Finlay did not like the way this conversation was going. And as he looked around the hall, he noticed that fifty or so castle soldiers had quietly entered and were lining the walls behind his men and himself.
“The only orders I ever follow—followed—were me faither’s. An’ those orders were for me an’ my men to infiltrate the McTavish mercenary supply an’ break the chain. How would ye have me send word to the castle when I was disguised as a peasant?”
A ripple of laughter sounded around the hall. Finlay glanced over at the young red-haired maiden to see if she was laughing and found her standing next to a middle-aged man who must have been her father in the corner. He was heartened by the sight of her concerned expression. Master McMichaels, the steward, continued.
“Forgive our laughter, Finlay Dougal, but are the folks over on McTavish land blind? No one would take ye for a peasant, so braw and tall as ye are.”
Another counselor chimed in, “Perhaps ye wish to give that as an excuse for the way ye present yerself to us, Dougal? Are ye still tryin’ to pass yerself off as a peasant? Ye are so soiled.”
Yet another counselor had something to say. “Aye! The musk emanating from ye an’ yer men fills me nostrils, lad! An’ where did all this masqueradin’ get ye? We have had to fend off attacks at the castle for the last ten years when ye were nowhere to be seen! Fie on yer subterfuge an’ tricks! We needed men here to protect us, no’ out there playin’ at dress-up!”
Finlay looked stern. “I was obeying me faither’s orders. An’ now that he is no longer here to make the orders, ye must ken I will seek out other ways to get us peace.”
The steward spat to one side of his chair. “Yer efforts are fifty years too late, lad. The clan is bankrupt, the bailey village is in ruins, an’ all our young people have ever known is strife! Strife that yer family caused us!”
Now acting as the chancellor, the steward stood up, banging on the table for silence. “Finlay Dougal…”
These were ominous words. It meant that the gentleman seated on the dais only recognized Finlay as the son of a laird, and not the laird himself.
“Finlay Dougal, we have thought ye dead these last couple o’ years, which is how ye acted, so it seems a reasonable assessment for us to make! I have been voted in as laird since yer faither’s death—and yer own absence! D’ye have anything to say in this matter?”
When it came to engaging the enemy, Finlay Dougal had always been a cold and calculating man. Instead of shouting at the steward, he walked back to confer with his men.
“I dinnae ken if ye followed all o’ that, lads,” he said, his deep voice barely a whisper so that no one could overhear him, “but it looks like that auld goat has his eyes on usurpin’ the lairdship. What d’ye think?”
Alex was thinking a bit clearer now. “I cannae say I blame the clan for being in a pelter about our long absence, especially with raidin’ and attacks happening all the time during the period we were away. What’s to bet half these soldiers standin’ around us were brought in by McMichaels to protect the castle during our departure?”
“An’, therefore, they will be loyal to him…” McCorkindale whispered, a worried expression on his face.
Finlay listened to everything his men had to say and then made up his mind.
“Steward McMichaels, I see reason in yer words. However, we have wounded comrades far away whom we swore to bring succor. They are waitin’ for our return. I cannae leave good Dougal soldiers so far from home, no matter how misguided ye believe me faither’s war with the McTavish to be.”
The steward swiped his hand in the air. “I’m no’ sure how loyal these soldiers would be to the new status quo we have here, Dougal. As ye said so yerself, I’m a reasonable man who has been forced to take things into his own hands because of yer faither’s incompetent rule and yer own lack of interest in comin’ home, or even sendin’ word home for that matter. Let me think on how to proceed. Ye must stay in the auld barracks outside the castle walls until I have made up me mind.”
“Seems fair enough under the circumstances,” Alex whispered.
As the small troop of soldiers began to file out of the hall, Finlay heard the steward raise his voice.
“Master Blacksmith? Ye asked to have an audience with me? Please step forward.”
He halted and stayed to watch the blacksmith’s daughter’s interaction with the man who was trying to usurp his position.
The blacksmith went to stand in front of the dais.
“Laird”—the blacksmith was obviously not ready to risk calling the man anything other than his preferred title—“at the behest o’ me daughter, Isla, an’ meself agreeable to it, we both humbly beseech ye to allow us to leave yer service.”
It riled Finlay to have to stay silent while another man, the steward, judged the request of two clan members to whom he was not even related! But he bit his tongue. He wanted to see how benevolent the steward ruled over his people.
Master McDonnell, the blacksmith, continued. “As ye must ken, sir, Isla has reached a marriageable age. The only problem being is that there are no assemblies or visitations with neighboring clans where she might reasonably expect to meet some worthy young man. I wish to leave and go live in Inverness. With Isla’s exceptional good looks and the considerable dowry she stands to inherit, I have high hopes for the girl to look for a husband as high as she pleases.”
