Chapter Nineteen #3
“A testament to their father,” Edwin replies, and there’s an undertone in the exchange we all catch, as if Hamish would rather his sons were at each other’s throats.
“We would be pleased to have Angus accompany us,” Bishop says. “Sadly, as Dennis implied, we cannot offer the most luxurious accommodations right now—I shudder to think how much work Trevelyan will require—but we’ll erect decent temporary lodgings. I’m not much for sleeping in the dirt either.”
“Would a dozen men provide the force you need?” Hamish asks. “I could possibly spare up to eighteen, but we’d need to discuss timing. The spring crops are almost in, and we’re past lambing season, so I believe I could spare eighteen if you could wait a week.”
“That is very generous,” Bishop murmurs. “Yes, a week would give plenty of time for my wolves to rest and prepare, and possibly give Beryl time to bore of this campaign. Or, at the very least, to be ready to reconsider how hard she wishes to fight it.”
“Excellent.” Hamish rubs his hands. “That was easily done. You’ll have between a dozen and eighteen men within a week, and Angus will accompany them. Now let us open the whisky and toast.”
He waves, and the young wolf who’d served the meal hurries over with a bottle. As the boy pours, my stomach twists.
That was too easy.
I tell myself it really is in Hamish’s best interests to ensure the continued existence of the Albion Pack. They literally stand between his Pack and the world, and they have always done their job controlling the ports and London.
If Hamish seemed to insult Bishop, he was just testing him. Like a man with a horse he wants to buy, but he has to make a show of poking and prodding it. Hamish needed Bishop to feel as if he earned this.
I can justify madly, but my stomach still twists, and when I look down the table, I see Edwin frowning, lost in thought as his brothers joke and tease about Angus’s upcoming trip.
Edwin thinks it was too easy as well.
My gaze sweeps over Rufus, who’s telling the young serving wolf to fill his cup to the brim. He’s obviously unconcerned. Then I see Julius and Bishop, and the looks they’re silently trading.
Julius’s frown is as concerned as Edwin’s. Bishop isn’t betraying himself with anything as obvious, but his eyes are as hard as his mouth.
Hamish lifts his cup. “To the continued health of the Albion Pack … and the death of the Cambrian Pack.”
Everyone—right down to Rufus and Dennis—hesitates at that. Then Edwin says, carefully, “Yes, by renewing the bonds between the Albion and Caledonian Packs, we hope to counter any future threat the Cambrian Pack might pose.”
“Counter a future threat?” The look Hamish gives his oldest son is undisguised contempt. “One does not wait for vermin to grow up enough to present a threat. One destroys them in the nest.”
Bishop says, “I did suggest to Silas that we might wish to be more hawkish with the Cambrian Pack. Waiting for them to purchase property seemed to put the cart too far behind the horse. I would suggest we meet with Doyle and find out what he intends. If he wishes to claim Wales as his territory, that needs a great deal of discussion and negotiation, with the negotiation being on his side, as the Caledonian and Albion Packs have the upper hand.”
“That’s what I said.” Angus jabs a finger Bishop’s way. “Find out what they intend. Make it clear they’re coming to us for permission to replace the former Cambrian Pack.”
“I would agree that this needs to be handled before they purchase property,” Edwin says. “My sources suggest they’re not in a position to do that yet, but as Bishop said, waiting puts the cart too far behind the horse.”
Dennis makes a noise, and his brothers both turn to him, as if encouraging him to speak up.
“We need to talk to them,” Dennis says. “Be hawkish, like Danvers says. They’re growing their Pack at our expense. Tell them that’s got to stop. Toss them a few layabouts. Get rid of our deadwood.”
Angus slaps his little brother’s shoulder. “Now, now, Denny, we’re not giving you to the Cambrian Pack.”
Dennis shakes his head and then grabs Angus’s hand and twists it behind his back, making his older brother yelp.
“Enough!” Hamish snaps. “Is this really what we’ve come to?” He curls his lip. “Talk to them? Negotiate with them? They’re parasites. Modern-day Viking invaders.”
“We’re not saying we don’t throw our weight around,” Angus says. “It’ll probably mean some skirmishes, maybe even a battle or two. I’m up for that.”
“A show of force,” Bishop says. “Provoke them. See how they respond. If they respond with force, we meet it. If they don’t?” He shrugs. “We will still show force. It’s the language they understand.”
“Language.” Hamish sniffs. “More words, more talking.”
“That is not what he—” Edwin begins.
“Enough,” Hamish says. “I have told Mr. Danvers what I am offering him. If he wants that, he will pay the price.”
“Price?” Dennis says. “What—?”
Angus clamps a hand on his brother’s arm, warning him to silence.
Hamish meets Bishop’s gaze. “Bring me the head of Franklin Doyle.”