Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

T he days passed uneasily following the confrontation with Lord Taffington. She could tell Hamish was deeply worried about what had happened, and the two of them often found themselves lapsing into grim silence as they tried to work out some way to defeat him. His letters to Amelia continued to arrive, day after day, seemingly growing even longer — she could only hope it was a sign that he had more time on his hands than he had before, owing to the fact that he was no longer visiting the village. Laird Donal had given unofficial instructions to the Watch to ensure a few men were down at the tavern most nights, to keep an eye on whether Taffington was keeping his distance. Hamish had been right, it seemed — the roughing up the Lord had received at the hands of the locals, if nothing else, seemed to be keeping him away, at least for the time being.

It was clear that there would be no getting rid of Taffington until Lord Weatherby could be gotten on side, somehow. The political situation in the area was far too volatile to risk actively antagonizing Weatherby by going after a guest he was determined to protect… so until that protection could be removed, Taffington had effective immunity. Still, Amelia nursed a private hope that Weatherby might come good after all. She’d sensed the tension between them — she knew that he was no happier about having Taffington staying indefinitely in his manor than the locals were. They just had to find a weakness of Taffington’s to exploit, some way of turning his allies against him once and for all.

But that would take time, and patience — resources that Amelia had never been particularly good at using. Frustrated, she found herself joking a little too often about simply beating the man to death — jokes that Hamish always gently, but firmly rebuked. He was an incredibly dedicated man, she was realizing — dedicated not only to his Clan and his people, but to his principles, too, that no situation needed to be resolved with violence. Still, he could clearly tell that all of this talk and lack of action was beginning to grind on her. She was surprised when he suggested, a few days after the confrontation with Taffington and Weatherby, that the two of them spend some time in the village. He’d volunteered to help out with the semi-official posting of guards that Laird Donal had put in place in the village to keep an eye out for Taffington, and she couldn’t help but feel a thrill of pleasure at the realization that this suggestion just might have been motivated by his reluctance to leave her behind.

“You haven’t been down there yet, have you?” he asked. “It’s high time you continued your exploration of your new home, don’t you think? The rooms at the tavern are as comfortable as most of the ones here at the Keep…”

“I’d never say no to a trip to the bar,” she said wryly, which won her one of those heart-stopping smiles of his. “But — I don’t know. Delilah told me about witch hunters and all of that. What if the locals get the idea I’m a witch?”

“You’re not a witch,” Hamish said firmly.

“I very much did arrive here by magic, Hamish.”

“Not your own magic. But I take your point that the nuances aren’t necessarily going to be appreciated by the kind of adversary you’re imagining. We’ll be careful,” he promised. “I’ll be your chaperone. I’ll make sure I head you off if I hear you saying anything?—”

“Witchy?”

“I was going to say ‘suspicious’, but I suppose yours is a little more direct as any talk about living in a future time would have them up in arms.”

And so it was that she found herself on horseback again the following day with a plan to stay at the inn for a few nights, riding down the narrow road to the village, though why they needed to go on horse was beyond her, it was quick trip. She’d packed— a few changes of clothes, a hairbrush and comb that had been a gift from Delilah, and the journal she’d taken to writing in, mostly taking notes about fighting in long skirts. Hamish seemed in good spirits, too — he whistled as they rode. She was doing her best to seem like a more accomplished horsewoman than she was, and his almost-flirtatious sidelong looks weren’t helping her focus. Thankfully, the ride took less than fifteen minutes.

The tavern was still open, though the lunch rush had clearly died down, with only a few die-hards still sitting at the bar. They looked up suspiciously when Hamish entered, but Amelia saw them visibly relax once they sighted the clan Tartan he was wearing. A tired-looking woman emerged from the back room at the sound of the jangling bell over the door, and Amelia noticed the sharp, vigilant way she was studying the two of them.

“We’d like room and board for a few days, if that’s possible,” Hamish said softly, setting a handful of coins down on the bar. The barmaid looked at him for a moment.

“You’re here to keep an eye out for that English bastard, yes?”

Hamish, to his credit, didn’t flinch. Amelia hadn’t had his diplomatic training, and a burst of laughter escaped her before she could stifle it. She covered her mouth apologetically with her hand, but the barmaid was smiling when she met her eyes.

“I shouldn’t laugh,” Amelia said apologetically.

“No, lass, the man’s a joke and no mistake.”

“You’ve met him?”

The barmaid nodded, her eyes hardening. “Aye, if that’s the word for it. I nearly broke his fingers for him the last I saw him. I’d have done a lot worse if I’d been here the night he went after poor Milly. Disgusting old boar,” she said, the loathing vivid in her voice. “The minute he found out she was engaged to be wed it was like he’d been bewitched. Men like that want anything that they fancy belongs to someone else.”

“How’s she doing?” Amelia wanted to know, leaning on the bar.

“All the better for all the Watchmen who’ve been drinking here lately,” the barmaid said, flashing a quick smile to Hamish. “But we’ve all been living in fear for weeks since that monster moved in. Knowing that all it’d take would be a few minutes caught alone with him—” She shuddered, rubbed tiredly at her forehead with the back of one hand. “Forgive me. It’s been a long summer.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Hamish said gently. “What’s your name, lass?”

“Maggie,” the woman said.

“Pleased to meet you, Maggie. I’m Hamish — this is Amelia.”

“You must be the new arrival,” Maggie said, a flicker of interest in her eyes as she glanced back at Amelia. “We heard another young lass had come to stay at the Keep.”

Amelia gave her a tight smile and glanced to Hamish. She hadn’t yet memorized the lie they often told about where they all came from, and for the life of her she couldn’t recall the small English Village most of them claimed was their home before coming here.

“Aye, cousin of Lady Fiona,” Hamish said, winking at Amelia.

“How lovely. How is Lady Fiona these days? We don’t see much of her, unless she comes down to visit at her old cottage.” Maggie smiled.

Amelia wasn’t sure what Maggie was referencing, but said, “She’s doing well. Keeping busy at the Keep.”

“Aye, I’d imagine so.”

As they chatted a thought occurred to Amelia. “Maggie, I wonder — you said you were frightened of being caught alone with Taffington?”

“Him, or the man with him,” the woman agreed, glancing up at the doorway as if checking to see if the man had been summoned by the sound of his name. “Honestly, it’s his man who scares me the most.”

Making a mental note to investigate the men she spoke of, Amelia nodded agreement. “Obviously, the plan is to get rid of Taffington, and all the men like him once and for all — that’s what Hamish is here to do. But I’m not much good at diplomacy,” she confessed.

Hamish was looking at her, clearly curious about what she was about to say — but he didn’t seem to be worried yet, so she pushed on.

“What I am good at is defending myself. I’ve taken down bigger and scarier men than Taffington without breaking a sweat — and if you’d like, I could teach you, and Milly, and any of the barmaids who’d like to learn.”

Maggie looked thoughtful. “I think that would do Milly a world of good,” she said slowly.

“If nothing else, it’s a good way to get some anger out,” Amelia said. “And I don’t doubt you’ve all got plenty of that bottled up, putting up with Taffington for as long as you have.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Hamish said, surprising her. “You’d be surprised how easy it is to take a man down, especially if he’s not expecting it.”

“I’ll talk to the other girls,” Maggie said, clearly warming to the idea. “Mornings would be best — after breakfast and before we begin serving the mid-afternoon meal. There’s a clear space out back behind the stables.”

“I’ll be there,” Amelia promised.

The faint, forced smile on Maggie’s face had been steadily eclipsed by a real expression of hope, and as she turned back to organizing their rooms, she looked down at the coins for a long moment before shoving them back across the bar to Hamish.

“I insist,” he said — but Maggie cut him off with a shake of her head.

“Your coins are no good here,” she said firmly. “You can pay in full by getting rid of that pompous English Tallowcatch.”

The way she said it in such disgust, told Amelia it was a definite insult.

“I can’t promise that,” Hamish said softly, and Amelia could hear the regret in his voice. “But I can promise you I’ll do everything I can to run him out of town for good.”

Maggie wasn’t fully satisfied with that, Amelia could tell. But it was clear from her expression that she respected the honesty at least, and she slid two keys across the bar without further comment.

The two of them headed up the stairs to get settled in, Amelia’s mind already racing with what she was going to teach the barmaids first. It felt good to have a project — some practical way to improve the situation.

If she couldn’t break Taffington’s nose herself, she could damn well make sure that every woman she met was equipped to do it on her behalf.