“The Stuarts aren’t dogs, Weatherby,” Robert said through gritted teeth.
Brianna could tell he was doing his best to control himself, but it was pretty clear that he was losing control of his anger. She didn’t blame him. What Weatherby was saying was repellent.
“They’re human beings who need food and shelter the same as anyone else. You’d do the same in their position.”
“I’d never be foolish enough to end up in their position,” Weatherby snapped. “I respect the MacClarans and all they’ve done. Laird Donal is a good man, despite our – rather fractious history. But I’ll not feed his cousins, and I’ll not tolerate any more burglary or looting on my land, and that’s the end of it.”
“My Lord,” Baldric said in a low voice, clearly worried by how the conversation was going. “Surely we could spare a few supplies as a gesture of goodwill –”
“It’s not about whether we can spare it, Baldric,” Weatherby snapped, rising to his feet. “It’s the principle of the thing. I will not reward criminals for their abhorrent behavior. Let them learn how to behave like civilized men.”
“And starve to death?” Robert exploded, rocketing to his feet with anger blazing on his face. “Would that be civilized enough for you – men, women and children starving and dying on the road to your well-appointed manor?”
“I won’t be spoken to like that in my own home,” Weatherby growled. “I’ll remind you you’re a guest under my roof, Robert MacClaran.”
“And you’re a guest on these lands,” Robert growled.
There was a sudden, somber silence, and Brianna got the idea that Robert had touched a nerve. Weatherby glared at him for a long moment, clearly apoplectic with rage but unable to speak. Robert glared back, the tension palpable – and Brianna broke in before the scene could worsen any further. She knew a lost cause when she saw one.
“This has been a good initial meeting,” she said quickly, wanting to draw their attention to her instead of each other. “We’ll leave it there, I think, and touch base again sometime down the line when everyone’s had a chance to give the matter some thought – thank you, Lord Weatherby, and you, Robert, for your honest and frank takes on the situation –”
But her boilerplate speech was falling on deaf ears. Weatherby huffed and turned, sweeping out of the room. Baldric gave her an apologetic shrug and hurried after him, speaking to the Lord in a low voice that was quickly cut off by the slamming of the door to the room. Robert slammed his fist down so hard on the table that it made the centerpiece shake, his anger evident in every line of his body.
“Scum,” he hissed, voice low and venomous, and Brianna resisted the urge to admire how powerful he seemed, even in his anger… tried not to think of him turning that energy toward … “He’s a monster and always has been. I don’t know how Donal puts up with him the way he does. He cares only for himself and his fancy manor and his hoard of unearned riches –”
“It’s frustrating,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder.
He looked down at her, clearly surprised by the contact, and she resisted the urge to wonder whether he, too, felt the sparks that were flying up her arm from where her hand lingered on his shoulder.
“It can seem impossible to negotiate with people who are… well, who seem to have such different values to us.”
“Aye, that’s one way of putting it,” he snorted, sitting down heavily in the ornate chair and dropping his head into his hands. “Frustrating is certainly the word for it.”
“I know it may seem hopeless, but keep at it, okay? I’ll see if I can talk to Weatherby tonight,” she said, biting her lip. “Can we arrange for another meeting like this in a few days, once tempers have cooled a little?”
“I don’t see what good it’ll do,” Robert said, sounding disgruntled. She waited, and his shoulders slumped. “Fine. It’s not as though I’ve got anywhere else to be. Hope Donal’s making good use of my quarters at the Keep,” he added with a click of his tongue. “How the headwoman’s feeding everyone is beyond me.”
Weatherby didn’t return for lunch – Baldric slipped in to advise them that he’d chosen to have his meal brought to him in his quarters. Brianna sighed at that. She’d been hoping the man might join them for lunch. That the simple act of breaking bread together might make everyone feel a little more conciliatory… but it wasn’t to be. She and Robert and Baldric ate together instead, and she was thoroughly entertained by the two men sharing stories of their time together in London. A bard and a soldier… it sounded like something out of a fantasy novel. With a sudden jolt, she realized she’d let herself be lulled into thinking of everything around her as real again. Biting her lip, she turned her attention to her meal, checking and re-checking the textures and tastes, desperate to find some inconsistency that would stop her from feeling as if she’d actually traveled through time to this bizarre place.
It was odd, though. For all that the prospect of this all being real filled her with dread, there was one bright spot… and that was Robert MacClaran. He was gorgeous, and clearly interested in her — for all that she was the image of his dead wife… at least she knew she was his type, right? — It made sense for someone so attractive to be the object of a daydream, but if this wasn’t a daydream… that meant… well, that meant he was real. That she had a shot with a living, breathing person like him. Sure, there were a million more complications, but something about the idea that Robert was real, not a fantasy… well, that filled her with joy as much as the rest of the ramifications filled her with dread.
She had a lot to think about as she headed up the stairs after lunch, thoughtful and full of a heavy, satisfying lunch. Robert and Baldric had headed off together for a ride – she was grateful that Robert had a friend here to keep him from feeling too isolated and irritable as negotiations went on. And Baldric clearly being the brains behind Weatherby’s position here – that gave her hope, too, that the stubborn Lord could perhaps be talked around into doing something useful for the refugees. She smiled to herself as she settled into her chair by the window, realizing she was actually enjoying this negotiation process. None of it was real, of course – but then again, games weren’t real either, and she’d always enjoyed those.
Could it be real? Or more to the point… could it be a reasonable decision to make to simply… live as though this was actually real? Whatever had caused all this, it was becoming clearer and clearer that she wasn’t going to wake up from it any time soon… was it possible that she might just need to commit to this frightfully vivid hallucination as though it was all real life? It was beginning to make her feel restless, this constant reminding herself that everything around her wasn’t real… what if she just let herself believe it was? Worst case scenario, she’d wake up and realize it was a dream… and at least in the meantime she actually might be able to enjoy herself.
It was surprising, how quickly time slipped away. There was a tap on the door a little later from a servant who’d brought her more clothing – she thanked the girl warmly, going through the armful of fabric with delight. Another few gowns, and some more underclothes – and, to her delight, a pair of what looked like proper trousers. Could they be for riding? She’d been wondering how on Earth women went about getting on horseback in skirts like the ones she was wearing… and the servant had said that the clothing had been arranged by Sir Baldric. He seemed like an eminently practical chap, and she made a mental note to thank him later.
Dinner was a stony affair. Lord Weatherby hadn’t seen fit to join them, and Robert was clearly annoyed by being slighted again by his host. Even Baldric’s chatter and jokes didn’t seem to take the edge off his mood – he ate quickly and rose to his feet once he was finished, excusing himself and heading up the stairs to his quarters. A little disappointed, but not surprised, Brianna finished her own meal, taking the opportunity to thank Baldric for his gift.
“Of course,” he said with a smile. “You’re helping us negotiate with the MacClarans –
consider it payment.” He speared a vegetable with his fork, looking thoughtful. “How are you settling in, overall? I understand it was quite a shock.”
She hesitated. She’d confided quite closely in Robert about how she was going, but could she trust Baldric the same way? “Not too badly,” she said finally, pushing her food around her plate. “I’ll admit, it was a lot to take in. I spent most of the first full day waiting to wake up from the dream. But … well, I’m beginning to suspect it all must be real.”
“You’d not be alone in that,” Baldric said, nodding. “The other women… I’ve had the opportunity to get to know a few of them over the years. Many of them reported a similar thing. Karin, who was instrumental in preventing a plague from killing half the people in the area… she said she thought everyone was playing a game with her at first.”
Brianna couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Yeah, I thought that, too. I thought you and Weatherby were actors that first night, playing the roles of men who’d been dead for centuries…”
He snorted. “I’ll take it as a compliment. Nobody’s ever taken me for a performer before in my life. That’s always been Robert. Blessed with a silver tongue, that man. Had his pick of women back in London, but he only had eyes for Brianna from the moment he met her.” Baldric hesitated, glancing at her sideways. “The other Brianna, that is.”
“I’ve heard all about her,” she said with a smile. “She sounded like quite a woman.”
“Oh, she had to be, to keep up with that madman.” Baldric smiled fondly.
“Can I ask… I didn’t want to bring up any painful memories with Robert – well, more than I do just by looking like her,” she added ruefully. “But how did Brianna die? If she was my age, she’d only have been thirty.”
“That’s right. It’s not a pleasant story, I’m afraid,” Baldric said heavily, shaking his head. “She was murdered. Walking home one night, crowded streets and all – and some monster slipped out of an alleyway and stabbed her in the gut. She bled to death before anything could be done.”
Brianna’s stomach sank into her toes. “God, that’s awful. Why?”
“No idea,” Baldric shrugged. “Robert spent months hunting for her killer, trying to learn what had motivated him… but there was nothing to be found, and he eventually gave up. Said it was too painful to keep chasing her ghost.”
Brianna shivered, remembering the unsettling dreams she’d had of walking down crowded city streets, watched by figures with knives in their pockets… was it possible that the dreams had something to do with this? But she hadn’t known how Brianna had died until now… how could that knowledge have influenced her dream? Was it possible that she had more of a connection to this woman than just looking like her?
“At any rate, I’m glad you’re here,” Baldric said. “I haven’t seen Robert so animated in quite some time.”
She couldn’t help but blush at that, hoping very much that Baldric wouldn’t press the issue. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he looked at her, but to her relief he didn’t say anything.
“I talked to Weatherby this afternoon. Tricked him into having the bright idea of meeting with you separately, after dinner. Maybe you can talk some sense into him without Robert there antagonizing him. If you’re feeling up to it?”
“Great idea,” she said, smiling. “I was going to suggest one-on-one meetings with the parties and me. It can be useful to talk these things through, vent some of the frustrations on a sympathetic third party.” She hesitated. “I hope he sees me as impartial. I know there was a bit of confusion with Robert thinking I was his Brianna –”
“We’ll find out,” Baldric said briskly, signaling for a servant to take away their plates. “Let’s go. Weatherby’s got a rather comfortable sitting room in his quarters, and a fire that’s always burning. And I promise not to leave you alone with him.”
Chapter 13
Together, they headed for the staircase. She was a little curious to see Weatherby’s quarters. The whole manor was so lavish and well-appointed that she was interested to see just how excessive his own private rooms were.
And she wasn’t disappointed. Weatherby’s rooms took up what felt like a full wing of the manor, with his own private sitting room in the front, and several doors that must have led to his bedroom and possibly a private bathroom. The walls were decorated with paintings – mostly of plants and flowers, she noticed with some amusement. It was an oddly humanizing touch, to know that the stuffy, pompous Lord had a soft spot for gardening. Her mother liked gardening. She wished, now, that she’d taken more of an interest – it might have been a way to get the Lord onside.
The Lord was waiting for her, sitting in an armchair close to the fire with a sour look on his face. As they entered, a servant was on her way out with a platter in her arms – she glanced over her shoulder to see a polished wooden table where it seemed Weatherby took his meals when he couldn’t be bothered heading out to the main dining room. Not for the first time, she wondered why he was unmarried. Quarters like this could comfortably house a whole family, but here he was, all by himself. How exactly did lords like this meet and marry wives, anyway? Was it all arranged by their families, or were they allowed to follow their hearts a little?
“Ah, Brianna. Thank you for coming. Baldric tells me you might have some useful insights into this unpleasant situation with the Stuarts.” He gestured for her to take a seat on a low sofa that sat opposite his armchair. Baldric took up what looked like a customary position by the fireplace, standing with his hands behind his back – unseen by Weatherby, he gave her a quick wink as she settled onto the sofa. It was comfortable and soft, but she still felt a little out of place here.
“How are you feeling, Lord Weatherby?” she asked, feeling an odd urge to be as polite as possible. Her mother loved those old Regency dramas – she wished she’d watched a few more with her so she had a better idea of how to make period-appropriate small talk. “We missed you at dinner.”
“Yes, well. I wasn’t especially interested in being insulted by my guest,” he said sourly, his eyes flicking toward the door, and she knew without asking that he was talking about Robert.
She nodded, wanting to stay in his good graces.
“I understand. The conversation today was hard. It can be difficult to stay composed when something you care a great deal about is being debated.” It was Weatherby who’d been rude and insufferable, she thought quietly to herself… but accusing him of that was hardly going to keep him in a conciliatory mood.
Baldric’s eyes were shining, and he gave her another subtle wink. She was beginning to realize why he had stood where he was standing – from there, he could give her subtle non-verbal input on how she was doing, without alerting Weatherby to the fact that he was being handled. Clever man.
“Well, the Scots always have been an emotional people,” Weatherby grumbled, seeming mollified.
She leaned forward. “Is that so?” she asked. “As you know, I’m rather new to the area – not much experience yet…”
“Oh, yes. They’ve always been passionate,” he explained.
She grinned quietly to herself. One of the best ways to get a man on the side you wanted, she’d learned through years of experience, was to let him explain something to you. He nattered on for a few minutes about the temperament of the Scottish, about how their passion and fury made them capable fighters but not especially good leaders or land managers, and by the time he’d exhausted himself she had a much better sense of who he was. A sheltered, stuffy, self-obsessed Englishman with a rather overinflated sense of his own importance and a rather stereotypical and rather bigoted view of the Scottish people whose territory he was effectively invading. But she was going to keep all of those judgments to herself.
“And what do you think about all of this?” he said abruptly, leaning forward suddenly after a brief lull in the conversation.
Another old trick – let them talk for a long time, and they’d be much more likely to invit
e you to speak. And generally, opinions that were asked for were much better received than opinions that were volunteered – even if it was the exact same opinion.
“What’s your take on the refugees?”
“Well, I can see your side of things for sure,” she said thoughtfully. “Stealing from travelers… that’s no way to conduct oneself, even if one is starving.” She felt a little flare of shame at what she was saying – it definitely wasn’t what she believed. From what she’d heard, the so-called highwaymen had been reasonably nonviolent, taking only what they needed to survive from travelers and doing their best not to do any lasting harm. But she had to balance the truth with what Weatherby wanted to hear.
“That’s exactly what I’ve been saying,” he groused. “Well? What would you do in my position?”
That was exactly the opening she needed – she felt relief in her chest, covered it with a thoughtful expression. “Hm. Well, if it were me… I suppose I’d want assurances from the locals that the troublemakers would be dealt with thoroughly. An increased guard on the roads affected, and strong repercussions for those caught stealing. But at the same time… I’d certainly have some pity for the people affected. They’re stealing out of desperation. A two-pronged approach… some assistance to the needy, and consequences for those caught stealing.”
Weatherby nodded, looking thoughtful. “A very measured response. I can see why Baldric wanted you present for our negotiations. And I’ll admit I might have been a bit… curt, with Robert. He’s a good man, if a little emotional when it comes to his countrymen.”
She resisted the urge to point out that it wasn’t over-emotional to worry about children starving to death, no matter which country they’d come from. She could tell she was getting through to Weatherby – and if she could just encourage him to take an interest in the humanitarian side of things, they might just find a breakthrough happening in their next meeting…
Highlander Returned: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander In Time Book 9) Page 9