Page 62 of Sighs of the Highland Wind
Henderson opened the door and they stepped inside. As soon as he moved through it, Cameron met the glaring gaze of his father, who was sitting behind his desk with a glass of wine at his elbow.He could feel the older man’s hostility like a physical barrier in front of him, and he was incensed by the fact that the Laird did not even offer him a greeting.
He moved into the room and James Henderson pulled out a chair for Cameron to sit down, then his father, without greeting him or asking him if he wanted it, poured him a glass of wine. Cameron would have loved to drink it, but he ignored it completely. When he had said he wanted nothing from his father, he meant it. The Laird sipped his wine and noticed that Cameron was not drinking.
“This is my best wine,” the Laird told him, pushing it towards Cameron. “Try it.”
Cameron remained mulishly silent and immobile for a moment, then suddenly he reached out his hand and swiped the glass sideways off the table. There was an almighty crash as it shattered on the floor, spilling a puddle of wine on the desk and spraying it all over the costly carpet. Splinters of crystal flew everywhere, and Cameron felt a surge of unholy triumph as he watched the rich deep red liquid soak into the expensive rug, staining it forever.
The Laird’s face turned the same color as the wine, and he made to stand up, but before he could get to his feet, he clutched his chest and flopped back down in his chair again.
Cameron’s heart skipped a beat as he looked at his father’s face, which was screwed up in pain. James Henderson rushed to the Laird’s side, but Ross Lewis pushed him away angrily. His face was returning to its normal color, even though he was still breathing heavily, but gradually he regained control of himself and cleared his throat.
During all the drama, Cameron had neither moved nor spoken, and his face was as expressionless as a marble statue as he stared at his father.
“Why did you do that?” Henderson asked him angrily. “You could have brought on one of his seizures.”
“An’ why should I care?” Cameron demanded. “He means nothin’ to me, and I must mean nothing to him, since he has never said a word to me in my whole life. He can drop down dead in front o’ me for all I care. In fact, if he did die right this minute, I would drink to his death. I feel nothin’ for him except contempt. No. No’ contempt. Hatred.” He looked at the Laird and his lip curled in disgust.
The Laird took another moment to recover and gather his thoughts, then he said abruptly, “if I were you, I would be a little more civil. You see, I want you to be my heir, so if you wish, all this can be yours.” Ross Lewis waved his arm around in a circle, indicating the room around them. He waited for a sign that his son was impressed, but Cameron's stony gaze remained fixed on his father’s face, ignoring his invitation to look around.
The Laird was visibly shivering as he saw Cameron’s eyes fixed on him as if they were trying to bore a hole in him. “My blood flows in your veins,” he pointed out, frowning. “Do you not want all this? You and any heirs you have will live in comfort for the rest of your life, and you will no doubt have a beautiful wife and therefore beautiful children. You are a handsome man. Women will flock to you.”
“If I have your blood in my veins it is no fault of mine,” Cameron growled. “And if I could, I would spill every drop of it out o’ my body an’ exchange it for my mother’s. I don’t want your castle. I don’t want your wine, or your blood, or your flocks o’ women.Ye are a poor excuse for a man - you were no’ worried about the blood in my veins when my precious Ma was dyin’! She loved me, but where were ye then?
So your son has died - and suddenly ye have remembered about your blood in my veins?” He gave a cynical laugh. “Ye suddenly want me now that I am of some use to ye! Don’t bother yourself wi’ me, M’Laird. I speak Scots an’ no’ English. I have no fancy manners, an’ I eat wi’ my hands. I am a peasant an’ I would only embarrass ye. Oh, but I forgot. Ye will be dead. Good. I wish ye a slow an’ painful journey tae hell.” He stood up and looked down at his father, his eyes blazing with anger.
The Laird struggled to his feet, and the two men faced each other. Cameron was taller than the Laird, who had grey eyes and not blue, but otherwise there was no mistaking the likeness between them. Apart from the wrinkles on the older man, their faces were almost identical.
“So you do not want any of this?” Again, he waved his arm around the room and again Cameron refused to look. “Do you wish to die poor? I am offering you the chance to live a better life. I am offering you the chance to never have to worry about food, a roof over your head, whether your barley crop will grow or wither this year. I am offering you the opportunity to enjoy your leisure time and let others work for you. Does that not sound better than scraping a living from the soil as you are doing now?”
This time Cameron had to restrain himself from leaping over the desk and squeezing the life out of the man he hated with all his heart and soul. He braced his hands on the desk and leaned over it so that he forced the Laird to sit down and he was nose to nose with him.
“Listen to me, you piece o’ slime.” His voice was low, but throbbing with rage. “How many times do I have to tell ye? I. Want. Nothin’. From. You. You are nothin’ but a rich layabout that cares for nobody an’ nothin’ but himself. The only reason ye want me is because ye need me, but let me tell you, M’Laird - I would no’ beg a crust off ye if I was starvin’!”
There was a trembling silence before Cameron slowly stood up, but the Laird was determined to have the last word.
Not to be beaten, he kept his composure, while Cameron lost his. “If you change your mind,” he said calmly, “the offer still stands.” Nevertheless, his steel-grey eyes looked murderous.
However, he did not get his wish. “I will not,” Cameron said firmly, and with a venomous look at the Laird and his steward, he walked out, holding his head high.
To James Henderson’s astonishment, the Laird was smiling as the door closed behind his son.
“What do you have to be amused about?” the steward asked. “He refused you!”
“As I expected he would,” Ross Lewis said with a satisfied smile. “But if I know anything about human nature, and I do - he will be back to accept. He spoke in anger, James, and his pride was hurt. He did not give himself time to think, but when he has calmed down, he will be back.”
James shrugged. “I am not so sure about that,” he said doubtfully. “From what I can see, he is very stubborn, and has a great deal of rage inside him.”
“He is also very poor,” the Laird countered. “And you cannot eat pride.”
7
Cameron was still furious as he made his way to Ava’s cottage. All the way along the road, he had been thinking of ways to hasten his father’s death and make his steward’s life a misery.
Then, he thought about the estate. Given half a chance he would let it go to rack and ruin, but then he thought of all the poor people who depended on it for their livelihood. He could never do that to them. No, if it was his, he would run it to the very best of his ability, although even his best would likely never be good enough.
Anyway, all this was just fantasy, he thought angrily, since would never accept the Lairdship. Even if he was tempted to do so, he had no idea what to do with such a huge responsibility. He could only just manage to take care of his small farm, and the estate of Kilcarron was huge. What hope did he have? Even with the help of a competent steward like James Henderson he would be almost clueless, and anyway, he did not trust the man.
There was something innately dislikeable about Henderson, something which Cameron had picked up on the first time hemet the man. Cameron had a sense that he would always take care of himself first and the estate second. There was something about James Henderson that made Cameron want to take his fist to him. He could not quite understand what it was, but it was as if there was an evil smell emanating from him.
