Chapter 19
Radix Malorum Est Cupiditas
The Root of Evil is Greed
The hooded man had reached his limit with the Laird, and now it was time to set his plan in motion. He would no longer tolerate Alexander’s rule, not when he himself would be a much better leader for the clan.
He dared not stage a coup outright, but he knew something more powerful than a sword—a whisper. The right volume, the right words, in the right person’s ear, would change everything.
And so the hooded figure walked the castle village, buying drinks for all in the tavern, bartering at the market, and letting slip here and there the secrets that he knew would begin to unweave the thin strands that kept Alexander’s rule over the clan in place.
An’ then, when they’re on me own side, I can get in place to fight for the rule. I’ll have the populace behind me an’ Alexander an’ his Man-at-arms will have nae idea what hit them.
The hooded man passed a drink to the blacksmith and said, “Have ye noticed how his Lairdship never deigns to visit us down in the village? We’re too common for him, I suppose.”
He walked away to leave the smith to mull this over, and ‘accidentally’ bumped into another patron, causing coins to scatter everywhere. He helped the patron pick them up, apologizing over and over.
“It’s nae trouble,” grunted the patron when he straightened up, all his coins back in hand. “Just be more careful. I’m Ronald, the baker.”
“I’m a visitor from out o’ town,” the hooded man replied. “I came because o’ the rumors about the Laird.”
“Rumors?” the baker asked.
“Aye, about the lass he’s been off cavortin’ wi’. Word has it he has nae the time nor effort to spend on his clansmen, an’ would rather be off chasin’ loose women on yer tax money.”
The hooded man watched the baker’s eyes narrow and thought he may have pushed it too far. However, the baker nodded thoughtfully. “Is that why we’ve nae seen him for so long?” he asked. “Me sister, Liz, she works at the castle an’ tells me he vanished for more than two weeks, nae word to anyone. He’s always been a harsh lad, much more so than his faither. Maybe ye’ve got a point.”
The hooded man nodded. “I’ve heard more—och, but I should nae be takin’ up more o’ yer time.”
“Nay, stranger,” said a voice behind him, and he turned to see the blacksmith approaching, along with a couple others. “Sit wi’ us. We’ve got a mind to hear what ye have to say.”
A few hours later, the hooded man had a whole group around him, all of them muttering angrily about Alexander and his faults, plied by the alcohol and the man’s clever wordplay.
Absolute bampots an’ pillocks, all o’ them. They bend so easily to anyone who might give them a better chance at life. That’s what makes them weak, an’ what makes them perfect for me plan.
“The thing is,” the hooded man continued to his gathered audience, “The thing is, what is the only thing we can all agree for sure that this Laird can do well since his faither died?”
“Money,” one of the older men suggested. “He might be strict about the taxes, but it shows in how our clan flourishes. We cannae deny that.”
“Aye, he was an economic marvel for a while,” the hooded man agreed. “But now? Did ye all hear about the O’Donnel farm?”
Murmuring surrounded him, then the blacksmith said, “Ye mean Cameron O’Donnel’s, out on the borders? How could we nae have heard o’ it? It’s one o’ the clan’s biggest sources o’ profits.”
“It lit up the other day,” the hooded man explained. “The main house burnt to a crisp. The farmer is nae there anymore, an’ the number o’ animals has been decimated. An’ what’s Alexander doin’ about it?”
“Flirtin’ wi’ his mystery woman!” someone cried out.
“Demandin’ higher tax!” shouted someone else.
The hooded man nodded. “Aye. An’ any money that does go towards fixin’ it, well, ye can bet it’s comin’ out o’ yer tax money and nae his pocket.”
They were all grumbling now, and the hooded man could not be more delighted about how this was going. They were eating out of the palm of his hand, and now it was time to play the master card.
“An’,” he said, “Do ye ken who his fancy woman is?” He paused for dramatic effect, then said, “Cicilia O’Donnel. Cameron O’Donnel’s unmarried lass.”
More angry muttering.
“An’ I’ve heard tell that O’Donnel himself is nae more!” the hooded man pressed on.
“I heard that, too,” said a local farm boy slowly. “I thought it was just a rumor, but now…”
The hooded man nodded. “When the farm is repaired, he means to give it to the woman! An unwed, uneducated lassie wi’ nae economic sense! The biggest farm in our clan!”
The outrage erupted, and people were shouting now, yelling and protesting, all clamoring over each other so nobody could really hear a word, but everyone got caught up in more and more fury.
As the rage escalated, the hooded man slipped out into the night, satisfied. He’d done the damage and sown the seeds. Now all he had to do was walk away and wait for them to grow.
Nathair listened to his man’s report, a troubled expression on his face. It had been a fortnight now since Cicilia, Jeanie, and the twins had moved here, and in that time, he’d sensed that trouble was brewing in the village. Now, with this report from one of his local spies, his fear was confirmed.
“An’ it’s just the castle village?” he asked hopefully. The kind of rumors his man was describing tended to spread like wildfire, but if they were contained within the nearby village, he could at least try to contain them.
But the soldier shook his head. “Nay, sir, me apologies,” he said, sounding genuinely regretful. “Everyone’s heard now. I wouldnae be surprised if the rumors get as far out as Wauton by the Sabbath.”
That was less than two days from now, which given how far Wauton and the other border villages were, meant that the unrest was corrupting the clan even faster than Nathair had feared.
Alexander’s gonnae have a fit when he hears. Nae just the rumors about him, he can handle that. But the stuff they’re sayin’ about Cicilia? He’s gonnae go off his nut.
A headache was forming in a painful pinpoint just above Nathair’s left eye like it always did when he was stressed. Since Cicilia arrived, Alexander had been obviously happier and more carefree than he had been in years. Even when he’d discovered his pin was missing, he hadn’t shut down entirely like Nathair had feared he might.
An’ I have me own reasons to wish this doesn’ae go wrong, too.
Because Nathair intended to ask Jeanie McCaul to marry him when this was all over. He knew it had only been a few weeks since they met, but he also knew that he would not change his mind. When Cicilia returned to the farm, he did not want Jeanie to go with her. If she must, she could bring her grandfather here to the castle.
If Cicilia goes back to the farm. If they let her.
Because that was what concerned him most. Someone had discovered Cameron O’Donnel was alive no longer, and he supposed someone had put two and two together and worked out the inevitable.
“They really dinnae like the idea o’ a woman in charge o’ our biggest profit-maker,” the spy said solemnly. “If Me Laird publicly supports it, there might be a riot.”
“Aye,” Nathair replied, rubbing his sore head. “Aye, I ken. Right, dismissed. Away an’ let me think about all o’ this a wee bit before I take it to Alexander, all right?”
The young soldier nodded. He couldn’t have been more than five-and-ten, barely even able to grow a beard. And yet, without him, a bad situation could be much, much worse.
“What was yer name?” Nathair asked again.
“Smithson, sir,” the spy replied. “Graham Smithson.”
Nathair nodded and passed him a heavy pouch. “Ye take that coin home to yer Mither, Graham Smithson. Tell her ye’re a credit to yer clan.”
Smithson went pink at the ears before thanking him and hurrying off with the cash.
When he was gone, Nathair sighed heavily. He had to have a long conversation with Alexander, he supposed.
An’ I’ve never looked forward to anythin’ less.
Cicilia and Jeanie were in the garden sketching together when the young soldier walked past.
“Och, look at him,” Jeanie said with a small giggle. “He’s right proud o’ that uniform, an’ he’s nae even got a chin hair!”
Cicilia chuckled but nudged her friend. “Hush. Boy or nae, he may hear ye. Ye wouldnae want to be offendin’ anybody.”
Jeanie snorted. “Och, I suppose, aye. Do ye think he works for Nathair?”
Raising her eyebrows, Cicilia put down her charcoal and said, “Ye ken, Jeanie, I’m beginnin’ to think ye’re nae just havin’ a fling wi’ our great Man-at-arms. Could it be that our insatiable Miss McCaul is finally developin’ feelin’s?”
Jeanie blushed, but instead of answering, she smirked and said, “An’ what o’ ye? I ken where the Laird has spent these last many nights, an’ it is nae in his own bed chamber.”
Now it was Cicilia’s turn to have rosy cheeks, but before she could respond, she noticed that the young soldier was approaching them.
“Er, Miss Cicilia?” the soldier asked, looking back and forth between them.
“I’m Cicilia,” she replied. “An’ this is Jeanie.”
“Me name is Graham,” the soldier told her. “An’ I’m sorry to interrupt, Miss Cicilia, but I’ve heard from me brother in the kitchens that ye an’ yer siblings are awfie nice even if the bairns can be troublemakers, an’ I thought I should give ye fair warnin’.”
The women glanced at each other.
“Warnin’ o’ what?” Cicilia asked after a moment.
Graham hesitated, then said, “Well, I just spoke wi’ the Man-at-arms. There’s a lot o’ upset in the village.”
An’ what has that to do wi’ me?
Cicilia glanced at Jeanie, figuring that if something was going on with Nathair, her friend would know about it. Jeanie, however, shrugged.
“Go on, Graham,” Jeanie encouraged.
And so Graham explained some of the news of unrest, and the rumors swirling about her and Alexander, her and her father, her and the farm. Cicilia got increasingly pale as he recounted each of the poisonous tales. Even those that were true were twisted horribly out of context!
Is someone actively tryin’ to sabotage me an’ Alexander both?
“What…what do you think Nathair and his Lairdship will do about it?” Cicilia asked hesitantly.
Graham looked uncomfortable as he shrugged. “Ye see, that’s where the warnin’ comes in. Everyone kens the Laird likes ye a lot, but that’s part o’ the problem. The rumor is that ye’re bein’…improper in exchange for favors.”
“That’s preposterous!” Jeanie snapped angrily. “Cicilia is—”
Graham held up his hands. “I’m nae accusin’ her!” he said hurriedly. “I’m just reportin’ the rumors. I dinnae ken for sure, but wi’ the economic an’ the status threat, there’s nae so many choices left for Me Laird to take.”
Cicilia wasn’t as outwardly angry as Jeanie, but her fists clenched by her sides when she spoke. “An’ what choices would they be?”
Graham chewed on his lip. “Well, first, he could try to cover up the whole…situation at yer farm, but I dinnae think that’ll work well now.”
I’m sorry, Daddy. This is me fault for lettin’ the slaughter an’ the fire happen under me watch.
“Second,” Graham continued, “An’ most likely, he could reacquisition yer farm.”
“What?” Cicilia asked, suddenly standing as straight and stiffly as she could.
If Graham noticed her sudden cold fury, he didn’t comment. Instead, he just kept talking. “I imagine they’ll either give it to someone else completely, or more likely, find a minor noble o’ some sort to take yer place until yer wee brother is of age. It’s his to inherit, after all.”
“It’s mine,” Cicilia said angrily. “Me faither meant it for me an’ me siblings both!”
The poor young soldier looked a little nervous now. “I’m just reportin’ the facts, Miss,” he said.
“I ken, I ken,” she said, trying to swallow the fury bubbling up in her throat. “Go off home wi’ ye. Thank ye kindly for the warnin’.”
The soldier didn’t need telling twice, and he hurried off without another word.
Black fury clouding her thoughts, Cicilia turned and began storming back towards the castle.
“Where are ye goin’?” Jeanie asked, worried.
“To talk to Alexander,” she snarled.
Alexander was eating bread and cheese in his study when she barged in. He’d skipped lunch to go over some ways out of this horrible quandary that Nathair reported. He could not tolerate this kind of unrest, not with his rule and not towards Cicilia. He didn’t know how he was going to solve it, but whatever action he took must be quick and decisive.
From the look of fury on Cicilia’s face when she slammed open the door, he guessed she’d heard the rumors. He got to his feet, ready to placate her and assure her they’d do everything they could to smooth this over.
“Cicilia,” he started calmly.
“Dinnae ye Cicilia me!” she snarled, and it was only then, to his shock, that Alexander realized that fury was directed at him. “How dare ye talk to me like we’re friends? How dare ye, when ye’ve been goin’ behind me back this whole time?”
Alexander froze, his mouth working soundlessly, and his brain disengaged. He had no idea what she was talking about, and so surprised was he by the accusation that he didn’t even know for sure how to answer.
“Tell me, what we’ve been doin’—has it just been to soften me up?” she shrieked, angry tears in her eyes. “Did ye think if ye tupped me like a docile ewe a few times, I’d be willin’ to just cave in to whatever ye had to say? Well, ye need nae worry because I can assure ye nae such thing will be happenin’ ever again!”
That hurt like an arrow directly to the heart.
Is that what she thinks o’ what we’ve been doin’? Was there nae meanin’ to her?
He tried to talk again, tried to force himself to work out what was going on, but her rant continued to cascade.
“To think, I thought ye were a good man! I thought ye cared about me, about me siblings…but the second things go awry, yer precious Lairdship is the only thing that matters, aye?” She stomped her feet in fury. “At least yer accomptant was honest about his disrespect. Ye just led me along until I was in such a place as ye could steal everythin’ away from me! Maybe ye’re even the one spreadin’ these thrice-damned rumors. I bet ye thought I’d be compliant, an’—”
“Cicilia. Quiet yer tongue, now,” he growled, anger washing over him and finally propelling the air from his lungs.
She blinked at the harshness of his words. Even though she’d just been yelling at him, she had the audacity to act like he’d done something wrong by speaking so harshly.
“Is that what ye think o’ me?” he snapped. “Eh? Ye think I slept wi’ ye for me own gain? Ye think I lied to yer brother an’ sister? Ye think I’ve been plottin’ against ye this whole time?”
“Alexander, I—” she started, but it was his turn to feel the fury now. He took a step forward, and she shrank back, the huge difference in their heights blatantly obvious now.
“Nae, nae body gets to come in here an’ talk to me like that an’ Alexander me. In case ye forget, Miss O’Donnel, I am yer Laird. I owe ye nothin’ but the services yer fealty buys.”
She swallowed, staring up at him, and it made his heart ache. But he was more angry than anything else.
How could she accuse me o’ this? After everythin’?
“An’ what fealty have ye shown? Ye lied to yer landlord for the best part o’ a year. Ye continue to deal wi’ illegal clans—an’ dinnae tell me otherwise because
I saw yer precious book.”
Cicilia shook her head. “The farm—”
“Yer faither’s farm. Jamie’s farm,” Alexander interrupted harshly. “Nae yers. I had every right, the second I kent what was goin’ on—in fact, even before that—to take it from ye. I have a thousand young men who’d be better suited an’ would nae put me at risk.”
She glared up at him. “So ye admit it!”
Obstinate, frustratin’ lass!
“Nay!” he cried in exasperation. “Nay, Cicilia, I dinnae admit anythin’. But let me ask ye, did I do that? Did I take yer farm? Or have I housed ye an’ fed ye an’ purchased new animals for ye? Have I tried to aid the rebuilding efforts? Have I kept yer secret?!”
A Hellion for the Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 17