"Alright then, Munro." Reaching beneath his tunic, Hunter withdrew a folded piece of parchment. It was long, gilded in its corners, and sported several ribbons poking free from its folds. They were the house colors of Hunter and Henderson. "I'll leave the agreement in your hands. But I warn you that the Hunters have waited long enough. If these papers are not signed by the end of the day, I can assure you that insult will be taken. And we do not accept addresses against our honor as easily as some."
Henry bristled at the threat.
"I understand your urgency, my laird, but given Laird Henderson's state of health, I doubt there is much that you could threaten upon him to see the matter concluded any swifter."
"Oh, I was not threatening. At least not Laird Henderson."
Henry's eyes narrowed, but the laird merely continued with an easy attitude and shining eyes. Like a weasel who had caught a vole in a trap.
"As I understand it, you are the aide to Laird Anderson. I have many trading agreements with the barons of Anderson's lands. Not to mention eyes and ears amidst his court. Also, is it true that you and Lady Arabella kissed each other? Your sister has a colourful past, does she not?"
Henry took an aggressive step forward. His free hand clenched into a fist and, for one shocking moment, he thought he might hit the man. He had never been violent in his life.
“What kind of things do you say Hunter?”
“I’m saying what I saw with my own eyes. It’s true isn’t it? So, I’m asking you this. Persuade Lady Arabella to sign those papers or your career as a counselor will be over.
Henry’s eyes glitter with rage. “Are you blackmailing me?”, he asked Hunter.
"Now, now, Munro. Let us not quarrel. I think we understand one another perfectly and the simple way of keeping our connection civil is to have those papers signed. However you orchestrate it is entirely your prerogative. A signature negates all of this conversation to the hypothetical, so there is no need for offense, correct?"
And before Henry could say a damn thing in his own defense, the man spun on his heel and walked away without a care in the world. There was even a faint whistling as Henry watched the bastard disappearing around the corner.
For the last few days, Belle had been confined to her rooms. Recuperation was Henry's excuse for seeing her closeted away but, if he was honest with himself, there was more at work in his actions than he might care to admit.
He was losing her.
Slowly but surely, Belle was leaving the remit of his influence and his life. And he was not handling it well.
While it was true that the physician they had called to see to her head had advised several days of bed rest, Henry could not deny the sliver of calm it brought him to know that she was still there, forced to his side. At least physically.
With every day that passed, Belle had become more withdrawn. At first, she had not met his eyes. Then she had refused to look at him at all and only responded when he asked her a direct question.
Now...now she practically ignored his presence altogether.
Lessons and tutoring had fallen into inactivity.
Belle insisted that, with her impending marriage, she saw no reason for classes. With a husband, her future was secured, and she could learn at her own pace at another time.
Several times, back when she was talking to him, she had proposed that his presence was therefore no longer necessary, that he could go home.
Standing outside the door to her bedchamber, Henry took a stabilizing breath in.
Two weeks ago, he would have taken a young woman at her word. He would have excused himself of his duties and returned to the Lowlands as quickly as a horse could carry him. Had that not been his original intention? To ride north, to tutor Henderson's daughter as briefly and efficiently as he could, and then return to his own laird?
Now, the idea of leaving tore at something in his chest. And the idea of Laird Anderson, of his sister, of his life...none of it could seem to move his feet back home.
Instead, his step always brought him here. Standing on Belle's threshold and knocking to be allowed inside.
When Coira answered the door, he thanked the Lord for her friendly diligence. Where she permitted him to enter with a smile and nod, Henry suspected that Belle would have him turned away with her nose in the air.
To prove his point, he found the lady herself standing by the window. She was observing the grounds outside and did not even turn to greet her visitor.
"You should always look to see who has entered, my lady," Henry advised. He didn't much care for etiquette that morning, but he was running out of ways to get a rise out of her. To get her to respond. "It is polite, as well as a matter of safety."
"I knew who it was," Belle said, not breaking her stare through the window.
Unsure whether he should feel pleased that she recognized his presence or insulted that it caused such indifference, Henry could only hover. He stood in the center of the room, like a prized fool waiting to be judged by his princess.
