"Well, ye are there to handle them."
"Do ye ever think that perhaps I don'twantto handleyerbusiness?" she said sharply. "I had enough of that when yer father was alive. Sittin' in at meetings, pinchin' pennies, and working through endless paperwork while he drank himself to death wasnae me idea of a good time. I'll nae be here much longer, Dom, and ye will have to manage this business yerself. By yerself."
"Aye, Ma, I hear ye."
She eyed him for a long moment. "I hope ye do. Well, I'll be blunt. We've had a hard winter. Some crops have failed, and a great many families are struggling this year. There's meant to be another difficult winter ahead, along with a wet and miserable spring and summer. Food is scarce. People are strugglin'. Our people, Dominic. They're scared, and for good reason."
There was an expectant pause. Dominic pursed his lips, eyeing the glowing embers of the dying fire.
"Well, what am I to dae about it?" he said at last. "Take some of me money and get them food. I trust ye to handle that."
This was the wrong thing to say, clearly. Lady McLennan's face reddened.
"Is that yer solution to everythin', Dominic? To throw money at it? Good God, have I taught ye naything?"
"It works!" he argued. "They daenae have food? Buy some. They cannae afford their rent? Give them credit or dae something to lower their rents. Money solves a great many problems, Ma."
"What about morale? Ye cannae throw money at that."
He rolled his eyes, sitting back in his seat. "I thought ye came here to talk about real, tangible problems. Food shortages and debt, and what have ye. Dealing with low morale is nae me problem."
Catriona gave a crisp, harsh laugh. "Oh, nay? What dae ye think a clan laird does, lad? Ye are the captain of our ship. Ye have to keep people's spirits up. Aye, ye need to make sure yer people have food and water, and work, and enough firewood to scrape by a winter, but ye also need to give them confidence and security. They need to be able to look to ye as a figurehead, as someone to rely on."
Dominic picked at his cuticles, not wanting to look his mother in the eye. Contrary to what some people thought, he hadn't inherited his iron-gray death stare from hisfather. Oh, no. It was Catriona who could pin a man to the wall with a glare, from forty paces.
"I'm nay figurehead," Dominic said at last. "I'm just a man. A businessman. So, if there's nay money ye need from me, I'm not sure what it is ye think I can do."
"Oh, for God's sake, lad. The people want to look up to ye. They're trying to admire ye, but ye make it difficult, I must say.The people want stability. That means a laird who seems to care about them, not one that just throws money at them."
"And what, pray tell, is wrong with throwing money?"
Now it was Catriona's turn to roll her eyes.
"Do ye know what the people will feel like when ye just toss money their way? Eh?"
"I'm sure ye about to tell me."
"It makes them feel like aproblem. They want to feel loved by their laird. They want a lady."
"Theyhavea lady, Ma. Ye."
She shook her head. "I'm talkin' about a young lass, and ye know it, Dominic. A wife. A pretty lassie with a good head on her shoulders, somebody the people will like. They want bairns, to talk with each other about the laird's latest baby, about his wife, about the sort of person she is and how she plans to help them in the future."
"I'm sure they've got bigger things to talk about than me love life, Ma."
She pursed her lips. "Ye are deliberately misunderstandin'. Ye need to make an effort with these people. The council is talkingabout removing ye. Here I am, telling everyone who will listen that ye arenotlike yer da, and hereyeare doing yer level best to prove me wrong."
Dominic bit the inside of his cheek. "Let the council remove me. I daenae care."
"Oh, spare me yer whinin'. Listen, ye will be throwin' a Ceilidh soon."
"Oh,Iwill be doing that, will I?"
"Aye. Ye will attend with a fine young lady on yer arm. Ye will smile and laugh and chat, and dance every dance, or almost every dance, and ye will show yer peopleandthose wretched councilors thatyeare Laird MacLennan, and ye value yer position. Do ye understand?"
"Would it make any difference if I say nay?"
Catriona levered herself to her feet, wincing in pain as her tired old joints straightened out. Dominic's hands itched to help her up, but he kept them firmly on his knees. He knew that his mother hated to be fussed over, hated to be helped around. One day, she wouldneedthat help, and wouldn't be in a position to refuse it, but that day wasn't today.
