Chapter 8
8
“He declared war right then and there tae the laird’s face! I’m surprised that the laird didna run a sword through him where he stood!”
“No good lot of them I say! They are nay interested in peace so neither should we be.”
Ida shrank into the shadows further as the two Scots walked past, still talking about the council meeting this morn. It was on everyone’s lips as Ida moved through the village, the snippets of conversation she had picked up on making her heart ache. She had believed in the Wallace laird, that he wanted what was best for both clans and to stop the bloodshed that seemed to never end.
He had lied to her face.
It wasn’t just the lying that had hurt her heart. It was the mere fact that she had found herself attracted to the handsome laird, fallen completely under his spell from the moment he had chosen not to run her uncle through with a sword. Had it all been some sort of act to garner sympathy?
She had been summoned to a farm on the outskirts of the village this morn to help with birthing a foal so it had been nearly noon by the time she had come back. No one paid her any heed as she trudged along the cobblestones, her stomach gnawing in hunger and her arms tired from trying to pull the foal out of its mother. All she longed to do was bathe the sweat off her body and eat a bite, but the moment she stepped into the village, the tension was palpable in the air.
Now Ida felt like a fool, falling for his tricks. He didn’t want peace. He wanted what every other laird wanted: to dominate. It had been naught but a fanciful notion to think that one would want to have a peaceful existence without the battles, without the wars or that they cared about the innocent lives that were left to pick up the pieces. Her own laird didn’t care. Even in her lifetime, Ida had seen the devastation that happened after the battle was over.
Skirting around the villagers, Ida kept her head down and headed toward her cottage, hoping to lose her sorrows in taking care of the horses.
“Ye miserable old Scot! Git out of here before I end yer life!”
Oh no.
Ida looked up to find her uncle shaking his fist at the tavern owner, spewing words at him. “Uncle!” she called out, hurrying to his side.
“Ida, love, get him out of here,” Killian, the tavern owner growled, a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “He’s riling up mah paying customers and a Scot has tae earn a living even if some do not.”
Ida’s cheeks colored at his biting remark, noting the crowd that was starting to grow around them. “Aye mah apologies Killian. Tis willna happen again.”
Killian just shook his head and disappeared inside, slamming the door behind him. “Come now uncle,” Ida said, grasping his arm. “Tis time for ye tae go home.”
“I donna wanna go home!” her uncle slurred, unsteady on his feet. “I was a paying customer!”
Ida doubted that. Her uncle didn’t have two coins to rub together. There was a time. Ida shook her head, forcing the thoughts of the past away. The past did her no good now nor did it bring any sort of joy to her uncle. Gripping his arm tighter, she tried to get him to move. “Tis time for supper,” she said through gritted teeth. “Come now.”
His arm rose suddenly and he pushed at her, causing Ida to stumble on the cobblestones, her arms flailing in the air for something to stop her fall. Just as she braced herself for the crack of her bottom on the stone, strong arms caught her under her armpits and hauled her upright.
Dazed, Ida turned to see Ian standing behind her, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard. “Careful, lass,” he said quietly, dropping his arms. “Ye almost broke yer skull.”
Ida opened her mouth to retort but he was already nodding to the equally handsome Scot beside him, one that she recognized from the day at the cottage. “Have care with him, Remy. He seems a bit out of sorts.”
Her uncle squinted at the approaching Scot but didn’t flinch when the taller man took him by the elbow and whispered words into his ear, causing her uncle to move away without a fight. “Wot are ye doing?” she demanded, taking a step in their direction.
Ian’s hand grasped her shoulder and Ida found herself back where she started. “Easy,” he murmured, his fingers burning her through the thin material of her dress. “Remy isna gonna hurt him, only sober him up a bit.”
She whirled on him, her eyes flashing and he took an involuntary step back. “How can I trust ye?”
His expression grew even harder. “The same could be said of ye lass.”
What? She hadn’t done anything to harm him, only tried to give him a sound word of advice. It was he that had told her all his fanciful, flowery words that had her eating out of the palm of his hand!
Ian thrust a hand through his hair, looking about. “Perhaps we should take this discussion elsewhere.”
Ida followed his gaze and realized that the crowd was still lingering, watching and listening to their every word. She didn’t want to be the center of attention. She had enough attention from the situation her uncle. “Fine,” she forced out, stomping away and not caring if he even followed. He had hurt her, more than she cared to admit. He had been the first person to show any interest in her in years and to know that it was all a farce made her sad.
And angry, very angry.
Ida didn’t bother to look over her shoulder as she made her way to the hut, only stopping when she entered the stables. There she felt safe. There she felt as if the world was set to rights and there was naught but peace in her life.
Ian’s heavy footsteps caused her to turn around, seeing that he was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his massive chest. “Now,” he stated, his eyes flashing. “Tell mah wot ye mean when ye said ye couldna trust mah.”
She shook her head, her hair spilling out of its hasty braid she had done this morning. “Nay! I want tae know why ye feel the same way aboot mah. I havena done anything tae ye.”
He pushed away from the doorframe, dropping his arms. “Oh ye havena? Well then I must be mistaken when I heard that yer drunken fool of an uncle used tae be laird!”
The blood from Ida’s face drained as she heard his words. This was a secret she kept close to her. Most of the village didn’t even know that the great Laird Liam MacGregor was no more. They thought he had died by his own hand right after his son’s death, not even bothering to look closely at the unkept Scot that was right under their noses. Of course, the laird knew where his eldest brother was, keeping him close so he could keep tabs on him. Ida stayed because her uncle had no one else to turn to and without her taking care of him, she shuddered to think what would have happened. which was why Ida was allowed to stay in the hut by the stables, but still, it seemed that with the slip of his tongue, now the entire keep knew what had befallen the former laird.
“Wot?” Ian challenged. “Ye have no words for mah? I thought that we were trusting of each other Ida and yet ye dinna tell mah of yer uncle’s true identity? Yer own?”
“We aren’t trusting of each other!” she yelled back. “We donna even know each other! Why do ye think I would give ye mah family’s biggest secret Ian Wallace?” He was being daft. There might have been a connection between them but that was now severed.
Some of the fight left him. “Yer right,” he stated tightly. “We donna know each other.” Ian gave her a glance. “Are ye alright? Did he hurt ye?”
Ida tried and failed to ignore the bloom of hope in her chest at his kind words, yet another reason she felt betrayed by what she heard. Ian Wallace was portraying himself to be anything but the bloodthirsty laird that everyone whispered about. Was this for her? Did he want something from her?
Or was everyone else, including her own clan, wrong about him?