His sister broke out into laughter and Ian was relieved to see the fight back in her eyes. “Och donna bring that up either. Ye will wound his manly pride.” She moved to the door, pausing to look back at her brother. “I will do mah best tae fix this Ian but I canna guarantee anything.”
“I understand,” he answered watching as she disappeared out of the room. He knew that Iris would take this to heart if the talks fell through but in the end, it would be Ian’s fault. He had come ill-prepared for the generations of hatred that was between the two clans. This was a mistake he wouldn’t make again.
Striding out of the keep, Ian found Remy standing on the stairs, waiting for him. “Wot is the plan?”
Ian glanced around, noting the whispers that were already taking place. His failure would be all over the clan by luncheon. “I need tae leave.”
Remy didn’t ask any questions, following him directly to the stables.
The stables. Ian drew up short. He couldn’t face Ida right now, not in his current state. He had failed her, just like he had failed both clans. She had said that she believed in him, that he could stop the bloodshed and keep from innocent people dying, yet all he had done was enrage her laird even more and now their fragile ceasefire hung in the balance. “Git the horses.”
Remy gave him an odd look but strode to the stables alone, disappearing inside. Ian kept his wits about him, eyeing those that were close enough to strike out while Remy was gone, feeling as if someone had drawn a target on his back. There were always the ones that would want to be in favor of the laird, and what better way to do so than to cut down his enemy? Suddenly, the village was too small, the places where one could hide too numerous and Ian felt his chest tighten.
He was naught but a deer in the midst of a clearing, waiting for the arrow to be lodged in his back.
Remy finally emerged from the stables with their horses and Ian was a bit relieved not to see Ida following him. He didn’t know what he would say to her right now or how he would beg her forgiveness for not following through with his promise. Ian couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in her eyes as well.
Swinging up onto his horse, he rode out of the village and to the forest, where some of the worry he was feeling started to ease off. “Want tae tell mah wot happened?” Remy asked when they were far enough away.
“Dalziel,” Ian muttered, holding the reins loosely in his hands. “He insulted the laird and set back any process that we had made.” Ian gave his friend a brief account of the words exchanged, including the fact that the laird wanted Wallace lands. “I am not willing tae give up everything mah da worked hard tae protect for the sake of this alliance.”
“Nor should ye,” Remy added, a thunderous look on his face. “They can call us a bloodthirsty lot but we didna make them pick up their swords and kill our kin. They are just as guilty.”
Ian couldn’t disagree. Laird MacGregor hadn’t sent out his farmers and women to fight them for generations. He had amassed his own warriors, wanting to take over the Wallace land just as much as the Wallaces wanted to win. If he wanted to see what was wrong with their clans, he only needed to look in the mirror himself. Ian was not going to shoulder all the blame for generations of fighting. “Maybe we should leave now,” Remy finished. “Before they slit our throats in our sleep.”
“Nay not yet,” Ian said. “Mah sister is still working on another council meeting. I canna run now or he will see it as a sign of war.” He then looked at his friend. “I want ye tae send some men ahead of us. Make sure that there isna any attacks happening that we are unaware of.” He wouldn’t put anything past the laird.
“Aye,” Remy replied, arching a brow. “Is there any reason that ye are asking mah tae do that and not yer captain?”
Aye, there were plenty of reasons that Ian was leaning on the one person he trusted.
8
“He declared war right then and there tae the laird’s face! I’m surprised that the laird didna run a sword through him where he stood!”
“No good lot of them I say! They are nay interested in peace so neither should we be.”
Ida shrank into the shadows further as the two Scots walked past, still talking about the council meeting this morn. It was on everyone’s lips as Ida moved through the village, the snippets of conversation she had picked up on making her heart ache. She had believed in the Wallace laird, that he wanted what was best for both clans and to stop the bloodshed that seemed to never end.
He had lied to her face.
It wasn’t just the lying that had hurt her heart. It was the mere fact that she had found herself attracted to the handsome laird, fallen completely under his spell from the moment he had chosen not to run her uncle through with a sword. Had it all been some sort of act to garner sympathy?
She had been summoned to a farm on the outskirts of the village this morn to help with birthing a foal so it had been nearlynoon by the time she had come back. No one paid her any heed as she trudged along the cobblestones, her stomach gnawing in hunger and her arms tired from trying to pull the foal out of its mother. All she longed to do was bathe the sweat off her body and eat a bite, but the moment she stepped into the village, the tension was palpable in the air.
Now Ida felt like a fool, falling for his tricks. He didn’t want peace. He wanted what every other laird wanted: to dominate. It had been naught but a fanciful notion to think that one would want to have a peaceful existence without the battles, without the wars or that they cared about the innocent lives that were left to pick up the pieces. Her own laird didn’t care. Even in her lifetime, Ida had seen the devastation that happened after the battle was over.
Skirting around the villagers, Ida kept her head down and headed toward her cottage, hoping to lose her sorrows in taking care of the horses.
“Ye miserable old Scot! Git out of here before I end yer life!”
Oh no.
Ida looked up to find her uncle shaking his fist at the tavern owner, spewing words at him. “Uncle!” she called out, hurrying to his side.
“Ida, love, get him out of here,” Killian, the tavern owner growled, a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “He’s riling up mah paying customers and a Scot has tae earn a living even if some do not.”
Ida’s cheeks colored at his biting remark, noting the crowd that was starting to grow around them. “Aye mah apologies Killian. Tis willna happen again.”
