Chapter 23
Silence reigned over the councilmen’s table.
Evander sat back in his seat, his jaw closed like a trap, and let the quiet fester.
They would all be wondering why he’d called the meeting.
No, first they’d wonder who had called the meeting, as any councilman could request a meeting.
As they whispered to each other on the way here, they’d gradually realize that it wasn’t one of their number who’d called the meeting. No, it was Evander.
And that cannae be good.
He could almost hear them saying it now, their voices sibilant with worry.
It was generally known amongst lairds that their councilmen were corrupt in some way or another. Usually, it was little things, like skimming a little extra money from taxes, taking a modest bribe to look favorably one way or another, or sitting in Evander’s seat when he wasn’t around.
None of that was dangerously troublesome, so long as they didn’t allow it to become a habit. In short, everybody at that table had an agenda. They had at least one rival and ally besides them, a person they’d be happy to spite at any cost.
But every now and then, a good, upright laird would clean out his council. He’d throw out the corrupt men and bring in new moral ones, and that would last for a little while.
Right now, every man in front of Evander was uneasily anticipating this clear-out and his own demise.
Maybe they were recounting their sins: accepting a bribe from a farmer not to collect as much tax as he ought to be paying, harassing a servant with the full knowledge that she wouldn’t risk her position by complaining, or quietly imagining themselves as lairds.
Oh, aye, I ken all yer secrets, Evander wanted to say.
He allowed himself a thin, grim smile.
Come on, lads. Who’s going to break first? It’s been a full five minutes of silence here. Ye must be dying to ken what’s going on.
He glanced briefly over his shoulder, checking that Fergus stood behind him, arms folded, at attention. Fergus met his eyes and inclined his head.
Andrew Kane spoke first. His seat was directly beside Evander’s. Leaning forward, he tapped Evander’s forearm gently.
“Me Laird, was it ye who called this meeting?”
“Aye, it was me, Andrew.”
“That seems serious.”
“It is serious.” Evander nodded. “Far more serious than we realize, I’m afraid.”
Slowly, he rose to his feet, leaning forward and steepling his fingers against the table. He let his gaze rake across the men, all staring silently and worriedly up at him.
“I’m afraid this meeting has a deep, dangerous problem to discuss,” he stated, meeting each man’s eyes. “Treason.”
Unease rippled through the table. His councilmen exchanged quick, uncertain glances, shifting in their seats.
“Do ye mean Mason Langton?” queried one man.
“In a way.” Evander nodded again.
A collective exhalation swept around the table. His councilmen glanced at each other, suppressing smiles of relief.
“I’m afraid it’s obvious to me, me Laird,” Andrew stated. “The man is a traitor and must be executed. We have to send a message.”
“Send a message,” Evander repeated thoughtfully. “Ye have given this some thought, have ye nae?”
Andrew blinked, obviously thinking that he’d missed something. “Well, aye, me Laird. Of course I have.”
Evander bit his lip, taking his time before speaking again.
“I’m afraid that the treachery I am speaking of is closer to home,” he said, pushing away from the table.
Kicking away his chair, he began a slow, measured tread around the room, walking behind each of the councilmen. It made them nervous. Shoulders hunched as he passed by, heads ducked down. Several men followed him uneasily with their eyes and fidgeted when he was out of their line of sight.
He kept pacing, feeling the tension in the room rise.
“The treachery comes from this very room, I’m afraid,” he continued, his voice even. “Somebody here has betrayed me. I shall give him a minute to step forward and confess, to die a brave man. So, are ye ready to confess?”
Silence fell again, this time tighter and thicker. The councilmen exchanged horrified looks, their eyes wide.
Evander bared his teeth in a grin. “Nay? Well, I didnae think so. That’s a pity, sure enough. I suppose I have kept ye in suspense long enough, eh?”
The same tense silence greeted him.
He stopped at an empty stretch of table and met the eyes of the councilman opposite.
“Andrew,” he whispered. “Why did ye do it?”
Hushed murmurs rose around the table. The councilmen glanced at each other, wide-eyed, trying to work out if it were true or if their Laird had taken leave of his senses.
Andrew did not flinch.
“I have no idea what ye are talking about, me Laird,” he responded calmly. “Are ye unwell?”
“Am I bloody unwell?” Evander hissed. “It’s no good, I ken what ye have done.
Ye were the one who arranged for Lady Bryden to be taken.
Ye blackmailed Mason Langton into doing it and tried to force him to keep silent.
The only thing is, Andrew here told Mason to kill her. Now that was a step too far.”
Andrew blinked slowly, like a cat. “Me Laird, I must insist on me innocence. I have done nothing wrong.”
“Ye can deny it all ye like. I ken the truth.”
“Ye are taking the word of a treasonous fool over mine?” Andrew laughed, shaking his head. “A mistake, sir. A great mistake.”
Inhaling deeply, Evander leaned forward. “So, ye have never complained about me to anyone? No one else would ever have any suspicions about ye? If I dive deeper into yer life and what ye have been doing, will I find nothing wrong?”
Andrew stiffened, his eyes hardening. He rose to his feet, splaying a hand on the table.
“I wish to leave,” he whispered.
“How long have ye hated me, Andrew? What did I do? I daenae understand it. Ye were so loyal.”
Andrew bared his teeth, his face twisting up.
“Aye, I was loyal to yer faither. Yer traitorous faither. I lost every penny I had because of him. He ruined our clan as surely as if he’d plundered us himself.
Me family was killed in a MacCrimmon revenge raid since they believed we were a threat.
And in the end, he was never punished as he should have been.
Never shamed. His son gave him the luxury of a private death in some filthy inn just north of the English border. ”
“I dealt with him,” Evander breathed, anger fluttering inside his ribcage. “For all of us.”
“Ye gave him an out!” Andrew bellowed, his face reddening with rage. “No traitor’s spawn should lead, let alone marry and produce spawn of his own. Ye were always on borrowed time, Laird Bryden, and now it’s just run out. I would never have let ye have an heir. That woman had to go.”
“That woman?” Evander barked out an infuriated laugh.
“Ye have got some nerve. What about the rest of ye, then?” He turned to face the rest of the councilmen.
“Do ye all feel the same about Lady Bryden, the woman who brought peace to our clan? The treaty with Clan MacCrimmon will save us, and this man tried to endanger it. How do ye feel about that woman?”
“The treaty is important, Andrew,” whispered one of the councilmen, a wide-eyed, balding fellow who looked older than he was. “Ye shouldnae have done this.”
Andrew’s gaze slid over the assembled men. He would see the same thing that Evander did—angry faces, shocked faces, and disgusted faces.
Something hardened in Andrew’s face. Evander saw it.
The older man smoothly turned his gaze back to Evander and raised his eyebrows. Their eyes met, anger and tension crackling between them.
“It looks as though ye are on yer own, Andrew,” Evander murmured. “For what it’s worth, I’ll give ye the same dignity that I gave me faither. A private death. No public execution, no body hanging from the wall. I’ll be fair.”
“Fair,” Andrew hissed. “I have no intention of dying here today, lad.”
In one smooth motion, his hand dropped to his hip, drawing a sword. The snick of the blade leaving its sheath echoed through the room.
The other councilmen cried out, scrambling out of their seats and away from Andrew. Fergus moved forward, reaching for his own sword, but Evander held out a hand, urging him back.
“I can handle this,” he murmured, his gaze trained on Andrew. “This ends here and now, ye and me.”
Some of the councilmen made a break for the door. Evander saw them out of the corner of his eye, leaving the door swinging open. Just as many remained, however, clustering at the safer end of the room in mingled horror and fascination.
Fergus, of course, stayed behind, hovering behind Evander and watching him anxiously.
Andrew and Evander circled each other thoughtfully, the table between them.
“I cared for yer faither, ye ken,” Andrew sneered.
“I killed for him. Stole for him, lied for him, did what I could to help him as Laird. And I considered it all a worthwhile sacrifice. Then he abandoned us. The man spied for the bloody English, for God’s sake.
He’s responsible for the death of the previous Laird MacCrimmon.
Because of him, the other clans nearly turned on us.
They could have wiped us out if they’d had the chance.
And ye are his son, his spawn. How can yer rule be any better? ”
“I’m nae like him,” Evander bit out. “I’ll spend me life working hard to make sure I am nae like him.”
Andrew sighed, and for a moment, he looked like a tired man at the far end of middle age.
“I wish I could believe ye,” he murmured.
Then, with a spryness Evander had not expected, he leaped up onto the table, bringing his sword down with powerful force.
Evander leaped aside. The edge of the blade bit into the side of the table. Andrew tugged it free, leaving a fresh nick behind it. He recovered quickly, moving across the table and raining blows down on Evander.
Evander found himself constantly on the defensive, since Andrew was at least four feet higher up than he was, with the advantage of higher ground and therefore more force to add to his swings.