A Hellion for the Highlander

“Well, some proof to the contrary,” said the one who hadn’t spoken already, probably Annabel. She gestured at Cicilia. “But, an’ nae offense, that’s makin’ it worse in some people’s eyes. Nae only are ye a woman, but ye’re a part o’ the issue to some. There’s been all sorts o’ rumors…”

“I ken the rumors about me,” Cicilia said quickly. “But ye said about money?”

“Aye,” Susan agreed. “Well, ye see, nae everyone can be swayed with words. But this hooded man, whoever he is, has access to somethin’ else—money, an’ plenty o’ it. He kens who the respected folk are in this town, an’ we’re fairly certain he’s buyin’ them off to help spread his word.”

“To what end?” Cicilia asked in exasperation. “What on Earth could they be gettin' from all o’ this trouble?”

The first Mary shrugged. “Perhaps they wish to de-seat the Laird. That would explain why they’re goin’ out o’ their way to badmouth him and discredit him, o’ course. An’ he’s got nae brothers that I ken about, so it would leave the seat wide open.”

“Perhaps one o’ his soldiers, then?” Susan suggested. “Nae the Man-at-arms, I ken that much. He’s a good man.”

“One o’ his advisors? I dinnae ken how many he has, but they’re likely powerful enough to step in,” suggested the second Mary.

“Nae matter who it is, I’m afraid the fight he’s spoilin’ for is comin’ regardless,” said probably-Anne solemnly. “Me husband an’ me brothers are rarin’ to go, an’ they will nae listen to a word I have to say. I’m nae certain what poison has been dripped in their ears, exactly, but it’s nae a gentle one.”

Cicilia said nothing, sitting there silently with all of that information whirling in her head, trying desperately to sort it all out. So there was to be a fight after all? One so manufactured that someone had paid for it?

But why? Who hated Alexander so much? What had they said to drive the people into such a frothing rage?

Who benefits?

That was the question spinning in Cicilia’s head as the women’s meeting concluded, and she began to walk further into the town, barely paying attention to what she was doing. She needed to think this over, clear her head a little before she returned to the Castle to present Alexander with what she’d learned.

Who benefits if Alexander goes down?

She was wandering through the town when the words hit her ears that changed the course of her day—and, quite possibly, the course of the rest of her life.

“—at sunset,” a rough voice whispered from an alley. “When nae body at thon Castle is expectin’ it.”

Now on high alert, she pulled up her own cloak’s hood and edged down the side of the building, desperate to see the source of the words without being seen herself.

Two men stood down there, one tall and thin, the other—the one who had spoken—shorter, rougher, and stockier. The tall one’s face was hidden in his hood, and he was handing the short man a bag that rattled heavily as though filled with coins.

The wind blew heavily, and Cicilia grabbed her own hood to prevent it from falling down as she listened.

“They ken there’s an attack comin’, but they’re nae yet prepared,” the tall man said in an irritatingly familiar voice. However, Cicilia could not quite place it. “This is for yer troubles. Ye an’ yer lads have done an excellent job for the price I paid.”

Is this the hooded man that Susan an’ the women were talkin’ about? Is this the man who’s workin’ against Alexander?

The stocky man laughed coldly. “Aye, well, I’ve nae love for the Laird, an’ plenty o’ love for the coin. He rules wi’ an iron fist, an’ he needs taking down. An’ if the man who takes over is favorable to me an’ mine, well then, all the better.”

“At sunset, then?” the hooded man asked. “Outside the Castle gates?”

“Aye. I have thirty men from here, an’ seventy in total from the next two villages. We’ll storm the castle an’ take it without any worries, just like we promised,” the stocky man said, pocketing his money.

“Good,” replied the hooded man. “Good.”

Cicilia shivered, hearing the cold satisfaction in his voice.

“An’ yer sure ye’ll take over?” the stocky man asked once more.

The hooded man nodded. “Aye. I ken me place.”

The nod, combined with another gust of wind that suddenly blew strongly through the alley, dislodged his hood, revealing his hair and face.

Cicilia felt ice filling her veins and had to clap her mouth to prevent herself from screaming in horror as she realized precisely the answer to her question.

Who benefits?