Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“Any men that are well and willin’, join me in the courtyard,” Lachlan announced, his voice loud and booming.
All the guests that had retired early were surely awake now.
For his part, Cameron was preparing his own horse, the mare he had insisted pull their carriage when arrangements were being made.
She huffed, stomping her hooves against the stones that covered the courtyard.
The animal seemed to sense his urgency, and she was more than eager to rise to the occasion.
“We’ll be leavin’ soon,” he said, patting her neck twice; the action was meant more to ground himself than calm the animal.
She snorted, bobbing her head twice. When Cameron withdrew his hand and walked toward his cousin, she did not seem bothered. Instead, her focus was on the gates, knowing already where they would be heading.
“I’m nae lettin’ ye go after them on yer own,” Hugh said when Cameron stopped in front of him and Lachlan. “Margo will be home before the moon sets.”
“Gavin is organizin’ the horses, pullin’ forth the beasts that are prepared for a chase,” Lachlan reported, crossing his arms over his chest. He watched as the volunteers gathered, assessing their skills and how they would work together as a team.
“We willnae have anyone stopped because their horse doesnae ken how to behave durin’ combat. ”
Cameron grunted, glancing at where his Council had gathered.
They were uneasy, he could tell. The Clan stood to lose their security.
He did not think they were wrong to worry about it.
Margo was worth more gold than there ever was in the whole Highlands.
If he did acquiesce, he would be signing away his claim to all the money and land that made up Margo’s dowry.
He had gleaned enough from the wording of the contract to know that was its purpose.
“Is that one of Abbott’s men?” Hugh asked, his stance hardening as he prepared for battle. His gaze never left the gates.
“Aye,” Cameron said when he saw the solicitor riding into the courtyard as if he were there on a friendly visit. Margo’s capture seemed to have emboldened the man. “He isnae a threat. I daenae think he even kens how to hold a blade.”
Nicolas dismounted a short distance away, reaching within his coat to pull free a packet of documents, no doubt the backup that Cameron had claimed. As he sauntered over to Cameron, the members of his Council moved forward as well. When they had all converged, Nicolas cleared his throat.
“I believe that there is time for a meeting now, would you not say so?”
Before anyone else could react, Cameron spoke. “Aye. I suppose ye will get yer meetin’ now.” He looked at his cousin, his gaze weary. “Would ye allow us to yer counsil chambers?”
Lachlan hesitated, looking as if he were going to argue on Cameron’s behalf. He thought better of it, seeming to realize that this was not his fight to command, and said, “Aye. Follow me.”
The walk to the chambers felt more like a walk to the gallows. No one spoke, but there was a quiet understanding about the grave seriousness of the situation. They carried the fate of both Cameron’s people and Margo’s upon their shoulders.
“Lord Abbott is firm in his conditions,” Nicolas said when everyone but Cameron was seated. “His concern for the territory of his future grandson overrules any amendments that you may propose.”
“I daenae have any proposed amendments,” Cameron said, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
His Council objected immediately, their voices a cacophony of dissent.
Cameron knew that for the good of his clan he should have objected.
His people needed the assets. They could feed their clan twice over with the land outlined in the new documents.
Yet, fighting it head-on would only bring needless danger to his people.
“Laird MacLeod, we urge you to consider what ye’re sayin’,” one of the elders said, his voice rising above the drone.
“Signin’ that contract, signin’ away the rights to Lady MacLeod’s dowry, that would spit in the face of all of the work that ye’ve done to rebuild the Clan after yer father ran it into the ground. ”
“I ken,” Cameron said quietly, holding out his hand demanding the quill. Nicolas pulled one, along with a bottle of ink, from his front pocket. He passed both to Cameron before turning back to spread the documents on the table in front of him. “But I can rebuild a clan. I cannae lose her.”
A hush fell over the room as Cameron stepped forward.
Quietly, he read through the pages again, each sentence further confirming that this contract would do exactly as his Council thought it would.
In terms of land and money, the MacLeods would be coming away from the deal with less than when they began.
I cannae expect them to understand yet.
As he dipped the quill into the well, Gavin cleared his throat.
When Cameron met his eye, a brief, wordless communication took place.
He saw the moment his plan registered in Gavin’s mind, but waited for his man-at-arms to nod before he signed the contract, the tip of the quill scratching against the parchment.
When he finished, he slammed the quill onto the table, letting his palm cover it for a long moment. Then, he turned away, walking back toward his horrified Council. He said nothing as Nicolas checked everything over and packed the documents away.
“Lord Abbott appreciates your cooperation,” Nicolas quipped, tucking the packet within his jacket once more. “I will take these to him immediately, and he will maintain his side of the deal once he has received them.”
“Just leave,” Cameron growled, each second the man stood there another one that Margo was alone with her father. “Ye have what ye need. Take it back to yer Lord and return with me wife at once.”
Nicolas bowed with a flourish, a gesture meant to be polite. Then, without waiting for an escort, he let himself out of the council chambers. Cameron waited until he was sure the man was out of the castle before speaking again.
“We will still be ridin’,” he said, his voice steady despite the anger that was threatening to take control. “I need a witness to take down Lord Abbott. He is a Duke. This time, when I face him, I will be one step ahead. Now, Gavin, go and stop our friend before he gets too far.”
“Aye, Me Laird,” Gavin said, already running out of the room.
Cameron looked at the remaining men who were gathered. “I will brief ye on me plan as we walk to the courtyard. I amnae givin’ up on Clan MacLeod, nor am I givin’ up on Margo.”
“Hurry inside,” Lord Abbott barked several hours later.
Margo jumped as he threw the door open, flinching when he grabbed onto her forearm and yanked her out of the carriage. She nearly fell as her toes caught on the uneven stones beneath her feet. When she righted herself, she took in the imposing structure before her.
A castle. The Highland hills rolled just behind it, seeming to go on forever. Her father had not brought her back to Abbott Manor. This was land that she had never laid eyes on, somewhere that Cameron likely would not be able to find her.
“Where are we?” she demanded, her voice shaking with fear that she was desperately trying to stifle.
“The land I’m trying to protect,” Lord Abbott said, dragging her up the stairs impatiently. “Your mother always told me it was just as worthless as the lands I sold. It seems that she was trying to hide their value from me, but I still have not come up with a reason why.”
I can think of several.
When they walked inside, the foyer looked as if it had been frozen in time.
Margo was not a design expert, but she was certain the chairs tucked into the alcove were fashionable at least fifty years prior.
There was a fine layer of dust over everything; she was deeply curious to know what had happened, and how this place had turned into a museum.
“Do not touch anything,” her father hissed, pulling her along faster.
The two of them were nearly running now.
She felt his anxiety, knowing that his swiftness and need for overpowering control, even when she was bound, was his way of hiding how frayed his nerves were.
“You will stay in the Study while I wait for Nicolas.”
He then wrenched open a door at the end of the corridor, shoving Margo inside so hard, she nearly tripped for the second time within the last five minutes.
By the time she had righted herself, he had slammed the door closed behind her.
The last thing she heard from him was the sharp, definitive click of the lock and his boots retreating down the hallway.
“How did any of this happen?” Margo asked, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked around the room. When she spotted a window concealed by a curtain, she rushed over to it. “Did he really leave me with a way out?”
The thought was immediately silenced by the sight of a guard standing just outside the window.
She dropped the curtain back into place immediately, spinning around and shaking her hands trying to banish the excess nervous energy.
There must be something she could do, but she would not be able to figure it out if her brain was overloaded.
“For now, I am safe,” she told herself, hoping that saying the words aloud would make them true. “I cannot leave, but there is no threat to my body.”
After a few deep breaths, her fingers finally found the pendant she had tucked away, and this seemed to calm her.
She looked at the rest of the room. The walls were lined with beautifully made bookcases loaded with a wealth of knowledge that had not been touched since the place was vacated.
If she truly wished to know the place’s history, there was a neatly organized row of ledgers on the bottom shelf.
I do not have time for reading. There must be something more immediate I could do.
Sitting right in front of her, centered in front of the window, was a stationary desk. It seemed almost out of place. Everything else was solid, thick with utility. The wood the desk was made of was lighter than the rest of the furniture, and it was more gracile in its construction.
Margo ran her fingertip along its surface, leaving a streak in the thick layer of dust. Though it did not look particularly sturdy, she could tell that it was built to last. It would not surprise her if this desk outlasted everything in the Study.
“There’s something about you,” she said, speaking directly to the piece of furniture. “What are you hiding?”
Though she did not get her answer immediately, a tiny lock on the bottom drawer caught her eye as soon as the words had left her lips.
The dust on the brass had been wiped away recently.
Judging by the trails in the dust, whoever tried to open it did not possess the key, and they tried brute force instead.
It must have been Father. I imagine he’s searched all of the lands that used to be Mother’s.
The pendant seemed to burn against her skin, and something hopeful bloomed in Margo’s chest. She shoved it down, refusing to get ahead of herself.
After glancing over her shoulder to ensure the curtains completely blocked her from view, she pulled her pendant from where it was tucked within her bodice.
Her hands shaking, she used her nail to pry the object open. The key slipped from its casing and into her waiting palm. Visually, it looked like a match for the lock. She had never felt as confident about the other places she had tried the key.
“It could be nothing,” she murmured as she slid the key into the keyhole.
She paused, taking a steadying breath. Then, pinching the bow between her thumb and forefinger, she turned the key. Without any resistance, the pins gave way, the lock disengaging.
“No,” she whispered with disbelief, pulling the drawer open.
At first, she was not sure what she was looking at. It was mundane, nothing more than a stack of parchment. But picking up the packet of documents revealed a ribbon, knotted in the same manner that her mother would mindlessly tie any length of string or thread.
She was here.
Trembling from the gravity of her discovery, Margo took the papers and settled herself near the unlit hearth.
The page at the top was a report on one of the lands that her father had sold to Cameron.
It contained information on the amount of grain grown on the lands and the number of people that it could, in theory, feed.
There was more; details on the size, the status of the primary residence, and which repairs needed to be made.
At the bottom of the page, there lay an appraisal of the value.
“Did he… falsify the documents?” she asked breathlessly, knowing the walls would not give her the answer she was searching for. In her heart, she knew she was right, though. “Could he have chosen the man doing the inspection or…?”
She drifted off, unsure of how he managed to pull off the deception. In her hands she held concrete proof that it had taken place, regardless of how he managed to create the paper trail of illusion. When she flipped to the next page, there was even more damning evidence.
All the while remaining aware of her surroundings, Margo read through every single document left for her to find.
There were letters, some addressing how her father had executed the sale and how he twisted words and numbers.
Packed together were several maps, all of them containing details on the lands and property lines even wider than when Cameron’s father had purchased them.
Her mother had left a bundle of property records that not only proved the lands were not properly represented when they were sold, but also implicated her father in the deceit.
She had said that the pendant would protect Margo and Eleanor.
Margo wondered if her mother knew her father would do something like this, using his own daughter as a bargaining chip in his sick game, when she locked all of this away.
Anger unlike anything Margo had ever known rushed through her veins. Her father was so conniving that his own wife knew she could not trust him. There was no way of telling when her mother had hidden these away, but the fact that she had the foresight to do so made Margo see red.
“He’s stolen so much!” she whispered, unable to look away from the looping scrawl of her mother’s handwriting. “He’s caused Clan MacLeod so much suffering, starved their people, forced them into living in homes that are beaten down by the elements.”
Her fingers tightened around the edges of the pages. It was not just money that Lord Abbott had stolen from so many people. It was entire futures.
She was not sure how much time had passed, but her fury only festered as she read the pages over and over again. When the door to the study finally rattled, and her father’s form slipped through the opening, she was ready to demand answers, to confront him with the ugly truth of his actions.