Chapter 5
Gareth shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he listened to the seemingly never-ending parade of clan members who came before him with their grievances.
He’d borne witness to these appeals many times before, but never from this vantage point; this had been his father’s chair, and until today, Gareth had maintained his customary position to the right of it.
He was familiar enough with the various protocols, procedures, and matters of formal conduct.
Likewise, the various tales of woe spoken by the petitioners were nothing new to him—disputes over land, complaints from want of food or resources, requests to make use of the keep’s healers, demands that the wars with the other clans end soon lest the clan run out of able-bodied men and boys, and so on.
Under normal circumstances, Gareth would have held his tongue during these proceedings, waiting until his father sometimes called upon him for input and only speaking then.
More often, he would remain silent the entire time and would only be asked for his opinions once everyone else had left.
This was more a test than anything so that the laird could be certain that his son had been fully paying attention and giving these matters their due consideration.
Today, though, everyone expected Gareth to make these decisions on his own. No, more than that: They expected him to speak and act with the same strength and decisive wisdom that his father had always shown.
But was Gareth up to the task?
He hoped so, but it was difficult to tell from the faces of those who came before him.
Almost all of them had seemed mildly disappointed to find that he would be the one hearing them, not the laird himself.
Indeed, Gareth couldn’t help but notice a fair amount of alarm in the eyes of some of them as they inwardly came to understand exactly how ill Fredric must be if he’d asked Gareth to substitute for him for the first time ever.
These things were disconcerting in the extreme, but even so, Gareth did his level best. He delivered decisions that he believed to be just and beneficial to all concerned, and most of the petitioners left nodding their heads grudgingly.
He knew that among themselves, they were privately wondering if this was the way things would be from now on or, more accurately, whether they would soon be hearing the tolling of the bells of the keep, signaling the death of a leader.
By the end of the session, overall, he was vaguely pleased with himself.
He still felt hugely uneasy about the prospect of taking his father’s place and worried that it might take him some time to earn the respect of the people of the clan; that was to be expected, after all.
But he was starting to believe it might happen, and perhaps even sooner than he thought.
As long as he was patient with himself and continued to do his best, there was a chance it might all work out.
As long as he didn’t encounter any unpleasant surprises.
However, the moment that thought crossed his mind, as if on cue, one of his chief guardsmen entered the great hall breathlessly. “Laird—er, Master Gareth?”
“Aye, what’s the matter?”
“We have…an unexpected visitor. Well, three of them, actually.”
“Who are they? Come, spit it out, man! Ye’d never have my father wait so long fer an answer!” Gareth demanded impatiently.
He did not want it to show outwardly, but there was a gray dread building within him. Complications were the last thing he needed today. He’d wanted so much to be able to go up to his father’s sickbed and tell him that all had gone well.
Now he had some new thing to deal with? What could it be, and would he be able to handle it?
“Lady Pelna Wallace, Sir, with a pair of armed escorts,” the guardsman answered.
Gareth frowned, trying to think of what she might be doing there.
Is she comin’ tae negotiate peace? he wondered.
He hesitated to imagine it since it seemed unlikely after so many years of conflict, but then, what other reason would Laird Cameron have for sending her?
If the Wallaces’ intentions were warlike, they’d have sent Stefan, and with an army at his back.
If she has come tae speak of a cessation in hostilities, then perhaps today will go even better than I imagined, Gareth thought, and I will have excellent news to bring up tae my father!
“By all means, send her in,” he commanded.
The guardsman retreated, and a few moments later, Pelna strode in, flanked by a pair of Wallace soldiers.
The expression on her face was anything but peaceful.
“Lady Pelna,” Gareth began stiffly. “Ye might have sent word in advance that ye wished tae have an audience with me. Tae simply show up and expect one is most irregular. Ye are fortunate indeed that I have agreed tae it rather than simply turnin’ ye away.”
“Keep yer pompous proclamations tae yerself!” she snapped, storming across the great hall toward him. When she got too close, the warriors on either side of Gareth’s chair bristled, stepping forward and drawing their weapons. Her own soldiers responded in kind.
“That’s close enough,” Gareth informed her.
“I can hardly imagine ye’ve come all this way simply tae be struck down by my men.
And I would not wish fer such a thing tae happen, as I have no interest in further provokin’ yer father.
The war between us is bitter enough as it stands.
” He paused, tilting his head. “Ye have come under a promise of peace, I take it? Surely ye must, else ye would expect yer soldiers tae be killed and yerself tae be taken prisoner. I imagine ye’d prefer we all act a bit more civilized than that, at least today. ”
“First of all,” she snarled, her upper lip curling scornfully, “I have come tae speak tae yer father, nae ye.”
“Then ye may as well turn back,” Gareth replied with a shrug, “fer he is indisposed and nae inclined tae see anyone today. I am takin’ audiences in his stead. Ye may deal with me or with no one at all. I should think ye might be able tae relate, given the current state of yer own father.”
Her eyes flashed with anger at the mention of that, and Gareth couldn’t help but wonder whether it was a good or bad idea to provoke her ire. Would doing so give him the upper hand in this confrontation? Or might it lead to some uglier turn in the war between their clans?
He took a deep breath, trying to collect himself.
The fact of the matter was that her sudden appearance had rattled him, and her temper, wherever it was coming from, had made him feel even more fretful and uneasy.
He was expressing these emotions in the form of anger and contempt, and would his father have done likewise if he were the one sitting in this chair at the moment?
No. Gareth was certain he would not. Rather, Laird Fredric would take stock of the situation calmly and reasonably. He would make this unwelcome visitor feel at ease and, in doing so, perhaps get them to slip up somehow.
That was the better approach by far. That was what Gareth would have to try to do. He sat back, steepled his fingers, and waited to hear what she had to say next.
Pelna’s emerald eyes continued to blaze furiously, though, and despite himself, he had to admit that she looked shockingly beautiful in her anger, like some fierce pagan goddess had come to exact her wrath upon the unjust. Her bright red hair framed her pale face magnificently, and her prodigious bosom heaved sharply.
It was the strangest thing; Gareth realized that the last time he’d seen her, they had both been children.
Their clans had not been at war yet, but their relations had not been entirely friendly either.
The McDaughs had attended a festival at Wallace Castle when Gareth was only nine years old—when Alex had still been alive, of course.
Pelna had only been six years old then, chubby and fussy, running around and causing all sorts of loud havoc as she bothered her older brothers.
She hadn’t made much of an impression on Gareth at the time, and why would she have?
Gareth had been bored out of his mind, having been dragged along on the trip when he’d rather have been doing practically anything else.
More dreary lessons in diplomacy from his father.
It was nearly impossible to believe that fat-faced little girl was now the seething and formidable example of womanhood standing before him. He was frankly amazed at how much time had passed. Part of him was almost tempted to comment on it in order to break the tension between them.
Somehow, though, he doubted it would work. If anything, it would probably make her all the angrier.
“I’ll thank ye nae tae mention my father or his current condition, lest ye wish tae draw even more of my ire,” she warned him.
“And although I have come only tae speak, nae tae fight—and I have relied upon yer sense of honor in nae usin’ this as an opportunity tae capture a helpless woman or needlessly murder her escorts—we nonetheless have unpleasant business indeed tae discuss. ”
“Then I suppose we had best discuss it at once and have it over with,” Gareth suggested evenly, “A pity, though, for I had hoped ye’d come tae reach some settlement with us.”
“Is that what we are tae make of this, Gareth?” she shouted, tossing a fragment of torn tartan on the floor before him. “Is that how ye would bully us into submission? Is that what ye call peace?”