Page 10 of Highlander’s Sloth

When he paused before knocking, mentally preparing himself to receive his father’s welcome, his thoughts were disturbed by the faint sound of flies buzzing against the mullioned window casement at the end of the corridor. The rest of the household and even the surrounding courtyards seemed to be sunk into a stupor so thick, Callum felt as though it was wrapping itself around him like a heavy fog.

A husky voice bid him enter after his knock. When Callum went in, the room was dark and so airless it seemed as though every single one of his father’s exhalations for the last ten days lay trapped within the wainscoted walls.

“Who is there?” the cracked voice inquired.

“Only me, Faither,” Callum replied. “I have come back. What’s this I hear about ye bein’ unwell?”

The mattress rustled, and the bed cords creaked as Laird Macanroy struggled to sit up.

“Cal? Cal! ‘Tis ye indeed! Come over here me boy, and give yer auld faither a warm greeting.”

Before climbing the dais stairs to embrace Laird Macanroy, Callum went to the windows and threw them open. Light and fresh air streamed into the room. He moved to the dais and tied back the thick brocade drapes using the ornately twisted silk ropes.

“That’s better,” he said, leaning down to touch his cheek to his father’s stubbly jowls. “The air’s so profuse in yer bedchamber, Faither, I swear I could cut it with a knife.”

Laird Macanroy chuckled. “Och, lad, ye’ve lost none o’ the sharp wit and humor ye had afore ye left. Sit here and give us all yer news. Did ye remember to visit the merchants at Calais on yer way here?”

For half the afternoon, Callum directed his father’s attention to some of the main concerns their importers had regarding the whisky, their top priority being the ability to lay their hands on some more of the stuff.

“An’ that’s about all the news I have to offer ye, Faither. Adding a few more distilleries should do the trick of meeting the higher demand. One merchant told me a tale of how a bottle of our whisky made it as far as the Emperor’s court in the Orient, but this might just be rumor.”

Laird Lachlan shifted his bulk around on the mattress a bit and pummeled his bolster around until it was comfortable.

“Er, I s’pose ye’ll be anxious to hear the news this side, eh?” he asked, and when Callum nodded, the old man continued. “Well, ye’ll be pleased to ken the coffers are as full as they ever were. The more I spend, the more gold flows in to take its place. Anything our hearts desire is ours for the asking.”

Callum interrupted. “I noticed some of the surrounding land has been subjected to ill-advised husbandry, Faither. Ye’ll have to use some o’ that gold to mend fences, rebuild walls, and place fresh thatching. I haven’t even seen the insides of some of the cottages but can tell the roof beams are rotten from the way the chimneys lean.”

Laird Lachlan had been sitting upright against the pillows, but when he heard his son’s words, he slumped back down again. “Dinnae fash yerself about the neglect ye see in the land around us, Cal. Those folks bought the land fair and square off me great-grandfather, and now it’s their problem to upkeep it.”

Callum frowned. “But Faither, these are our neighbors and our clan. They will look to the laird for him to guide their sowing, cattle raising, and harvest.”

“Nay, why should I?” the old Laird said with a lazy yawn. “It’s for that very reason it makes sense we got rid of everything but the lodge in the first place. No land to worry over going barren, no cottages to maintain, no one bothering us with their incessant demands, and no rents to collect. It’s ideal.”

Callum knew his father well enough to understand he had inherited that set of dubious principles from his forebears, and nothing but a flood or fire of biblical proportions would be able to jolt him out of it. He knew it was the laird’s duty to lead the way in diligence and responsibilities, and if the rest of the clan saw the Macanroy living a life of indulgence and apathy, they would seek to emulate that behavior themselves.

He noticed a slight tremor in his father’s left hand and decided to let the matter rest for now. As for the rest of the lodge’s inhabitants, nothing had changed since he had lived here ten years before.

Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Callum had the feeling he had been brought back to the lodge to set matters to rights while his father was too ill to gainsay him.

Laird Lachlan opened his sleepy eyes a bit wider as though a sudden thought had crossed his mind.

“Hoots! I completely forgot to tell ye. Cal, ye’ll be pleased to ken ye need no’ put yerself out looking for a bride. I have found one for ye. Or, at least, by the luckiest chance, someone suitable was presented to me, and I snapped her up. It was pure luck and saved me having to put meself to the hard work of finding a bride.”

Laird Lachlan had all of his son’s attention.

“What does she look like? And who’s idea was it to have me leg-shackled the moment I set foot on Scottish soil?” He had many other angry questions ready to be asked, but these were good ones with which to begin.

Laird Lachlan waved an airy hand. “I don’ ken what the girl looks like, but dinnae fash yerself. If she proves misshapen or ugly enough to scare travelers crossing a bridge, we can say ‘tis proof she be barren and send them back whence they came. What’s more to the point, her brither is chief of the mighty MacGill clan, which means we will nae have to worry about sustaining and training our own army; we can use his.”

Callum knew how marriages worked between influential clans and was not appeased by this news. “That’s midden muck, and ye ken it well, Faither. It would dishonor us to turn the girl away for such trifles. That’s why some brides wear veils—so the knot is tied afore the groom sees her face.”

His father said sleepily, “Well, there ye go then. I always ken I could trust ye to do yer duty, lad. Now be so kind as to close those drapes again, will ye? It’s time I had a wee snooze.”

“At least tell me when the girl is arriving, Faither.” Callum wanted to know how many days of freedom he had left.

“Drapes...pull them closed,” Laird Lachlan grumbled, and when his son had done as he asked, he muttered while pulling the woolen blanket over his ears, “The MacGill party should have left their castle by now. I give it another sennight or so afore they reach the lodge. Ye better bustle about and organize a feast or something.”