Chapter 6
6
Ian woke with a sense of purpose the next morning, dressing with care. His sister had informed him the night before that the laird was willing to meet with him, giving him a chance to explain what he was looking for in their alliance for the future. She had cautioned him on pushing too much, but Ian had comforted her, telling her that he knew what he was doing.
If only he knew what he was doing.
Sliding his dagger in his boot, Ian strode out of the chamber, finding that the hallway as devoid of people. He wanted to talk to Iris before the meeting to find out how much information she knew about the laird so that Ian could find some sort of common ground with him. After all, they had not supped at a table together before nor had they exchanged any correspondence. They had truly been enemies up until the ceasefire.
As he entered the room where his niece was, he halted in his tracks. “Ida?”
Ida turned, giving him a small smile. “Mah laird, I mean Ian. Good morning.”
“Good morning,” he said faintly, noting she was holding Hope in her arms. “Wot are ye doing here?”
“I help out sometimes,” she stated as Hope tugged on her long braid thrown over her shoulder. “After mah chores are completed.”
Of all people to see before his big meeting, he hadn’t anticipated it would be the one that could calm him. Walking over, he touched Hope’s nose, chuckling as her chubby hands tried to grab his finger. “From horses to bairns. Ye never cease tae surprise me, Ida MacGregor.”
She smiled at him and Ian felt it settle into his bones. He had thought of her at odd times during the day before, so much so that James had to bring him back to the conversation more than once. In fact, if Ian hadn’t been nervous about the meeting with the laird this morning, he would have ventured out to the stable yet again.
“Well, horses and bairns aren’t that much different,” she was saying, bouncing Hope in her arms. “Feed them and muck out their stalls and they are happy as can be.”
Ian let out a bark of laughter. “I’ve never heard of a nappy being called a stall but tis not far off.”
She wrinkled her nose. “At least not with the smell.”
They shared a laugh and Ian felt some of his worry start to slide away. He could do this. He could have a conversation with Laird MacGregor and they could do what was right for both clans.
“Yer sister said that ye are meeting with the laird today,” Ida said after a moment.
“Aye,” he answered.
“Are ye nervous?”
“Aye,” Ian admitted, clasping his hands behind his back. “Verra much so.”
Ida’s mouth pursed. “I imagine that mah laird is nervous as well. Normally when ye are meeting, tis on a battlefield.”
“I donna want it that way any longer,” Ian said with a shake of his head. “I want peace. True peace.” Peace was going to make both clans prosper the most. Peace would allow for the clans to see that there was more than just fighting and a way to protect their future.
Ida reached out, laying a hand on his shoulder and Ian felt her touch clear through his tunic. “I believe ye, Ian. If anyone can bring aboot peace, ye can.”
Her faith in him bolstered Ian and he reached up, gathering her hand in his. “Thank ye, Ida.”
She gave him a small smile, squeezing his hand and Ian never felt peace in his life as he did in that moment. She believed in him, a mere lass that was supposed to be his enemy.
This was enough.
Hope chose that moment to start crying and Ida stepped back, her hand sliding through his. “I should.”
“I should be going,” he interrupted her, exiting the room before she could see that his face was slightly reddened. He didn’t know what it was about her, but she always made him feel tongue-tied when it came to speaking.
Still, she believed he could do this and that was exactly what Ian was going to do.
After leaving Ida and Hope, Ian made his way down the stairs, where he was greeted by a nervous-looking James. “Iris is already in the council room,” he stated, guiding Ian that way. “Yer man is waiting outside.”
Ian caught sight of Dalziel waiting outside the heavy oak door, giving him a nod as he approached. “Wot are our demands?” he asked.
Ian looked at his captain, wishing that Remy was there instead. “We have no demands. We are here tae listen and discuss our ceasefire.”
“Wot if he doesna want one?” Dalziel pressed as James looked on, waiting for them to decide they were ready to enter.
“Then we deal with it as it comes,” Ian snapped. He didn’t have time for his captain to question his every move.
Dalziel gave him a look but in the end, he gave Ian a clipped nod and stepped back. “Aye mah laird.”
Ian looked at his brother-in-law. “We are ready.”
James muttered something under his breath but he opened the door and Ian stepped through, recognizing Laird MacGregor immediately. He had seen the hardened warrior on the battlefield over the years, though the man looked more aged than he had remembered. “Laird Wallace,” he said, beckoning Ian to take the seat on the other side of the large wooden table. “Come in.”
Ian met his sister’s eyes as he crossed the room and took the seat, finding nothing but worry in her gaze. That didn’t bode well for the rest of the discussion if she was worried.
“First,” the laird finally said, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table. “I want tae extend mah sympathies at the loss of yer da. He was a strong leader and a worthy opponent.”
Ian felt the wealth of emotion move inside him, the grief that never seemed to leave him at the death of his da. “Thank ye.”
“Yer sister,” the laird continued, giving Iris a glance. “Has been a worthy addition tae mah clan. I understand ye blessed their union?”
“Aye,” Ian replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “All that matters is that she is happy and well.”
The laird grinned. “I believe that she is.”
Ian exhaled inwardly, hoping that this jovial talk continued between them. It would be a mite easier for him to negotiate with the laird.
The grin died off the older Scot’s face and he set his jaw. “Tell mah how ye are going tae account for our losses?”
“Yer losses?” Ian asked, surprised by the change of topic so quickly. Now the tension was in the air, the very one he longed to ignore. “From wot mah laird?”
“The battles where yer kin and ye slain mah clan,” he barked out, his eyes flashing with anger. “Because of ye, mah oldest brother was forced tae vacate his rightful title.”
Ian tried to keep his anger under control. “I would say that is unfortunate.”
“Wot’s unfortunate,” the laird sneered. “Is that he had tae bury his only son, his heir ! Now he’s naught but a drunk.”
A drunk . Ian’s mind scrambled to put the pieces together, realizing that the laird meant Ida’s uncle. Ida was related to the laird? He had thought she was just a lass fallen on hard times, trying to make ends meet but this was new to him.
“Mah brother isna the only one who has suffered at the hands of a Wallace,” the laird continued, his words hard. “And now yer asking mah tae trust that ye have turned over a new leaf?”
“Aye,” Ian forced out, pushing down the anger that was forcing its way to the surface. “We all have lost our brothers, sisters, wives, husbands. We all have suffered greatly.” He drew in a breath. “I’m asking for ye and I tae look toward peace instead of our swords.” He wasn’t going to apologize for the past. Nothing good would come out of his apology. Those that were gone were gone and no amount of apologies was going to bring them back.
“Tell mah,” Ian continued. “Wot are ye willing tae do tae make this peace work Laird MacGregor?”
The laird’s expression grew hard. “When I know I can trust ye, Laird Wallace.”
Well, that wasn’t going to be in Ian’s lifetime apparently. “Trust is a strong word,” he said slowly, trying to find the right things to say. The laird wasn’t making it easy on him nor was he truly listening to Ian. “Trust is something that is built over time, with actions.” This was something that Ian had learned from his own da.
“Trust,” the laird echoed, a smirk on his face. “Do ye really think that mah clan that has suffered so much will be able tae ever have that deep trust for a Wallace?”
“They won’t if ye keep on talking aboot it like this,” Ian snapped back, his ire starting to come through in his words. “If ye aren’t willing tae meet mah halfway on this, then this ceasefire will only fade out over time.” Ian leaned forward. “But if ye do, we can change the future for both of our clans. We can ensure that yer grandchildren and mine know a life without war, without bloodshed. Ye and I will go down in history as clans that found a way tae exist amongst one another.”
The laird looked at him for a moment before roaring with laughter, his entire body shaking from the motion. “Ye have good words in ye Ian Wallace, far better than yer da ever bellowed on the battlefield.”
Ian tried not to take offense to his words or lash out at the laird for that remark. His da was a fine warrior and he had no need for any sort of words whenever he was swinging his sword. “He had no need for words.”
“Mah laird,” Iris finally spoke up, a harsh edge to her words. “Perhaps we can move past the bloodshed and what is best for the clans for the future.”
Laird MacGregor sat back in his chair, flanked by two of his warriors and many advisors that were eyeing the two Scots with some trepidation. “Aye, perhaps we can Iris.”
Ian relaxed his stance as well, dropping his arms from his chest. “Wot is it that ye want from the Wallace clan?” he asked lightly.
“The question is,” the laird stated. “Wot do ye want Ian Wallace?”
The two lairds continued to go around in circles with their words, Ian trying to appease the laird but not give him anything that he wasn’t willing to sacrifice for this peace and Laird MacGregor attempting to push Ian to give up what felt like everything that the Wallace clan was.
Finally, Iris called for a respite and Ian stalked out into the hallway, away from the crowd. “Ian!” Iris called out, hurrying to his side. “Donna give up. Ye are doing well.”
“I am not getting through tae him,” Ian forced out, thrusting a hand through his hair. “I am a laird Iris! He’s treating mah like I’m some young Scot who hasna had the taste of blood on mah sword!”
She grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at her. “But yer not,” she reminded him. “He’s an old fool stuck in the ways of the old. Ye canna expect him tae forgive all yer sins in a few hours but ye have tae show him that ye aren’t going away.” Her expression softened. “Da would have been proud of ye and the words ye are spouting Ian.”
Ian swallowed, realizing his sister was right. It would be far too easy for him to give up, to tell the laird that he was ceasing his talks and go back to the way things were. If he did so, then his family would be torn apart, Iris and James potentially in danger under the laird’s roof. He couldn’t allow that to happen.
He was doing this for his family. “Alright,” he finally said, giving her a tight smile. I willna give up, not yet.”
“I knew ye wouldna,” she grinned, releasing his arm. “I believe in ye Ian.”
His sister walked off and Ian conjured up in his mind another lass who said she believed in him. He couldn’t let Ida down.
He couldn’t let any of them down.
Straightening his shoulders, Ian shook off any lingering doubt that he couldn’t go against Laird MacGregor and convince him to see reason. He was a laird just like the old man was and though he didn’t have much experience in being one, it didn’t mean that Ian wasn’t looking for what was best for both clans.
He just had to get the laird to see it.