Page 53 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
We have more words to exchange, Milady.
However, because he’d been away so much over the last year, one issue from one yeoman turned into another, and before Damien knew it, he was trudging back into the castle at nearly midnight. When he finally reached his bed, he threw himself on it and bit his pillow in frustration, thinking of Helena, who was down the hall—too far and yet teasingly close.
The next day was another mad bout of business, though at least this time, the men came to the castle. Before he knew it, though, there was a queue of men requesting an audience with him, and he only saw Helena in passing, casting a curious look over the crowd.
Meanwhile, his mother gave him a knowing look when she came in to greet a few of the folk she knew.
This is why a laird cannae travel so much.
The next day saw Damien buried in paperwork until his head ached, and dealing with more folk seeking an audience.
Finally, five days after his return, things had calmed down enough that he could join everyone for breakfast. But Helena’s sister and his aunts seemed to conspire to monopolize her attention. It did not help that this time, he had been late and had to sit at the opposite end of the table, barely able to see his wife-to-be.
So, when a knock sounded at his study door, Damien stood up, his heart beating a bit more rapidly as he smoothed his hands down the front of his shirt. And when he called out a quick, “enter,” he told himself that he did not sound eager?—
“Feck,” he cursed and threw himself back into his seat. “What now, Orrick?”
“Greetings to ye, too, on this fine mornin’, Cousin,” Orrick said in a breezy manner, undaunted, and elbowed the door shut. “I come with good news. All that business in town about the squabblin’ merchants and yeomen has been taken care of. They agreed to yer proposal.”
Damien heaved a sigh. He thought they’d come around to it, but still, it was a relief. “Thank Christ.”
While Damien had been away, more merchants had come into Galeclere, more trading of fish and goods, but there had also been a poor harvest, which meant there was not much to trade.
It also meant that some of his folk had made twice or thrice what they usually did, and others had not. Arguments had broken out this year because the other folks hoping to also trade felt that those of Galeclere, who’d done well, were being favored over those who had bad luck.
Damien was not sure the latter was the case, but he knew hurt feelings and frustration could take root and spread ill will. He’d found himself wishing he’d been here months ago to stop it, as it would take more than careful negotiations for everyone to feel that they were being treated fairly and ease the tension between farmers and fishermen.
But a bit of a higher tax, then redistributed to some of the folk who’d suffered, a few fairs for the traders, an expansion of the village market, and a promise to see how much the Laird could invest in boat repairs had started to soothe hurt feelings.
Part of Damien could hardly believe the hostility he’d found in the village today—friends not speaking to each other, snide remarks, and a general feeling of unease.
None of his men or advisors had come out and said it—not even Orrick—but it was clear that they thought the people felt forgotten. With no Laird watching over them, no matter how many men he posted, no matter how often Orrick, his mother, and others in his family went into town, they’d started to only look after themselves. Fearing the worst.
Damien could hardly blame them. He’d tried to be discreet with how often he was away from Morighe and had even explained what he was up to. But after suffering one terror, after such instability and bloodshed, never mind with the English constantly nipping at their borders and handing down decrees, his people dreaded the future.
Orrick had said as much yesterday, when two yeomen had almost come to blows, and Damien had almost lost his temper and drawn his blade.
They need a sense of stability, of a laird lookin’ to the future of Galeclere, Morighe, and our people.
As much as Damien knew that was what he was doing—and while he knew that for the first few years, his people had also sought vengeance—too much time had passed.
“So it goes,”he could hear his father say in his head, even if it made his jaw clench.“Time must move forward, me son.”
Perhaps it was not fair, but he thought his marriage, and Helena herself as Lady of Morighe and Galeclere, would go a long way toward ensuring that. While he would do his damnedest to ensure that she had time to pursue her translation, she could not neglect her duties—even if she did not want to give him an heir just yet.
“I think they agreed, in part, because ye’re marryin’ the English lady and followin’ the Queen’s Edict,” Orrick said.
Damien nodded. He’d also thought as much.
“Means a lot, and they are verra curious about Helena. So far, they have taken to her, but ye should make introductions and be seen with her more.”
“I will, I will,” Damien said, although he was not sure when that would happen. He barely had time to see her in passing in their goddamn home. “Anythin’ else related to town?”
Orrick made to speak, then gave him a searching look. “The people ken that ye care enough to track down every one of those blighters who dared lift a finger, never mind a blade against us. I dinnae think they blame ye for wantin’ to exact revenge.” Damien raised an eyebrow at that. “But I also think that invitin’ the specter of the Vipers, keepin’ everyone vigilant, is feedin’ into the unease.”
“Exactly why we need to find him,” Damien growled.
“Or shrug off the threat.” Orrick held up his hands when Damien glared at him. “A suggestion, Milaird. But sometimes we give more power to the unseen than we intend.”
