Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
I t was late that afternoon before the four of them managed to get in to see the Laird. He was much younger than Lissa had expected — she’d been picturing a burly man in his fifties, perhaps with a flagon of mead in one hand and a bearskin cloak wrapped around his shoulders — her imagination, she had to admit, tended strongly toward the stereotypical. Instead, Laird Donal was a tall, blond man around her own age. Despite his wide brown eyes, the family resemblance to Hamish and Niall was still very much noticeable — and she was reminded even more of them by the genuine warmth of his greeting to her, and his welcome.
She was also pleased to see that his wife was in attendance. As soon as Fiona spoke, Lissa heard the tell-tale American twang, and from the way Fiona’s smile widened, it must have shown on her face. Clearly the years she’d spent in Scotland hadn’t done much to change the way she spoke, though she was very much dressed the part, wearing a gown like Amelia’s with long, gathered skirts. They didn’t seem like the most practical garments in the world — Amelia had promised her that she’d be surprised by how easy they were to move in, but she’d declined the offer of changing out of her own clothes just yet. She wanted to come before the Laird as herself first, before she started dressing up as someone else.
“Hamish and Niall have filled me in on the plan you suggested this morning,” Laird Donal informed her after the exchanging of pleasantries had concluded. The five of them were sitting around a long, beautifully crafted stone table in what were either the Laird’s quarters, or some kind of anteroom he used for meetings — she wasn’t sure which. At any rate, there was a cheery fire crackling in the grate nearby, and freshly-baked bread had been provided for them to snack on — the overall effect was very welcoming. “Unfortunately, there’s a problem.”
Lissa had been worried about this. “I assure you, Laird Donal, I’m a skilled fighter. I’m more than capable of making myself useful in situations like this one.”
“I don’t doubt that, Miss Crossworth,” the Laird said, and she could tell that he meant it. “The fates have been bringing women from your world to us for long enough that we’ve all grown out of our tendency to underestimate the skills you bring. Why, my own wife is responsible for improvements to our home that would pass for witchcraft to anyone not familiar with her methods. But the issue is with the English.”
“How unusual,” Fiona said drily — and while neither of the brothers laughed, clearly committed to their status as diplomats, Lissa caught Hamish covering his mouth to hide a smile.
“Unprecedented, I know,” Laird Donal agreed in the same sardonic tone. “We sent a messenger this afternoon to inform Lord Weatherby of our intention to send the witnesses over to offer their testimony. The messenger was sent back immediately with a response that… well.” He shook his head, gesturing to the piece of paper on the table in front of him. The cramped, hurried handwriting on it was utterly illegible to Lissa, but when Hamish and Niall read over it, she could tell from their darkening faces that it was nothing good.
“Unfortunate is an understatement,” Hamish said, his voice deliberately calm. His younger brother was a little more direct.
“I’d go so far as to call that an insult, Laird Donal.”
“From Lord Weatherby?” Fiona leaned forward, looking worried. “That’s — a concerning sign, if he seems to be turning against us…”
“It’s his seal, but I don’t think it’s his writing,” Hamish said quickly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the guests had written this on his behalf. At any rate, it’s clear that it’s their preferences being expressed here, not his necessarily.”
“Sorry, Lissa,” Niall said quickly. “The letter says in no uncertain terms that we aren’t welcome on Weatherby’s lands while the visiting contingent are still there. With unpleasant undercurrents,” he added. His brother shot him a warning look, and he exhaled sharply. “Hamish, if I can’t say it among friends, when can I? The letter all but calls us savages. There’s diplomacy, and there’s ignoring a deliberate insult.”
“Savages? Because of what happened to Lord Taffington?” She’d been filled in a little more on the story, though she was still waiting to hear Amelia’s account of the daring rescue from the carriage, but this seemed like an overreaction to an accidental death. But Hamish and Niall were shaking their heads, and Laird Donal scowling down at the letter.
“It’s an unfortunate, relatively common position among the less sympathetic English,” Hamish explained. “They’d prefer we Scots had simply politely stepped aside when they decided they wanted our land, you see. The fact that we fought back makes us savages in their eyes.”
“But that’s ridiculous.” Lissa shook her head abruptly. “I’m sorry. I’m sure that’s stating the obvious. But — how absolutely absurd. You’re trying to help them, and they respond by insulting you to your faces? Not even to your faces,” she added, gesturing irritably at the letter. “Cowards.”
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t disagree with an honored guest,” Laird Donal said, still looking tired, though Lissa’s comments seemed to have brought a slight smile to his face. “At any rate, this means the expedition this afternoon will have to be postponed until we can get a different answer from them.”
“I’ll be meeting with Sir Baldric in the village this week,” Hamish put in. It wasn’t a name Lissa had heard before, but from the relieved response from the table, she got the impression that this was very good news.
“Lord Weatherby’s right-hand man, and the most sensible Englishman I’ve ever met,” Hamish said, clearly noticing her confusion. “If anyone can help us get into the manor, it’s Baldric. But it may take some time.”
“I don’t like the idea of this inquest going on too long without our input,” Amelia said with a grimace. “I spent enough time with Lord Taffington to know how unpleasant his friends would have to be — and while Lord Weatherby might not be nearly as bad, he’s still got a vested interest in keeping them happy. I’m concerned that if discussions go on too long without real testimony from us, they’re going to find a way to pin it on Hamish. Or me,” she added — and Hamish put a protective hand on hers.
“I probably don’t need to explain the seriousness of what could happen if it’s declared that an English nobleman was murdered by a member of a Scottish clan,” Laird Donal said to Lissa, who shook her head mutely. “Wars have started over less. But we have no choice but to wait.”
“Then let’s use that to our advantage,” Lissa said briskly, not liking how heavy the mood in the room had become. The three men looked up at her curiously, a slight smile on Niall’s lips encouraging her to continue. “Having a bit of extra time to prepare could be useful for us. I’d certainly benefit from a bit more time to familiarize myself with the details of the situation — especially if I’ll be pretending to be Niall’s wife. I’d also appreciate the opportunity to do some training in the weapons you guys use,” she added, remembering a point that she’d been dwelling on since coming up with the plan to accompany Niall to Weatherby’s manor. “I’m great at hand-to-hand combat, and I’ve had some training with modern blades, but I never took an interest in historical stuff. No offense,” she added, glancing up at Laird Donal, who she was relieved to see was smiling. “I also can’t ride a horse,” she added, clearing her throat. “So — in the interests of not embarrassing myself again like I did last night…”
“That can be arranged,” Laird Donal said, looking amused. “Making the most of the situation is the right attitude, I think, Lissa. Thank you.”
“And there’s our dinner, too,” Fiona put in, her eyes sparkling as she exchanged a meaningful glance with Amelia. Lissa looked back and forth between the two of them, frowning — had she missed a memo? “You haven’t told her about the dinner, Amelia?”
“I thought we were going to make it a surprise,” Amelia protested.
“It’s become a kind of tradition,” Fiona explained, leaning forward to address Lissa more directly. “When a new traveler comes to join us, we have a big dinner to welcome her.”
“A tradition, huh?” Lissa was a little surprised. “Just how many of us are there?”
“More than a dozen, at this point,” Laird Donal put in.
“Seriously? We’re going to outnumber the English at this rate,” Lissa said faintly, and was pleased to hear both Hamish and Niall stifle an actual laugh. “Would that help the diplomatic situation, do you think?”
“Can’t imagine it would, no,” Hamish said drily. “We’ll talk more as soon as there’s news, Laird Donal.”
And with that, they were dismissed. Lissa was glad to have met the Laird, though she wished it had been in slightly more cheerful circumstances. Part of her was worried that she’d been too pushy about joining the diplomatic delegation to Weatherby’s manor, that she’d come on too strong about being able to make herself useful — but she didn’t want to risk having her skills overlooked, especially if it might mean the difference between someone staying safe… or someone getting hurt. She didn’t like the sound of this delegation of English guys. It sounded like they were aristocrats, which in and of itself got her back up. There was a profound injustice to their willingness to conduct a trial without inviting material witnesses to give their testimony — another strike against them. And the outright bigotry against the Scottish, that was enough to make anyone furious. Hell, she was having trouble keeping her cool as an outsider — she couldn’t imagine how the MacClarans felt. No, she didn’t like these guys — and she sure as hell didn’t trust them to host her new friends.
Not without her there to keep an eye on them, anyway.