He signalled for one more drink.
He had time.
Noah always forgot that William had time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“The MacDonald report is on yer desk.”
“I’ve read it.”
“The grain tallies from the northern stores?”
“Done.”
“The letters to the MacPherson clan about the autumn harvest agreement?”
“Done.”
“All of them? There were fourteen!”
“I’m aware of how many there were. I wrote them.”
Elliot paused in the doorway and looked at the stacked correspondence, the closed ledgers, the map rolled and tied at the corner of the desk, and then at Noah, who was standing by the window staring into space with his hands clasped behind his back.
“It’s half past nine,” Elliot said.
“Christ, Elliot, I’m aware.”
“Ye’ve finished yer entire week’s work in one evenin’.”
“Do ye want to keep being annoyin’?”
“Noah.” Elliot entered the room and sank into the chair across from the desk with the ease of a man who had endured twenty years of Noah’s moods and was unbothered by any of them. “When’s the last time ye ate somethin’?”
“Breakfast.”
“When’s the last time ye slept more than four hours?”
He paused.
“That’s what I thought.” Elliot leaned back. “What’s got ye wound up?”
Noah said nothing.
“Is it William?”
“William isnae movin’.”
“The MacDonalds?”
“That shouldnae be a problem.”
“The council?”
“Settled and calmed. For now.”
Elliot drummed his fingers on the armrest. “Then it’s the lass.”
