Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Laird McDonald is nowhere to be found."
Instead of the anger that he was sure his servant expected from him, there was a sense of accomplishment. This was an opportunity to seize power. In Hugh's absence, he could prove himself and show the council who the rightful Laird should be.
"What will ye do, sir?" the servant asked under his breath, leaning close to ensure they couldn't be overheard.
"The men need someone to step in and lead.
Do ye think the council will hide this?" He paused, sweeping his gaze around the surrounding area.
"I heard they were plannin' to quietly tell those who need to know that the Laird is bein' treated by the castle's healers. "
"Nay," he replied, smiling wickedly. "They daenae need to ken the status of their missin' Laird. We will tell them that I have been placed in charge."
"But—"
He silenced him, holding up a hand. The gesture was sharp, nearly enough to make his servant cower. This kind of power, the ability to have men do exactly as he bade without needing to speak a single word, was more intoxicating than the finest scotch.
Ach, I could get used to this. This is me rightful place.
"I will gather the men, inform them of the change," he said with the authority of someone born for this role.
"We daenae let this news reach the village.
They daenae need to ken yet. If we cannae find the Laird within the month, we will move forward with his formal removal.
At that time, we can proceed with pickin' the next leader.
" He paused, letting that statement linger.
"But I believe ye'll be pleased with what I do in the interim. "
There was no need to wait for a reply. At the moment, what he said was law. This castle belonged to him, and if Hugh chose to stay hidden, doing whatever it was that he pleased, well… He'd be made the Laird officially.
His footsteps echoed down the corridor as he made his way to the yard where the men were running through their drills.
Ever since he was a boy, he'd dreamed of being their commander.
These people, the people of Clan McDonald, would look up to him.
They'd ask for his guidance and see him as a success story.
On a whim, he pushed open the door to the Laird's study. It gave easily, left unlocked when Hugh decided to go off on his own. Perhaps it was because he left in a rush, or perhaps it was because the empty study was meant to be found.
I'll inform everyone that it was the former if Hugh doesnae return within the agreed-upon timeframe. It will make it that much easier to revoke his lairdship, and it will make me look that much more fit to take over as Laird.
The study was neat, almost as though time had been taken to put things in order prior to Hugh's disappearance. On the desk was a stack of forms, each bearing directives. It was well thought out, indicative of a planned desertion.
I could use these… Write them off as me own. It seems as though I'm the first to truly examine this room. Nay another soul will ken that these existed. I will ensure that they are nae found.
Glancing toward the door, he gathered the pages, not bothering to read through them yet.
In the quiet of his own space, he'd look these over.
While he was sure that he wouldn't agree with everything that the current Laird McDonald had written, it would be quite nice to have a plan to follow, an outline of what should be taken care of.
Hugh has nay idea that he's playin' directly into me hand. If I ever see him again, I'll have to give him me thanks. I'll prove meself in his absence.
With the pages tucked away, he walked from the study, careful to ensure that he wasn't being watched. He closed the door behind him, careful to conceal the click of the latch. Then, he headed to the courtyard.
Once outside, he took a moment to look over the scene.
The men of Clan McDonald moved as one. They trained hard, exchanging blows with steady 'clicks' of their training swords.
What was most impressive, though, was the fact that they'd taken to getting their drills completed without the presence of a leader.
"Ach," he called, stepping into the yard. "Ye will give me an update on yer progress."
"And why would we?" the man closest to him, one who was often stationed as a gate guard, asked. "Where is Laird McDonald?"
"He's put me in charge for the time bein'." The reply, the lie, came easily. At this point, he'd already accepted it as truth. "Now… What are ye doin'? I'd like an update to be informed. Ye never ken when ye might need to mobilize."
The guard looked torn, his loyalty clearly still entrusted to Laird McDonald. But after searching his eyes and finding nothing, the guard began to speak. Through the briefing, the other men glanced their way. Clearly, they were trying to wrap their minds around his newfound authority.
It's best if ye get used to it. Before long, ye'll be callin' me Laird McDonald.
"Very good," he said when the guard finished his report. "Ye'll need to focus more on yer attackin' than yer defendin'. Ye daenae want to find yerself in a battle with nay an idea on how to win."
"That's nae what Laird McDonald wants—"
"Did I ask ye what he wants?" he interjected, stepping forward so he was chest to chest with the guard. Even though the guard clearly wanted to fight back, he wouldn't. Not when he was perceived as the leader. "While I am overseein', ye will do as ye're ordered."
He may as well be dancing on a knife's edge with how sharp the moment felt. This would be where he proved that he was capable. If this guard, who was as loyal as all the men should be to their Laird, accepted his order, then no one else would dare question that this was his rightful title.
"Aye, sir," the guard finally said, taking a step away but keeping his head held high. "We will run through our offensive drills."
After a long moment of fire-spitting eye contact, the guard turned back to the rest of the men. And, just as he said he would, he cried out, getting his militia's attention. Then, just as he had ordered, the sparring became more aggressive, the men grunting as their bodies clashed.
Ach, would ye look at that? All of them doin' this simply because I gave the word. Just imagine what I could have them doin' all by willin' it to be.
An hour passed as he stood watching. Soon, these men would be completely his. After years of being the perfect assistant, providing invaluable counsel and watching the Laird make the wrong decisions, he would be leading this clan in the right direction.
Not only that, but he was living more lavishly than he ever had before. Even now, his own comfort had increased exponentially. Years of being beaten into the proper young man by his parents, the death of his father—these now felt like distant echoes in the grand scheme of his life.
When he was pleased with the men, their drills looking just as aggressive as he thought they ought to, he walked away.
As the acting Laird of this castle, it was his responsibility to ensure that all of the functions were operating properly.
He also couldn't contain his desire to see this place through the eyes of a leader.
They daenae even ken that I am in charge now, yet they work tirelessly.
As he strolled through the castle, a smile touched his lips.
Even if Hugh returned, this place would continue to belong to him.
There were ways to ensure that his title would be stripped from him.
And this, disappearing without alerting the council, was a large stain upon Hugh's record.
In turn, the fact that he was not the one stepping up was preferable to any council's recommendation.
Ach, Hugh. Ye're too impulsive. Ye are nae always right, and bein' the Laird doesnae mean ye're free to do as ye please. Ye still have so much to learn.