Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

T here was an abrupt development in the Taffington situation exactly three weeks after her arrival at Weatherby Manor. She had been on her way down to breakfast when she’d been struck by a curious buzz in the Keep, an atmosphere that told her something out of the ordinary was happening. Sure enough, when she reached the great Dining Hall on the Keep’s ground level, she found herself joining a rapidly growing crowd of people who were clearly an audience to some kind of confrontation that was taking place in the Dining Hall. She wove her way through the crowds as quickly as she could — the murmurs of the bystanders were stopping her from making out what was being said.

There stood Laird Donal, tall and handsome as ever, on the dais where he, Fiona, and his advisors took their meals. As had often been the case since his arrival, Hamish was up there with them — but this wasn’t their usual strategy session, Amelia could tell. Because before the Laird, in a wide semicircle of floor that had been cleared by the curious onlookers, was a group of unfamiliar men. She could only see their backs from here, but the body language was unmistakable — they were absolutely furious, all but vibrating with anger as they stood before the Laird. Had Laird Donal antagonized a group of local farmers, somehow? No, she realized as she moved around a particularly tall man to get a better look at the group who were standing before the Laird. They weren’t all folk from the village. And the odd man out, looking somewhat disheveled with his head hanging low, struck a horribly familiar silhouette.

It was none other than Lord Taffington, and he looked like he’d been through the wringer. His wig was askew, and she could see leaves tangled in it, and his fine clothes were dirty and even torn in a few places. Amelia tried to steer clear of bar fights these days, but she’d been through enough in her day to know the aftermath of one when she saw it. The story filled itself in effortlessly. Lord Taffington had done something to antagonize these men, and they’d held him accountable in one of the more direct and ancient ways available to them. And now, he was being hauled before the local authority to answer for what he’d done.

But what exactly had he done? She’d hoped to overhear the Laird pass judgment, but instead he was calling for servants to prepare a room where Lord Taffington would be held. The villagers didn’t look thrilled with the result, but she saw Hamish move forward to speak to them, overhearing him promise that Taffington would be dealt with later that day. She watched as Taffington was escorted from the Hall by a couple of unimpressed-looking watchmen. As unpleasant a surprise as it had been to see Taffington here, she had to admit, it was satisfying to see him with a black eye. She only wished she’d been there to give it to him personally.

The buzz spread through the Keep, and by the time breakfast was over, it seemed everyone was gossiping about what had happened the night before in the village. Taffington, it seemed, had finally taken things too far with the barmaids at the local tavern — though the exact details of what had happened varied wildly depending on who was actually telling the story. She quickly sought out Hamish once the meal was over, and though he was clearly busy with the Laird, he still came over to exchange a quick word with her, his distraction not reducing the warmth in his smile.

“What’s going to happen?” she asked, once Hamish had confirmed a few of the details of the situation and discounted some of the wilder rumors. “Will the Laird punish him?”

“It’s a difficult situation,” Hamish said, frowning. “Taffington’s an English lord with a lot of influence, and the Laird doesn’t want to endanger the peace between the Scottish and English in the area… but at the same time, he can’t be seen to let bad behavior go unrebuked. We’ll know more this afternoon. Will you be here?”

Amelia blinked. “Me? Why?”

“As a woman who has first-hand experience of the way he behaves, I think your presence and input would be very valuable. You won’t have to speak or anything, if you don’t want to,” he assured her, clearly reading the hesitation on her face. “It’s not a formal trial, Amelia, just a public hearing of what took place. But I’d like you to be there.”

Torn between reluctance to interfere with local politics and her genuine pleasure that Hamish wanted her there, Amelia spend the rest of the morning worrying about whether or not to attend the hearing.

In the end, her desire to see Taffington held accountable for his actions won out, and she headed into the Hall that afternoon. There were quite a few people present, to her surprise — not only residents of the Keep, but locals from the village, too, including more than a few stony-faced women. Something told her that a considerable percentage of this audience was composed of Taffington’s victims. She felt the low, burning anger in the middle of her chest intensify a little, and took a deep breath as she moved up to take a seat beside Hamish.

It wasn’t long before Taffington was brought in, complaining loudly about the armed escort. A terrible insult to someone of his stature, he kept insisting, to be treated like a common criminal — the audience began to grumble, and the Laird quickly held up his hand for silence.

“Lord Taffington,” he said, and Amelia was surprised by the steely note in his voice, almost unrecognizable from the warm, friendly man she’d met when she’d first arrived here. “As a guest of Clan MacLaren, I’d like to invite you to share your side of the story we heard about what took place in the village last night.”

“If this is how you treat your guests, I’d hate to see how you treat your prisoners,” Lord Taffington said snidely.

Amelia couldn’t help noticing that he looked a lot less wretched than he had that morning — he’d had his wounds seen to, and even been given a change of clothes to replace the torn and dirty items he’d been wearing. She didn’t doubt he’d been offered plenty of food, too — he was clearly the kind of man who’d demand that.

“We’ve been informed by locals of the village that you spent last night in the tavern,” Laird Donal went on as though Taffington’s rude response hadn’t happened.

“If you can call that moldering old barn a tavern,” Taffington said, voice dripping with disdain. “Yes, I was there. There’s nowhere else in this wretched backwater country to spend an evening, after all.”

“We’ve heard complaints regarding your conduct with the barmaids,” Laird Donal said through slightly gritted teeth. “Not just last night, in fact, but for as long as you’ve been a guest on these lands.”

“I thought this was a hearing for the men who assaulted me,” Lord Taffington said hotly. “I’m not interested in defending myself here.”

“Assaulted you !” One of the men sitting in the front row of the crowd exploded out of his seat, his voice shaking with anger.

Amelia recognized him as one of the men who’d escorted Lord Taffington into the Hall that morning. “We hauled you off a woman you were pawing at like some crazed beast!”

Laird Donal called for silence as the room erupted into shouts of anger. Amelia could feel her heart sinking. This, she suspected, was going to be a long afternoon.

The story was eventually extracted from Lord Taffington, though it was rather like pulling teeth. Every statement made by an onlooker would be met by either a snide comment or some kind of semantic undermining of their point. At first, she wondered whether Taffington was stupid — but as the afternoon wore on, she realized that it was worse than that. He knew exactly what he was doing, getting everyone in the room riled up and furious enough to make him look calm and composed by contrast. She was relieved to see it didn’t work on Laird Donal or on Hamish, though, both men remaining steely and unflinching throughout.

It seemed that Taffington had spent the previous evening in the tavern, as had been a habit of his. He’d been growing more and more friendly with the barmaids who worked there during the course of his stay, and to hear him tell it, he’d been a welcome guest who tipped lavishly — something that was firmly disputed by several of the women in attendance. But last night, he’d gone too far. After having too many drinks, he’d begun throwing money around — and it wasn’t too long before he’d zeroed his attention on one of the younger barmaids, a pretty, slight young girl who’d only recently started working there. After several generous tips, for which she’d thanked him kindly, he’d followed her out of the building when she left to go home. This was where the stories diverged. Taffington insisted that she’d lured him into an alleyway — the men who’d brought him in retorted that in fact he’d dragged her there himself, shouting that he’d paid for her, and he’d be having her wherever he damn well pleased.

Amelia felt sick to her stomach for the poor girl, who hadn’t come along to the proceedings, not wanting to see Taffington’s face again. To her relief, the villagers explained that they’d been able to come to her rescue before the drunken lecher had been able to tear her clothes off, something he’d been doing his level best to do when they’d been alerted by her screams.

According to Taffington, he’d been lured into a trap by the barmaid. To hear him tell it, she’d been waiting in the alleyway all but naked, and before he’d so much as laid a finger on her, the men had leapt out of the shadows to beat him to within an inch of his life. According to the men, all they’d done was pull him away from the girl — he’d been the one who wouldn’t stop throwing drunken punches. At a certain point, violence had been the only language he’d listen to. One punch had knocked him out cold, and the men had dragged him with some difficulty back into the tavern for the night — this had been how the damage to his clothing had been inflicted.

“It’s their word against mine,” Lord Taffington said pompously, drawing himself up and folding his arms across his chest. “And if I were you, Laird Donal, I’d be careful about rewarding these common criminals with any further attention.”

Laird Donal opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, a murmuring in the crowd cut him off. The doors to the Hall had swung open, and Lord Weatherby himself was standing there, his manservant Baldric looming behind him as always.

“At last,” Taffington said, an unpleasant grin spreading across his features. “The man who’s really in charge around here.”

Amelia didn’t need to look at Hamish’s face — his sharp intake of breath told her all she needed to know about how a comment like that would be received by this crowd.