me you are kidding me. You are seriously attempting to blame me for our sister leaving us? You've always been a bit thick, Tilney, but this is bordering on the retarded." The words are surprisingly savage, spoken with venom that the pirate rarely utilises. It's odd how tones that can be so humourous and light can suddenly be so heavy, so full of disgust, contempt and a rather childish need to make his brother hurt. He'll regret this later, but right now Bart is off on his tirade and there's no force on earth that can stop him.

"What was I supposed to do? It might be news to you, Tilney, but Aelfwine is her own woman. She may be our sister, but she is not ours to control. As much as I wanted to walk over there and rip her lover's throat out, I also know that she does not belong to me and that she is entitled to do whatever the hell she wants." His eyes narrow coldly, never leaving his brother's face. "I don't subscribe to your version of the world, brother - a world where you think it's okay to control your siblings' lives and treat them like children."

He turns, glowering, his temper thoroughly roused and now unwilling to bend back into its cage. "I will miss her more than you can possibly imagine, but she is our sister and we need to respect her wishes. In other words - back the hell off and leave her alone." With that tone, with that fierce glint in his eye, it would take a brave man to disagree.

He isn't expecting Maude's arrival, and normally the sight of the girl would make him soften, fold at the seams like a piece of paper. Not now. He's too incensed, too furious at his brother's idiotic accusations. His ears remain flat as he turns to Maude, but he makes a decent attempt to keep the quaking anger out of his voice when he addresses her. "What was I supposed to say, Maude? You're not allowed to have fun, sister, because your brothers don't like it? How would you like it if your brothers stood in the way of your happiness? Aelfwine is a grown woman, yet your father is insulting her intelligence by treating her like a child incapable of making her own decisions." His gaze is stern, his breath still coming in haggard rasps of fury even as he tries to keep himself calm for his niece's sake.

His brother moves to Maude's side, and for a moment Bart thinks the argument could be ending; Tilney may be about to apologise for his stupidity, may be about to back down and leave it at that. He doesn't. Instead he speaks again, and the words are like iron barbs to the stag's ears. Perhaps you do not understand... You have none left. His ears - which had begun to lift in Maude's presence - flip backwards again, disappearing into his mane. His face twists into an ugly, apopletic snarl, his temper snapping like a thin thread. "What did you just say?" he roars. TIlney can't mean that, surely. His brother doesn't know...only Aelfwine knows the truth. Only Aelfwine knows what Bartholomeo has lost, only she knows the grief that hides behind the mask of joviality and bravado. Has she told their sibling about his dead wife and son? Surely she wouldn't....surely she knows that's his greatest secret.

And surely Tilney should know better than to use it against him?

"You bastard." The voice is eerily cold and quiet now, the calm before the storm. "You bastard, Tilney." The knife embedded in his heart twists, snaps, leaves a shred of metal inside the pulsing valves. Not a day goes by when he doesn't think about what he's lost, and not a day goes by when he doesn't hate himself for it. For his own flesh and blood to use it as a stick to beat him with....it is reprehensible. It is unforgivable.

His temper frays, snaps. He throws himself forwards, great chest seeking to slam into Tilney to try and push him away from Maude - there's enough sense left in Bart to know not to involve the poor girl in this, or to risk her getting caught in the crossfire. Fueled by rage and grief, the stallion lowers his head and seeks to stab his antlers hard into the right side of Tilney's neck, wanting to beat the other stallion into submission as punishment for what he said. No amount of physical pain will make Tilney realise the sheer weight of misery and hatred that his words inflicted upon the tri-coloured pirate, yet it will go some way towards easing the agony inside the grieving man's chest.

In his mind's eye, he doesn't see Tilney - he sees his family's killers, turned to pulp beneath the force of his hooves and sorrow.