Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

I t took nearly ten minutes for the shouting to subside. By the time Laird Donal had finally restored order to the hall, Lord Weatherby was standing beside Lord Taffington, and the two of them had had a whispered conversation that Amelia hadn’t been able to make out.

“Lord Weatherby,” Laird Donal said at last, a wary respect in his voice as he spoke. “We appreciate your coming on such short notice.”

“Not at all,” the Lord said breezily.

His face was unreadable, a mask of politeness — Amelia found herself looking at Baldric instead, who was standing in his accustomed position behind the Lord. His face was as blank as ever, but she could see that his hand was resting a lot closer to his weapon than it usually was, and there was a tension in his body that told her he was well and truly on edge about this situation.

“Happy to clear up this little misunderstanding.”

“Forgive me, Lord Weatherby, but it’s a little more serious than that.” Laird Donal’s tone stayed pleasant, but she could see the frown he was holding back. “I’m afraid Lord Taffington stands accused of some serious acts of misconduct and violence in the village, and a punishment needs to be?—”

“Nonsense,” Weatherby said sharply.

She felt Hamish stiffen at her side, and her own heart sank at the mingled shock and fury on the faces of the gathered crowd.

“A silly misunderstanding, I’m sure. My guest and I will be leaving at once.”

“Forgive me, Lord Weatherby,” Laird Donal said slowly. “A guest he may be, but Lord Taffington will answer to the law of the land like any other man.”

“I’ll remind you, Laird Donal, that the law of the land is decided by its Lord.” Weatherby’s unctuous tone stressed the difference between the titles. “If a punishment must be meted out to Lord Taffington, it is myself who shall decide it. Good day to you.”

“Lord Weatherby?—”

“Enough,” the Lord snapped. “Laird Donal, as you well know, the title of Lord carries a little more weight than simply being an Englishman and in this case, I am the final judge. Lord Taffington is exceedingly well connected, and continuing to hold him here against his will is a decidedly reckless act for a man who wishes to avoid a diplomatic incident with the Crown.”

“Why are you protecting him?” Laird Donal demanded suddenly, having clearly given up on keeping the muttering crowd under control. “Why have you defended this man’s increasingly revolting actions for weeks on end? This is far from the first of his indiscretions — you’ve ignored every last report of his behavior, even his mistreatment of your own staff?—”

“I’ll be waiting in the courtyard,” Lord Weatherby snapped, his face reddening a little. “Baldric?”

The man in black gave Weatherby a taut little nod and stepped forward to take his place before the Laird. Weatherby swept out, calling for his servants to ready the carriage as he went. Laird Donal’s shoulders dropped, and Amelia saw him look at Baldric. The guard’s face didn’t shift, but was that a slight shrug of his broad shoulders she saw?

“Let me give you MacClarans a little lesson in diplomacy,” Taffington said, his voice dripping with such smugness that it was all Amelia could do not to surge to her feet right then and there and smack him in the mouth. “Lord Weatherby is, to put it plainly, in my pocket. He owes me a tremendous debt, so financially speaking he might as well belong to me. Nor does he have anything approaching my influence in Parliament, or in the Royal Court. We’ve been hoping that your diplomat might be able to fill you in, but it seems you weren’t quite sharp enough to take the hint,” he said, his tone almost apologetic. “When it comes to this pathetic little backwater country, I am untouchable.”

“I disagree,” Laird Donal said.

Amelia could hear his voice shaking with the anger he was holding back. The crowd had grown still and silent as the grave, which was somehow even more intimidating than their previous raucous shouting.

“You are not above the law, and you are not above receiving punishment for your actions.”

“Go on,” Taffington sneered. “Try it. Lock me up. See how quickly you’re at war with the English again, you pathetic little would-be king?—”

Amelia could see Fiona putting her hand on Laird Donal’s arm to keep in from lashing out physically at the detestable man.

“Laird Donal,” Hamish said quickly, rocketing to his feet so fast and so smoothly that Amelia barely registered the movement. “I have a suggestion that might resolve the situation, at least for the time being.”

“Go on, Sir Hamish,” Donal said, gesturing for Hamish to take the stage.

Good timing, Amelia thought faintly. Donal looked like he was just about ready to punch Taffington in the face — which would no doubt worsen the diplomatic situation, if such a thing was even possible at this point and she was grateful that Fiona was there to help him keep his composure and Hamish to take on the diplomacy of it all.

“I suggest Lord Taffington is returned to Lord Weatherby’s estate today, as requested, in the care of Sir Baldric here — on the condition that he promise to stay away from the village and Keep, and not to make contact with any of the women who’ve registered distress regarding his behavior.”

“What about the girl he tried to have his way with?” one of the men shouted, drawing a chorus of support from the crowd behind him.

“A fine,” Baldric said, surprising Amelia with the speed at which he stepped into the conversation. “To be negotiated with Lord Weatherby, payable to the girl and her family as reparation for the distress she experienced.”

Amelia felt sick at the suggestion. It reminded her far too much of how many women in her industry had been paid off under the table in exchange for their silence on the conduct of influential men… had things really changed so little?

“You are speaking on the Lord’s behalf?” Hamish clarified, looking at Baldric.

“You’ve all witnessed him leaving me here to speak in his stead,” Baldric said, with the brief flicker of an eyebrow. Amelia wondered just how many times Baldric had stepped into the Lord’s shoes to clean up messes like this one on his behalf. “I’ll see to it that a suitable fine is negotiated.”

“Lord Taffington?”

“Oh, I don’t care one jot about money,” Taffington said breezily, looking down at his hands and fussily adjusting his gloves. “Give the whore her trinkets, if you must.”

“That’s enough,” Laird Donal said through gritted teeth. “Get him out of my sight. Now.”

Baldric moved quickly, for such a large man. He ushered the unrepentant Lord Taffington through the mutinous crowd and out of the Keep. It wasn’t long before they heard the sound of hooves as they made a hasty retreat through the opened gate and away from the Keep, leaving only chaos in their wake. Every man and woman in the hall seemed to be speaking at once, and all of them were shouting at the top of their voices, venting their fury and disbelief at what had been said.

Amelia looked to Laird Donal, Fiona, and to Hamish, wondering if they’d try to silence the crowd, but one look at their faces told her that neither of them had the strength to do so, nor the inclination. She didn’t blame them. The thought of Sir Taffington getting away with what he’d done, with barely a rap on the knuckles for his trouble — it was absolutely galling.

“At least you managed to get him to promise to stay away from the village for a while,” Amelia said later to Hamish, when the two of them were alone and debriefing over a well-deserved mug of ale. It felt like the opposite of celebration, as though they were acknowledging some grim defeat… but the alcohol was definitely quieting a little of her anger. “That’s not nothing.”

“Aye, but it’s anyone’s guess how long he’ll obey the restriction — if he doesn’t march right over there now to prove he’s not beholden to us,” Hamish said, grimacing. “I’m just hoping his cowardice wins out over his entitlement. Being roughed up by the locals is a more effective threat than any we can offer.”

He sounded utterly defeated… and Amelia felt horribly powerless as she sipped her ale.

“There’s one small consolation,” Hamish said after a pause, and she looked up to meet those piercing blue eyes of his, shadowed with exhaustion but still more than capable of making her stomach perform a little backflip. “He’s absolutely not welcome on Keep grounds any longer. Which means he certainly won’t be able to bother you.”

“I wish he would,” Amelia said darkly, clenching her fists under the table. “I’ll make what those men did to him seem like a massage.”