A Hellion for the Highlander

“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.