Page 68 of Taken By the Vicious Highlander
“It’s naethatmuch power, but it’s enough for them to feel like they’re makin’ an impact. They need revenue. They need to produce and sell. But with Kiel also limpin’ through the days, we dinnae have any type of markets runnin’ because there’s nay coin.”
Snotty disgust rolled off Tristan’s lips so easily without him thinking. “So, ye are just plannin’ to open the coffers to them?”
Damon waved off Ryder, who had started to move toward the man, and fixed Tristan with a glare that would make even the deadliest of snakes recoil.
“Forgive me,” Tristan said quickly, wide-eyed, understanding his misstep. “I’ve gotten ahead of meself.”
“I ken well enough that ye are against this, Gunn. As this is acouncilof many, I’d like to hear the others’ opinions.”
The men took turns defending their stances to Damon, who listened intently. It seemed that the council was equally torn.
“I am nae fully against the idea,” Tristan ventured. “It just isnae well thought out. If there was more information or even a better description of it…”
Damon looked at him with confusion.
The idea is all we’ve been talkin’ about, though.
“Are ye daft, lad?” Sebastian grunted. “The idea is already fleshed out. Where is yer mind at? We’re tryin’ to come up with a way to bring the people together! Keep up, will ye?”
The councilmen burst into laughter and banged their fists on the table, agreeing with Sebastian.
Tristan’s face reddened. The tension oozing out of him was like a caged, raging bull.
I need to get someone to say ‘festival’… I think Sebastian is almost there with me. Let’s see if I can get it out of him.
Damon raised a hand to halt the needless chatter. “I havenae heard how we are landin’ with this. If we are to hold an event where we empower our clansfolk, then we need to start tellin’ them about it. We arenae goin’ to be able to do that without a way to package and advertise it. Unless ye are sayin’ we go with Sebastian’s suggestion?”
Sebastian banged his cane onto the floor proudly. “Aye! A festival!”
Roars of agreement rumbled through the small room.
Tristan vehemently spoke up again. “And what of the resources required? Have ye considered the cost?”
“I have,” Sebastian said sharply, banging on the ledger in front of Rory. “Scarth has current numbers!”
“And I’m prepared to shoulder whatever the cost, personally. This isnae just about coin—it’s about the future of this clan,”Damon offered, which elicited synchronous nods from the others.
The tension in the room was palpable. Damon’s eyes locked onto Tristan’s, a silent challenge passing between them.
Finally, Tristan inclined his head slightly, though his expression remained guarded.
“A Village Festival?” Damon ventured, prompting the others to come up with a name for the celebration he expertly walked them into.
He considered other suggestions and made a mental note of his exchange with Tristan, his suspicion deepening. The man was too clever by half, and Damon couldn’t shake the feeling that the man had his own agenda. But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand.
“Branloch Day?”
“What about Kiel?”
“Aye, Kiel… Me Laird, do ye have any ideas?”
Damon’s gaze swept over the council chamber as the men leaned back in their seats, wearing expressions ranging from wariness to outright skepticism. He stood at the head of the table, his arms crossed over his chest, and then slowly walked over to the window, his imposing figure demanding attention.
“What say ye to…” he began, his voice steady but firm. “A Market Day Festival. It will be much more than just a gathering, and what about other villages? Keeping it unattached to a certain village will bring more of our people together, remind them of their unity, and show them that this castle isnae just a fortress but a heart that beats for them as well. A symbol of prosperity and protection.”
Tristan cleared his throat. “Aye, Me Laird. But as I was tryin’ to say before, change, even for the better, cannae be forced too quickly.”
“Aye,” Rory Scarth, the clan’s treasurer, chimed in. He adjusted his spectacles nervously, glancing down at the ledger in front of him. “The financial strain, Me Laird, isnae insignificant. Hostin’ a festival of that scale will require resources—food, ale, entertainment. The coffers are healthy, as Sebastian pointed out, but stretchin’ them thin without clear results could?—”
