Chapter Twenty-Two
“Is she here?” Lord Hamilton asked, winking himself awake as the carriage slowed.
“I believe so, Milord,” Walter answered. “We shall see soon enough.”
“Do you think yourself clever, Walter?” Lord Hamilton asked, grunting as he adjusted himself on the carriage bench.
“No, Milord,” Walter said, casting his eyes downwards. “Of course not.”
“Then don’t try to be. You’re a man of numbers, not words,” Lord Hamilton said, rolling his eyes. He raised the screen on the carriage window and looked out at the inn. Night was falling fast, and he was glad to have arrived at his destination. He knew the accommodations there would not be up to his standards, but it would do for a single night, and the cost was well worth it to retrieve his prize.
It was a matter of principle. The world would know that he was not a man to be crossed. He had established that reputation a long time ago, but it had become clear to him that sometimes the world needed reminding. It was a terrible bother, but it had to be done.
“Bit of a piss pot, isn’t it?” Lord Hamilton said, surveying the inn as they grew closer.
“It is not England, Milord,” Walter said. “We need not delay here long.”
“At times, I feel England isn’t even England,” Lord Hamilton grumbled. “London is the only civilized place on the island,” then he paused for a moment and said, “perhaps Winchester.”
The carriage rumbled up to the inn and halted in front of the doors. Lord Hamilton noticed that there were a strange number of Scotsmen about, mingling with the English sellswords. They all seemed to be eyeing the carriage with creeping suspicion, and Lord Hamilton frowned further.
“The devil are they doing here?” he mumbled.
“I do not know, Milord,” Walter said, looking them up and down alongside him.
Lord Hamilton saw Simon exiting the tavern and approaching the carriage and said, “he best have an explanation.”
“My Lord!” Simon called out, opening the carriage door. “Welcome to Scotland.”
“Is that where we are?” Lord Hamilton asked mockingly. He took Simon’s outstretched hand and fumbled to haul his frame out of the coach, wincing as his feet hit the ground. “Do you have her?”
“Yes, Milord, inside,” Simon said.
“Good,” Lord Hamilton said, grinning his wicked smile. “Job well done.”
Simon supported his hand as they walked toward the inn, and Lord Hamilton kept looking about, counting the Scotsmen. “The devil are they all doing here?” he asked.
“Their leader is within, Milord,” Simon said. “He wishes to speak with you.”
“Is this your doing?” Lord Hamilton asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Aye,” Simon answered, nodding his head. “Though now we do not need them.”
“We shall see what he wants,” Lord Hamilton said, passing through the threshold of the inn. He looked around and frowned. It was a pigsty of a place. Lord Hamilton had not set foot in such an establishment for what seemed like ages, and while it did bring up a few pleasant memories of his rise to power, it also revolted him; for now, he was above such places.
He spotted young Laila Willby immediately, sat between two sellswords, looking stoically ahead, her shoulders back, proud and strong. He smiled once more. It would take time to break her will, and he would enjoy every moment of it.
“Lady Laila!” he shouted, and the hall became quiet, all eyes swiveling in his direction. He saw her perk up, and they locked eyes. He saw nothing but hatred for himself in her, contempt and the will to fight. He chuckled. “How was France? Did you receive a good education?” She sat silently, staring right at him. “What?” he cackled. “No words?”
“Lord Hamilton,” A tall, elderly Scotsman said, standing up from his table. “I am Laird MacLean.”
Lord Hamilton glanced his way with a frown. Who was this Scot to interrupt his gloating? Simon had done well to gather local support, but if this Scot wanted something from him, he would be sorely mistaken.
“Good for you,” Lord Hamilton snorted. “I am speaking to my bride.” He saw the flash of agitation of the Laird’s face, and he grinned.
“Your man and I, we had an agreement,” MacLean said, folding his arms. “I expect ye tae honor it.”
“What was this agreement?” Lord Hamilton said, sighing and turning slowly.
