Page 69 of Taken By the Vicious Highlander
“Stretchin’ them thin for what?” Damon interrupted, his tone sharp. “Other than the fact that I just said I would finance it. Tell me, Rory, what good is a treasury if it cannae be spent to protect and strengthen those it’s meant to serve? Why would we nae discuss usin’ our ‘healthy’ funds?”
Rory flinched but nodded hesitantly. “Of course, Me Laird. It’s only prudent to consider the long-term consequences.”
Sebastian scoffed and waved his cane comically. “Scarth, ye shut it! Me Laird, ye shouldnae need to use yer funds. Our coffers arehealthy, as Rory said. Ye are right, what other purpose are they meant to serve?”
Tristan leaned forward, his dark eyes narrowing. “And what if this festival backfires? What if it brings more unrest, more grievances? The people are already uneasy with yer swift assumption of the lairdship as it is.” His words were deliberate, cutting. “If they see this as frivolity, it could undermine the authority ye’ve only just started buildin’.”
Damon’s jaw tightened, and his glare settled on Tristan like a hammer ready to strike. “Since ye are so full of argument, what would ye suggest, Tristan?” he asked, his voice cold. “That we sit on our hands, do nothin’, and let unease fester until it boils over into rebellion?”
“I’m suggestin’ caution, Me Laird,” Tristan replied, his tone measured but brimming with an undercurrent of defiance. “Caution and respect for the way things have been done before ye arrived.”
A tense silence fell over the room as the other councilmen exchanged wary glances, clearly hesitant to align themselves with either man. Damon clenched his fists at his sides, but he forced himself to take a deep breath. His anger, though justified, wasn’t the tool he needed here.
Sebastian, perhaps sensing the brewing storm, raised his hand. “If I may,” he said, his voice steady but diplomatic. “I believe the Laird’s idea has merit, but it would be wise to approach it in stages. Perhaps begin with a smaller festival—test the waters,so to speak. The clansmen last came to the keep for the weddin’ feast…”
Damon nodded, his expression softening slightly. “A fair suggestion,” he relented. “We can start small, aye. But it needs to be done properly. Half-measures willnae achieve what we need.”
Rory spoke up again, though his tone was cautious. “If we’re to do this, we’ll need to ensure that the necessary resources are allocated wisely. I’ll work with the stewards to outline a budget.”
The other councilmen murmured their agreement, though their voices lacked conviction. The tension dictated their wariness as Tristan stewed in his chair, a dark cloud on the otherwise semi-productive meeting.He remained unmoving, his lips pressed into a thin line.
Damon glanced at him, noticing the slight tightening of his jaw and the way his fingers tapped restlessly against the table.
“Tristan,” he said, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “Have ye nothin’ more to say?”
Tristan looked up, meeting Damon’s gaze with a steady defiance. “Only that I hope yer confidence isnae misplaced, Me Laird,” he returned. “Change is a dangerous thing, especially when it comes too quickly. I’ll support the council’s decision, but ye’d do well to tread carefully.”
Damon held his gaze for a moment longer before turning to address the room. “The council has spoken, and the decision is made. We’ll move forward with the festival. I expect all of ye to do yer part to ensure its success.”
The men nodded, some more enthusiastically than others, but the tension in the room remained.
As the council began to disperse, Damon lingered for a moment, his thoughts churning.
He’d achieved what he set out to do, but something about the meeting left a bitter taste in his mouth. The council’s hesitation, Tristan’s stance, the clan’s supposed fear of change—it grated on him more than he cared to admit.
18
Damon let out a slow breath as Sebastian and Tristan deposited their ledgers in front of him.
“Me Laird, if I may?” Tristan asked in a completely different tone.
Ryder’s eyes met Damon’s just over the man’s shoulder, and Damon nodded his assurance.
The change in Tristan’s stance was shocking, but Damon was too frustrated to show any sign of appreciating it. Save for a single arch of his eyebrow.
“I hope ye ken that I’m nae necessarily against the festival. I just try to act on behalf of the people. It’s me duty.”
“He’s a thorn in everyone’s side, Me Laird,” Sebastian chimed in.
Damon couldn’t tell if Sebastian was saying it in jest or if it was a true insult. Tristan was supposed to be the man’s future son-in-law, and it seemed odd not to at least have a good rapport.
Convincing the lot of them to agree to the Market Day Festival had been no easy feat, but Damon had done it. Whether or not Tristan was on his side, it didn’t matter now. Still, the weight of the clan’s safety sat heavily on his shoulders. There was much to be done.
“All good, Gunn. All good. Though I willnae hesitate to remind ye of the line if ye cross it again. I willnae be disrespected. Ye can disagree and probe for more details, but ye cannae show me any less respect than ye normally would—than ye are even now, for example,” Damon warned, which happened to be enough of a knocking for Tristan to relent and bow his head.
“It wasnae me intent. I get passionate when it comes to the lives and livelihoods of our clansfolk. I was appointed to this position to ensure that nay more frivolity would rule the clan.”
“I ken that well enough—I’ve studied all of the ledgers. Ye have done well, notwithstandin’ everything else.”
