Chapter 22
“Idaenae care for the timin’ of it all,” Arran said, knowing that he was speaking the obvious about the whole thing.
Neil stood against the far wall in Arran’s study, his legs crossed at the ankles, with a knowing look on his face. A single brow was arched, and he kept his focus between Arran’s pacing and a random spot on his arm. He didn’t have to say anything for Arran to hear what his man-at-arms was thinking.
“So how long do ye think that we have before his titled arse makes his arrival?” Neil said conversationally. “I’ve got men tryin’ to find the messenger. Might be that the English rat is nearby already.”
Arran shrugged, because he wasn’t entirely certain about that. “I agree; the letter came far too quickly for him to be far now. But I daenae think he’s the sort to act rashly. He’ll be waitin’, bidin’ his time. So, it could be an hour, a day, a week—we must be ready for any eventuality.”
“Do ye think that he is actually comin’ in person, or do ye think that he’s hired men?”
“I think that his ego is big enough that he will want to come in person. However, he certainly willnae be alone, and he has plenty of money for hired swords,” Arran answered, his mind forcing thoughts of Victoria to the back of his mind out of necessity.
If he sat here, letting his emotions get the better of him, he would not be able to make the right moves. He needed to be the battle-hardened warrior that led this clan, at least until all of this business was concluded.
“But that’ll be to our advantage,” he continued, “because a sellsword is unlikely to have the same dedication, nor the same loyalty. They will do the job that is needed, and nothin’ more.”
“Soft lot, if they come from that side of the border,” Neil agreed. “Nothin’ to be worried about.”
“Send out some more of our best riders. I want to ensure that we have scouts in every direction. I want to know they are comin’ before they get here.
” Arran frowned. “The lads watchin’ the manor would be here already if the Earl went back there.
He must’ve kenned it was bein’ observed.
He’s slyer than I reckoned. Send a rider to the manor, have the lads come back; there’s nay point in them bein’ there anymore and if the Earl hesitates, they might make it back in time for a fight. ”
“Consider it done,” Neil said and pushed off the wall.
“In fact, we should roll out the welcome wagon,” Arran continued, an idea sparking.
“Send out word that we are havin’ a cèilidh in honor of my betrothal.
Make sure to invite all the clansmen. It might help us pinpoint when the bastard will show himself if we can give him a public stage.
He seems to have a flair for the dramatic. ”
“But ye daenae wish to warn them?”
It was a good question. He understood that it might be best if they could control the chaos, but he also knew just how difficult the situation was going to be if the clansmen found out that he was tricking them into thinking that he was engaged.
They would be highly displeased, and that was going to be something that he had to deal with later.
“Tell the clansmen that we’ll be servin’ a black bull at the feast, and they’re to dress for a lively night,” Arran said. “It will look, to the Earl, like a party. To us, it will look like an army. And I’ll trust that he doesnae ken what it means if he hears it mentioned.”
The term was not used often, but it was well known, stemming from the terrible “Black Dinner” of several centuries prior, where the leader of Clan Douglas and his brother had been invited to dine with King James II.
A black bull’s head was served, the brothers seized and executed, to stamp down the influence of Clan Douglas.
Neil shuddered. “Ye think the clansmen will understand?”
“Aye, they will. They’ll ken there’s a threat to the keep, and they’ll come with their fightin’ men and women,” Arran replied.
There was nothing to worry about unless the Earl didn’t play along with what they were planning for him, and Arran the rise of anticipation in the pit of his stomach.
It was almost over now. Vengeance was almost within his arm’s reach.
He would make the bastard pay for the damage he had caused not only to his family but also to Victoria.
When he had composed himself, Neil clapped him on the shoulder and nodded. “When do ye want the cèilidh?”
“A week—that should be more than enough time if the bastard isnae near yet. If he’s bidin’ his time out there somewhere, he’ll nae be able to resist this.”
They would just need to tell Sophie that she was allowed to plan a dance, and she would be more than happy to run with it. His mother was always talking about how she never got the chance to do anything fun in the castle.
She’ll have to forgive me afterward.
“Daenae fash about anythin’, I’ll take care of it.” Neil left the room with a wink.
At least that was one thing that Arran knew that he wasn’t going to have to worry about. Sentries would be on the move within the hour, and he would ensure that their men were suitably armed.
He had just moved behind the desk when there was a soft knock at the door.
A small, almost hesitant sound. The door opened before he had a chance to answer it, and Victoria slipped inside.
She seemed reluctant to meet his gaze, but it was very obvious that there were questions that she desperately wanted to have answered.
“Do you have a moment?” Victoria asked.
Would his heart ever stop skipping a beat when she walked into a room?
He swallowed hard and waited for her to continue speaking.
“I do not mean to interrupt, but you left so suddenly, and well, Kristin and I were–”
“Ah, of course.”
It made sense. She was likely nervous about what was going to happen.
“Could I perhaps read the letter?” Victoria asked, and Arran nodded to where the letter was still sitting open on the corner of his desk.
She picked it up and glossed over the contents that were written there quickly, more than once, before setting it down with a slightly trembling hand.
“I daenae wish ye to trouble yerself now,” Arran said as he scooted forward in his chair slightly. “If ye daenae wish to see him at all, then ye daenae have to.”
“It is not that,” Victoria started. “Well, I suppose that it is a little bit that.”
“Nothin’ will happen to ye, ye have me word,” Arran said seriously, and she finally exhaled a shaky breath.
“I do not think that I put any time into thinking about what it might be like to be in the same room as him again.”
With the apprehensive look on Victoria’s face, it was hard to keep himself from reaching out and taking her hand. It would have been all too simple to pull her right into his lap so that he might offer her some sort of comfort. But he knew that he had removed that privilege from himself.
“If he dares to put a finger on ye, I will remove his hand,” Arran said, with complete and perfect seriousness.
Victoria held his gaze, and for a long moment, it looked like tears threatened to well in her eyes as she looked at him. He would have given just about anything to be able to read her mind just this once.
“So… you haven’t changed your mind about what you need to do?”
Arran’s brow furrowed, and it took him a long moment to understand just what it was that she meant.
“Lass… I cannae run the risk of allowin’ him to harm another woman,” he answered. Surely she understood that by now. “He deserves a great deal more than just one death, but I will do what I must.”
“But you do not have to commit murder, Arran,” Victoria said in a voice barely louder than a whisper. “I had thought that maybe, after all of our time together, that perhaps you would have changed your mind.”
He simply didn’t see things in the same way that she did.
“How can ye not see that this is needed?” Arran answered, attempting to remain as calm as he possibly could. “Do ye really think that if he is allowed to continue his behavior, that he’ll be properly held accountable for what he has done?”
Victoria paused. She still did not seem to have an answer for that.
“Everythin’ that I’ve heard of yer ways is that men like him will throw coin at a problem and then continue to do the same thing,” he went on.
“How are ye nae proof of that? He will get ye back, and then what? Ye claim to be worried about yer family reputation, but how will his being alive to slander ye further help yer cause?”
Victoria’s chin dimpled. Clearly that wasn’t the answer that she was looking for. She bit down on her bottom lip in an effort not to cry. “I do not think that this is a line that I can have you cross, Arran.”
“I appreciate that ye are kind, lass,” Arran said, attempting to be levelheaded, when all he felt was anger. “How can ye look at the scars on yer wrists, and the pain in my sister’s eyes, and still hold fast to yer misguided sense of morals?”
Victoria blanched as if his words were too sharp. “I… worry for your soul, Arran. And mine. Killing is killing, even when there is… perceived justification.”
He didn’t like the way that sounded coming from her. It was something that he certainly did not want to hear.
“My soul?” He frowned. “I’m a warrior, lass. If what ye say is true, then my soul must be black as tar already.”
“No… no, it is not. You are… good and you are kind, and… and this is different from a battle,” she replied, visibly floundering a little. “This is… not killing, but murder. I do not want you to do it, Arran.”
He expelled a strained breath. “Would ye rather that Kristin did it? Would that appease ye in some way? Does it have to be the wronged party who delivers the sentence?”
“Heavens, no!” she gasped, her hand to her heart. “I do not want anyone to do it! Just… imprison him. You have dungeons. Keep him there. Kristin would agree to it; I am sure.”
“Kristin did nae agree to it. I asked when ye suggested it last,” Arran countered, though he neglected to add that his sister had almost broken down in tears at the very thought of that man being in the same keep as her and her daughter.
Victoria drew a sharp intake of breath. “I see… So, that is that? My opinion does not matter.” She nodded slowly. “Yes… I see.”
Her gaze lingered on him, and while there was a wealth of things that he wanted to say, and it seemed she did too, neither spoke for a long time. Perhaps, those things would never be spoken.
As the minutes passed, his fingers itched to touch her, to make all of this better, to make it all go away, to show her what he could not say. He had to ball his hands into fists to keep from reaching out to her as her gaze finally slid from his, and she slowly pulled away from the desk.
“Either way, I suppose that everything is coming to an end?” Victoria’s voice cracked as she spoke.
Arran nodded once, and with a fresh whisper of “I see,” Victoria left.