Page 79 of Sighs of the Highland Wind
She was not shocked when she saw a dark smile spread across James’s face. She had seen the same expression many times before. “I don’t care if you like her or not. You see, the Laird isdead. He died six hours ago in his sleep, and no-one knows yet but you and I.”
“Oh!” Davina’s heart skipped a beat. She had never liked the Laird, but he had always made her feel secure. Now that he was gone, and she was going to marry a virtual stranger, her world had tilted a little on its axis, and she felt extremely vulnerable.
“I am sorry to hear that. He was a good man,” she remarked, because it was the conventional thing to say, but to her surprise James Henderson violently disagreed.
“No, he was not!” he growled. “He was a vicious old tyrant. He thought of no one but himself, but we are going to defeat him. I have seen to it that he has written his will as I wanted him to, so if you do your part, we can make everything work out as I planned. When you marry Cameron, we will bide our time for a few weeks then kill him and make it look like an accident.”
Davina felt as though she had just been punched in the stomach. He could not be serious! But as she looked into her father’s eyes the glare which met hers told her that he was. She was utterly shocked; she had thought she had seen the worst of him, but clearly the evil in him went much deeper than she realized.
She nodded slowly, deciding that the best idea was to go along with his plan for the moment, even though she thought it was not only mad, but dangerous, and she was too terrified to disobey him. “I will do as you ask, Father,” she said numbly, “but you must tell me how, since I have never done such a thing before.”
Davina could hear her voice trembling, but she tried to look nonchalant as she poured herself another glass of wine, the thirdin half an hour. She was beginning to feel a little fuzzy, but she could not afford to relax.
Her father had asked her to do something horrendous, something she could never do in a thousand years, but she was too afraid to gainsay him. She had always known he was a bad man, but now there was a madness in his eyes that she had never seen before. She decided that the best thing she could do for the moment was to acquiesce, but on no account must he suspect that she had no intention of carrying out his wishes, for then, he might turn on her.
16
James Henderson went to see Cameron the next morning to inform him of the bad news. When Cameron opened the door of his cottage he glared at the other man suspiciously and a frisson of dislike passed between them. Cameron’s hands were dirty, since he had just been milking his cow and feeding his chickens, and he felt at a distinct disadvantage.
“Henderson,” he growled. “What do ye want?”
“Good morning to you too,” Henderson drawled sarcastically. “In answer to your question I came to tell you that your father, the Laird, has died. Your presence is needed at the castle, where the will is being read out.”
Cameron ran his hand backwards through his hair, annoyed. Although his curiosity was piqued, he had better things to do than waste his time listening to his father’s advisors going on and on about matters he knew nothing about. “Why do they need me there?” he asked irritably. “I know what they are goin’ to say.”
“Because it concerns you,” Henderson said grimly. “I care nothing for you or your inheritance, but it may be in your best interests to turn up, M’Laird.” He loaded the last word with sarcasm instead of respect, and looked at Cameron with narrowed eyes. “Will you come with me?”
Cameron sighed, exasperated. “Alright. Wait.” He quickly washed and dried his face and hands, then changed into his only clean clothes before venturing out to meet James Henderson again. They rode in hostile silence towards the castle, and he urged Jimmy on as fast as the old horse could go. Cameron did not want to spend a moment more in Henderson’s company than he had to.
However, when they arrived there, Cameron was astonished to find that a welcoming party had come out to meet him.
All the servants had paused in their labours and were cheering, waving, and calling out a hearty welcome as soon as they saw him.
Cameron felt a little dizzy and bewildered as he looked around him, especially when a party of important looking men dressed in the Lewis clan tartan came out to meet him.
One of them, a tall, sprightly, elderly man with striking blue eyes, came forward to greet him. After bowing, he said, “Good morning, M’Laird, I am Hector Lewis. May I say how sorry we all were to hear of the death of your father. He was a fine man.”
“Thank ye, Master Lewis, but I hardly knew him.” Cameron’s voice was grim. “I am Cameron Dalziel.” He laid the stress on his surname as he introduced himself.
“But you will be taking your father’s name, surely?” Lewis asked, frowning with evident disapproval.
Cameron ignored the question as he handed the reins of his horse over to a stable lad.
“Where are we goin’?” he asked.
Hector Lewis, hearing his broad Scots vowels, seeing his peasants’ clothes and noting his contempt for his father’s name, was no longer prepared to be civil. He said nothing as he led Cameron to a large meeting room, where a number of men sat talking amongst themselves. Most of them were dressed in a similar fashion to Hector Lewis, but they were all of different ages and appearance, some young, some old, some middle-aged.
As Cameron walked into the room, all of them fell silent as Hector introduced them. “My friends, this is Cameron - er - Dalziel, the new Laird of Kilcarron.” At the sound of his surname, most of the men frowned in disapproval. However, no one said anything, and Hector Lewis introduced him to everyone in a civil, dignified manner.
“Now, we come to the reading of the Laird’s will,” Hector announced. “It is really very simple. He bequeaths all his worldly goods and property to Cameron Dalziel, providing he changes his name to Lewis and marries Davina Henderson. He also stipulates that there is not to be a mourning period after his death.”
“And if I do not want to marry her?” Cameron rose from his seat and walked around to the head of the table, where he stood behind Hector’s chair and folded his arms, looking down its length at the assembly of clan members. He put his hands on his hips and planted his feet wide apart on the floor, deliberately making himself look as big as he could.
Despite his intimidating stance, most of them looked him up and down scornfully. He was a bastard, almost a lesser mortal in their eyes.
He scanned the table, looking at each face in turn, his eyes lingering on each one to intimidate them more. Some looked back at him defiantly, others turned away, and some looked at the table or their hands.
“It is in the will,” one of the younger members said at last. “If you do not do it, then presumably you lose everything.”
