Chapter 10 #4
Gil was quick with his fists—and very good with his fists—but he’d long since outgrown a young man’s rages. Ian leaned back against his desk and crossed his arms.
“What did he do, Gilgallon? I’ll not believe you just took a casual notion to end our trade, destroy our reputation, and lay yourself open to charges.”
Gil winced, and by the light of the nearby hearth his features were looking too sharp.
“He slapped Genie.” Gil sat forward, running both hands through his hair and then bracing his elbows on his thighs.
“He called her into the corridor under the pretense of bidding her good night, made sure I was paying attention, then belted the hell out of her for not being more diligent in her pursuit of you. Very pleasant about the whole thing too. Very calculating.”
“He struck her?”
Gil’s head came up. “I am not a liar, Ian MacGregor. I’m a fool and a barbarian and a Highlander strutting around in a gentleman’s clothes, but I do not dissemble with me own laird.”
Ian lowered himself beside his brother, trying to make sense of information that appalled even as it roused his curiosity.
“I believe you. What did you do?”
“Fetched him up against the wall and threatened his miserable titled ass if he ever raises a hand to another female under our roof again.”
“You didn’t strike him?”
“Genie intervened. Said it was a family matter.”
“We can have you halfway to France by morning if you think the baron will press charges.”
Gil shook his head. “No more deserting. When Asher stopped writing, it about killed you.”
Three letters they’d had from Asher over the course of several years—only two Ian could tell his family about—then nothing. He pushed that thought away, as the brother beside him was the one he could assist.
“When was this?”
“Two nights ago. I’ve been waiting for the Queen’s man to fetch me to the gaol.”
“You can cease your waiting.” Ian considered the line of his brother’s shoulders, shoulders that had been bearing a significant weight in silence, when it was the laird’s responsibility to keep his family members safe.
“What? Of all Scotsmen, I’m suddenly granted the right to assault titled Englishmen with impunity?”
“You were set up, laddie. He wanted you there for an audience, to shame his daughter, to make sure I knew, firstly, that he was willing to go to significant lengths to ensure the match, and secondly, that I am not his daughter’s choice. As a negotiating tactic, it’s brilliant.”
Gil shot to his feet. “Bugger negotiating tactics, Ian. He enjoyed hurting her, enjoyed even more humiliating her, and enjoyed most of all that I was powerless to intervene on her behalf.”
“What did you do when you’d sent him packing?”
Gil glared at the hearth, where peat had been added to the fire now that guests were abed. They might smell the peat smoke in the morning, though the maids would be by early to air out the room.
“I did nothing. I fetched Mrs. Redmond, went to the icehouse—Genie didn’t want the servants alerted—and I spent the rest of the night riding so I wouldn’t drink myself into a temper.”
“Good thinking. You acquired a witness to testify that Genie’s face was sporting a welt, that she was upset, and that she’d just bid her father good night.
Moreover, Mrs. Redmond could testify that Genie was not in fear of you, so even if Genie refused to implicate her father, the constables won’t be visiting us any time soon. ”
“This is not a matter of criminal defense, Ian. This is not even a matter of a lady’s honor. For all legal intents, her father can strike her at will.”
“I know, lad. It’s a matter of her safety. I’ll deal with it.”
Gil shifted so he was leaning one arm along the mantel, which allowed Ian to see his brother’s face again.
Of the three of them, Gil was quickest to laugh, the quickest to anger.
He was beyond anger now, having literally galloped past that familiar territory into something that looked to Ian like bewilderment. Or despair.
“I don’t like it, Ian. I don’t like that we’re marrying into a family that thinks treating women in such a fashion is allowable, not for any purpose.”
“We’re not marrying the baron, Gil.” For that matter, we weren’t marrying anybody.
“If you proposed, he’d have to leave her alone.”
“And that is just what he wants. I told him I was doing more digging into his finances, and this is his response. A harrying tactic and a shrewd one, but it won’t be effective at achieving his goals.”
“Why not?”
“The baron has no allies in this house. Not even his own son—whom I will tell of this encounter—would countenance this behavior. Then too, the women are on our side as well.”
“The women? What can they do?”
“They’ve been dealing with stupid, violent men for generations. Genie and Julia might not enlist the aid of the others, but I will.”
Gil looked doubtful but placated. “You’ll tell Mary Fran? She’s diabolical when it comes to giving a man regrets.”
“Mary Fran, Hester, Augusta. They’ll look after Genie when we can’t, and the negotiations are going to become even more plodding.”
“Keep her safe, Ian. It did pass through my mind to whisk your fiancée off to France.”
“What stopped you?”
“I don’t know.”
Interesting answer, but Ian didn’t ponder it. In the five minutes following Gil’s departure, Ian instead tried to dissuade himself from his next maneuver. When that mental exercise proved fruitless, he blew out the library candles and headed for the door on the terrace leading to Augusta’s bedroom.