Page 63 of Highlander's Sinless Nymph
Edward had expected that his father would be somewhat reluctant to consider his plan. After all, the Laird had not actually been there to see just how commendably and selflessly Charlotte had acted. With this in mind, he was not too disheartened by his father’s rather spirited response.
Guthrie was one of his father’s oldest friends and closest advisors. He had known Edward from––as he put it––an egg. He had always commanded respect from Edward for being stern and staunch in his beliefs, but fair. Even he though, scoffed and spluttered like a punctured bladder at Edward’s suggestion.
“I’m wi’ yer faither on this one, Edward, unequivocally!” Guthrie said, his shiny bald pate glinting in the light coming through the window at which Charlotte stood. “What ye are suggestin’, it’s lunacy! Think o’ what the clan would think!”
Edward’s face remained implacable. He gave the three men time to vent their spleens a little. Waited for them to blow themselves out somewhat, like a squall blowing from three different directions.
Mulloy, who had always terrified Edward when he was growing up due to his uncanny physical similarity to a giant crow––all hunched shoulders and large hooked nose––shook his head.
“The very idea,” he said, in his quiet disapproving voice. “Imagine the backlash from the clansmen and women––from the council that yer faither has been prevailin’ upon to let him go to war with this Bolton devil! Nay, nay, nay, Edward, it is a foolish notion to be sure.”
Edward’s eyes narrowed at the word “foolish” and he felt the muscles in his jaw clench involuntarily. Despite having lost quite a lot of blood from his sword wound, he got to his feet, took a breath and prepared to give the old buzzard a tongue-lashing.
“Ye daft bu––” he began to growl.
A touch on his shoulder alerted him to the fact that his father had risen with him. Edward’s neck cricked, his head turned so fast to look at the person touching him.
“Edward, if what ye have told me is true concernin’ with how this lass has comported herself and how much of a succor she has been to ye––and I haveneverkenned ye to lie to me––then I can understand why ye would want to help her. This though…” and the Laird spread his hands.
“Bloody well speak plainly, Faither!” Edward snarled. He tried to keep a civil tongue in his head at all times but, what with the stress of the past few days, his injury and, not least of all, the confusing feelings he harbored for Charlotte, his patience was stretched to its limit.
His father’s face darkened. The heavy, careworn brows lowering dangerously.
“All right, lad, I’ll speak plain to ye!” he rumbled. “Did ye even stop to consider fer a second what thehellkidnappin’ Bolton’s daughter would mean?”
Edward looked unwaveringly into his father’s eyes. Their stares, to the others watching, seemed to flicker back and forth like fencing blades.
“Did ye?” roared the Laird suddenly, a vein bulging in his temple. “Did ye nae think that justmaybethat bastard would figure out what had happened and come down on us like a wolf on the fold! The man is Black Donald incarnate, lad! Ye ken that well enough!”
“I understand well enough the stakes here! If I did nae kill that last tracker and he gets back to Captain Bolton, that bastard will come here with all his strength.”
“And yet, that would nae have even been an issue if ye had just left the lass alone in the first place,” the Laird seethed. “Or, killedher,” he added, as an acidic afterthought.
“So, ye’d sink to the man’s level would ye?” Edward snarled back. His teeth were bared and he leaned closer to his father.
A flash of regret passed over the Laird’s face, as if he realized how harsh his words were. He glanced quickly at Charlotte.
“Well then,” he growled, his wrathful tone lowering an octave, “it would have made more sense all round if ye had killed the man himself then.”
Edward’s breath snorted out of him like a bull. Even pale and drawn as his wound had left him, he was still intimidating in his fury.
“Faither, o’ course ye angry, and I do understand that,” Edward said, “but what we have to decide now is how best to combat the threat of Bolton’s retaliation.”
“And ye think that marryin’ this lass is the answer?” his father sneered. “She’s bonnie to look upon I’ll admit, but Bolton will raze every buildin’, burn every field, slaughter the herds, rape, murder and pillage his way through the lands about the castle to get her back.”
“Aye, and he’ll do it, with complete impunity,” Edward replied. “Unlessthat lass over there marries into the clan. Then at least, Bolton will be breakin’ his King’s own laws and will be held accountable. It might be enough to stop him headin’ north altogether.”
“It’s as these other two have said; what would the MacQuarries as a whole think?” the Laird replied. “They would see a union of this sort in the most simplistic o’ terms; the son of the Laird weddin’ the daughter of the clan’s most despised enemy.”
The Laird of the MacQuarries, shook his head and looked across at Guthrie and Mulloy. Mulloy was the first to break his silence.
“I ken that ye and I have nae seen eye-to-eye, ever since ye were a wee lad, Edward,” he said, in his dry voice. “So, I beg that ye do not jump down me throat when I voice me next question––I do not mean to be callous or cruel in me remark, and I hope the lass over there will pardon me.”
Edward gave him a stiff nod to show that he should continue.
Mulloy turned to his Laird. “Yer Lairdship, could we nae simply use this lass as a hostage? To do so would, it seems to me, have the same effect upon this vile Englishman as yer son’s scheme, and if the Captain were to continue in his course, well… an eye for an eye.”
Edward saw, out of the corner of his eye, that Charlotte had turned and was looking aghast at Mulloy, who was talking so casually of using her as leverage and, potentially, hanging her to avenge the loss of Edward’s mother.
