"Straighten your tunic and see that your belt is fastened tight enough that it hangs even. Your boots also require a clean."
Henry's voice was blunt, prosaic, and unyielding. Despite the differences in their rank, the boy now seemed more fearful of Henry than their leader, rushing to correct his livery.
Henry continued all the same, "You do not call down a hallway but hurry on a light tread and speak with his lairdship as and when he deems it ready. In the future, you shall administer all correspondence to my chambers."
Which was where the lettershouldhave been delivered all along.
"Of course, sir. Yes, sir."
Glancing a fearful request of reprieve from Anderson, the boy was eager to comply when the laird excused him. The first few steps were rushed before his new lessons snagged and held his ankles. He continued the rest of the way with stiff shoulders, an awkward gait, and far calmer steps.
"A smile may have been beneficial," Laird Anderson murmured. The words were offhand as he kept his focus upon his correspondence.
"I did not think it customary for messengers to smile at their benefactors, my laird."
"I meant from you."
Unsurprised by the comment, Henry could do little but remain quiet. Laird Anderson had mentioned his...stoicism on more than one occasion. Though Henry had so far failed to see how befriending those he tested and tutored was in any way advantageous to the learning process.
Since the loss of his family, Henry Munro's world had become his duty. And he would not waste his time upon inefficient techniques. He needed not to be friends with these people to train them. He needed only to see them molded into a resource for the man who had given him everything...
Said man had grown quiet beside him. As if in a dream, Laird Anderson moved onward toward the dining hall, but his steps now held less purpose, a dimmer drive.
Henry's scowl of disapproval shifted slowly into a frown of concern.
"Is all well, my laird?"
"It is as well as can be expected."
Henry's jaw tightened again. He loathed his laird's enigmatic ways. He was a man to prefer sense and order. With a look of amusement that read his expression like a book, Anderson took pity upon him.
"I shall tell you after this gathering. I shall not see you distracted from your findings. With the Highlands fracturing to their core, we must reassure the leaders of our own provinces that the Lowlands remain the hardy foundation they have always been."
Henry nodded, falling into a quicker step beside the man he had never feared to follow. The Lowlands were like building blocks, the foundations of a stronger Scotland. He had heard such sentiments before. He had learned them at this very man's knee. And he believed in them.
And that same belief was reflected back at him as soon as he and the laird entered the dining hall of the Anderson castle.
Twenty-three faces looked up at their arrival, each with a differing level of concern but none with anything less than true loyalty.
Pride flickered in Henry's chest as Anderson greeted his fellow lairds and instantly fell into a paternal role, inquiring as to their health, or about their wives and children.
Men like Anderson could inspire the world if they were only lent the ears.
When greetings had been exchanged and the wine poured, Henry was instructed to begin. Taking his place at the head of the table, he looked down its finely crafted surface and assessed the men before him. He knew every single one of them. He had educated several of their sons, aided in the etiquette training of their daughters. One laird, inspired by talk of his good work, had even paid him to privately train his wife in the art of horse-riding, embarrassed that she had never yet learned to master the skill.
Henry was not a proud man but, if his efforts had aided in some way to sew the Lowland lairds into a single, brazen tapestry of color and strength, then he would accept that honor gladly.
Now,he thought, finding his place upon the parchment before him and beginning to recite,if only the northern lands could see themselves so united.
2
Aweek later, Henry was forced to take responsibility for his own words.
When Laird Anderson had come to him with a special request, he had not been able to hear his own sentiments for a united Highlands in his head and still refuse the favor. Instead, his only option had been to bow to Anderson's authority and accept the responsibility given to him. So, it was settled that he would be traveling north on a mission of tutorship. It transpired that Laird Henderson, Anderson's closest friend and trusted confidant, had produced an illegitimate daughter.
Now, rocking a little to and fro in a carriage bound for the harsher terrains of northern Scotland, Henry sat and stewed within his own confliction.
In one sense, Henry's dispensation for proper behavior and his worry for his own laird could not see him supportive of Laird Henderson's infidelity. The advent of a child was not an accident and was a privilege reserved for the sanctities of marriage. Henry knew that to abore bastard children was to deny large numbers of noble-blooded babies in the world. That it was a simple fact of life: men were not always faithful to their wives. But he had yet to understand or accept it. Not only did he consider it an affront to God and the vows made to him in matrimony, but it created a political mess. Provincial politics and economics relied so heavily upon the personal integrity of the laird that the slightest sign of weakness or fractured line of leadership could run their trade and future into the ground. This was why Henry respected Laird Anderson's loyal spirit as he did. The man refused to risk the security of his people via a wandering eye.
