Page 35 of The Shadow of a Laird
“My Laird, I have been told that you have a fine stable,” he said. “Would you mind showing me your horses when you have a moment?”
He realised he had said the right thing when Alan Jamieson smiled. “Of course!” he replied. “I have just acquired two very fine carriage horses—matching bays—and I am expecting the delivery of a stallion with an excellent bloodline any day now. I hope he will sire many foals for my mares. You may walk around with me tomorrow after our meeting.”
Gavin was pleased that he seemed to be winning the Laird’s favour, although he warned himself not to be complacent; there were still many matters to settle.
Gavin was relieved to find that the manservant who had been assigned to him had managed to find him some clean clothes. They were not new, of course, but he was content with them; they were not rags, anyway.
When he stepped into the big room where Laird Jamieson held council, he saw that all the other men there were smartly dressed in Jamieson clan plaids. He did not have one of his own in Forsyth tartan, since he had been obliged to leave it behind when he fled his home.
However, living with Maura in theGoose and Ganderhad taught him that how he dressed on the outside had nothing to do with the person inside. If these disdainful people around him had a problem with his appearance, they did not have to look at him. But that was the least of his worries; glancing at the faces around him, he realised he had a battle to fight.
Gavin bowed to the assorted men in the room and smiled as he was introduced to each of them in turn. One or two returned his smile, but the rest merely nodded politely and avoided his eyes or stared at him blankly. He felt belittled and inadequate, then reminded himself that although he wanted them to help him, he was making the biggest sacrifice of all. He had nothing to be ashamed of.
When all the introductions had been made, Gavin sat down and accepted a cup of ale, and Laird Jamieson began to speak.
“We are here today to speak about a possible alliance between the Jamiesons and the Forsyths,” he began. “Ever since Ewan and Aileen Forsyth lost their lives some time ago, their son Gavin, the new Laird, has been running the estate. As any one of you will have noticed if you have ridden past it, it is in a pitiable condition.”
The men nodded in agreement and looked at Gavin accusingly. He knew that he would never be able to defend himself, so he took the only course possible.
“I must apologize,” he said, dropping his gaze to his hands to avoid the accusing stares of the others. “When my parents died, I was devastated. I let myself go to pieces. I rejected my friends, refused advice and help, neglected my duties as a Laird, and my estate and tenants have suffered as a result. I make no excuses for myself; I am to blame for this mess and I take full responsibility.
However, although I can understand why the elders wanted to evict me from the castle, I think perhaps murdering me is a step too far—even for them. They obviously wish to put someone else in my place, someone who will do their bidding and look after their interests. I have no idea who that person is, but I intend to find out. However, I can only do that with your help.”
He looked at the men seated around the table. No one looked hostile, but none of them looked eager to help him either. If there was one expression on their faces that they all shared, it was one of blank indifference, and Gavin began to fear that none of them would be willing to aid him at all.
At last, one of the men spoke up. “Laird Forsyth,” he said, “you have not given us one good reason why we should come to your assistance.”
“My clansmen incited a rebellion against me,” Gavin pointed out. “If I were a king, that would be tantamount to treason.”
“But, my Laird, you are not a king,” one of the other men pointed out. “And we owe you no loyalty. You are our neighbour—nothing more.”
He looked around the table, and Gavin saw several others nodding and murmuring in agreement.
“And I see no advantage to us in giving you our allegiance,” another said. “Would it not be better just to talk to them? Reason with them?”
“Do you think I have not considered that?” Gavin asked irritably. “Would you face a man who had tried to kill you and expect him to see sense?”
Laird Jamieson spoke up then. “Laird Forsyth.” His voice was grim and he was frowning deeply. “If you want our help, you are going the wrong way about asking for it. Have a little respect, please.”
Gavin realised that he had just made his situation ten times worse, and to change the situation he would have to humble himself somewhat—again.
“Forgive me, gentlemen,” he said regretfully. “I have been very badly affected by all this, and yes, I know I deserve it all, but I don’t think it will do anyone any good if I am dead. I have no idea what would happen then. You may end up with a tyrant for a neighbour. I want to make up for the damage I have done. Please give me some hope. Please help me.”
There was a thick silence for a moment before the clan elders began to talk amongst themselves in very low voices so that Gavin would be unable to hear them. However, by the looks on their faces and the way they were shaking their heads, he realised that his hopes were about to be dashed.
“We will have to think about this for a while longer,” Laird Jamieson said. “There are plenty of matters that we have to take into consideration before we give you an answer, my Laird.” He frowned deeply at Gavin. “I would rather talk to whoever is in charge first; I would rather not spill blood except as a very last resort.”
“I understand.” Gavin felt utterly wretched.
Up until now, he had thought the Jamiesons would be sympathetic, at least to a small degree, but it seemed he had been mistaken. Marriage to Elspeth was his only hope—or was it? Perhaps the Laird was right; perhaps they could negotiate and come to terms with the rebels amongst his ranks. He wouldhave to think it through, but now was not the right time. Now he had to attend to Elspeth, who was currently his only hope. He sighed and shook his head as Maura began to come into his mind’s eye. Somehow, he would have to forget her.
When he went out into the garden to look for Elspeth, he found her cutting off the dead flower heads from the last of the summer blooms. She looked up and saw him, then gave him a sad smile. “I hate doing this,” she told him. “Now I know winter is really here.”
“Summer will be here soon enough,” he consoled her.
“How did your meeting go?” she asked.
“I would rather not talk about official business at the moment,” Gavin said, then began to panic, unable to think of anything else to say. He looked at Elspeth for inspiration. She was wearing a frilly pink confection of a dress, which he hated, but he complimented her on it nevertheless. One of his greatest skills was making a lady think she was the most beautiful creature since Eve.
