Page 22 of Bound to a Scot (Sins in a Kilt #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“ I would caution ye against letting yer emotions get involved, me laird,” Laith said, his voice smooth as silk. “Ye dinnae want tae make a rash decision.”

Burchard turned to him, his eyes narrowed and a snarl showing his teeth. “And what is that supposed tae mean?”

The tall, thin man grimaced as if he knew he’d just stepped into a briar patch and had to navigate his way out carefully lest he slice himself to ribbons. That was the way Burchard liked to keep people. On tenterhooks. He liked to keep them from getting too comfortable and always guessing. Back on their heels. He liked them to always remember who had the power and who was in control. It was necessary to remind people of that.

Burchard allowed Laith more freedom than most, but only because he had been his advisor for a very long time and had always provided astute counsel. The man had a keen, if somewhat devious mind and truth be told, he was the closest thing Burchard had to a true friend. Burchard had learned early on in life that as laird of the clan, he did not have the luxury of friends. Most people wanted to get close to him to curry favor, others to bask in the glow of his power, and others to plot against him. He had learned to keep everybody at an arm’s distance and that he couldn’t truly trust anybody.

However, Burchard’s patience had its limits, even with an obsequious lickspittle like Laith.

“I mean nay disrespect, me laird,” the man said with a slight bow of his head. “All I mean tae say is this situation is delicate and must be handled with care.”

“He comes intae me castle—me home—and thinks he can carry on with me wife right under me nose like I’m a bleedin’ fool?”

“We dinnae ken fer certain that they’re carryin’ on taegether,” Laith said. “I was merely reportin’ back tae ye the whispers I’ve heard ‘round the keep, me laird.”

“And what about their wee nighttime excursion, eh?”

“Again, ‘tis nae proof of anythin’,” he replied. “I was merely told by one of the guards that both of them came through the southern gate late one night, albeit at separate times.”

His hands clasped behind his back, Burchard paced the salon, his face hot with rage. He ground his teeth so hard, he half-feared turning them into dust, but such was the anger flowing through him, he could not stop. He’d known Emmeline enjoyed taking walks out to the hot springs beyond the castle and bathing out there beneath the light of the moon for some time. He went out there himself from time to time, usually to entertain one of his mistresses because the water felt nice and it was semi-private.

Burchard had never offered to join her or send a guard to watch over her because there was some small part of him that hoped she’d be attacked by an animal or rogues and would simply never return to the keep. He’d even briefly entertained the notion of sending hired swords himself to see that the job was done. Knowing she had been out there with Maddox though, doing God knew what, made him wonder why he’d stayed his hand.

“I admit it looks suspicious, me laird. But as of yet, we have nay proof of yer wife’s infidelity. It would be rash and perhaps even foolish tae act right now,” Laith said. “The clan wouldnae like it.”

Burchard waved him off and walked to the table and poured himself a cup of ale, quaffing half of it down in one swallow. He did not need proof. He believed the rumors. He felt the truth of them in his heart and that was good enough for him. He stared out the window at the darkness of the land beyond and drained the last of the ale before refilling his cup.

“I cannae nae dae anythin’,” Burchard said. “It’d make me look weak to any potential allies… or worse, tae me enemies.”

“But acting rashly would make ye look impulsive and unstable tae those potential allies,” Laith replied smoothly. “’Tis as much as a liability, if nae more.”

His mood darkening, Burchard’s grip on his cup tightened and with a growl, he spun and hurled it at the far wall. It hit with a hard thud and bounced away, splashing ale all over the floor.

“Who in the bleedin’ hell does this man think he is tae come into me keep and take what is mine?” he shouted.

“Again, me laird, these are but rumors at this point. We dinnae ken?—”

Burchard rounded on him. “I’ve seen the way he looks at her. And I’ve seen the way she looks at him. They dinnae think I see it, but I dae. Bleedin’ hell, I thought I noticed something was off before but now that ye’ve brought me these rumors, things are startin’ tae make more sense.”

Grumbling to himself under his breath, Burchard walked over to the table and poured himself another cup of ale. Laith remained in the chair before the fire, one leg crossed over the other, watching him with a look of practiced patience on his face.

“I could challenge him tae a duel,” Burchard said, seeming to warm to the idea. “Aye. I could challenge him tae a duel on the grounds that he’s insulted me honor as well as the hospitality he’s been given beneath this roof.”

“Aye, ye could dae that,” Laith said evenly though Burchard could tell he was holding back.

“But what then? What is it?” he huffed.

“It might again appear that ye are rash and impulsive. It would make ye look unstable, which in turn, would make ye less attractive to potential allies.”

“And why should I care one whit what other people think?”

“Because like it or nae, ye need allies if ye’re tae achieve yer ultimate goals, me laird.”

“I dinnae need anybody.”

“If only that was true,” he replied. “But ye need the coin and the men they can provide ye.”

Burchard grunted and took another swallow of ale, his feelings of rage and discontent growing stronger by the moment. He wanted nothing more than to run a blade through Maddox MacLachlan and his treacherous wife’s heart, ridding himself of her once and for all.

“Like it or nae, me laird, perception matters,” Laith pressed. “And if others perceive ye tae be too unstable tae be trusted, ye may find yerself alone. Worse, ye may find yerself surrounded by men who might think it best tae be rid of ye and take what ye have fer their own. Friends can turn tae enemies with naught but a whisper.”

Burchard returned to the window and glared at the world beyond it as he sipped his ale. He hated to admit it, but he knew Laith spoke the truth. As great as his desire was to put an end to both Maddox and his wife, doing so would come at a cost. And it was a cost he was unwilling to bear. His ambitions were great and his plans long. Derailing them now in the name of petty jealousy and personal vengeance would be foolish, especially as he did not care for his wife.

The night outside the keep was cool, the land glowing softly beneath the light of the waxing moon. It was coldly beautiful. Like Emmeline. He could not deny the woman’s beauty. She was stunning and he had been taken by her comeliness from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. He has known in an instant that he had to have her. That impulsive decision had led Burchard to years of frustration that over time had blossomed into rage.

Burchard had been so captivated by Emmeline’s beauty, he had not taken the time to understand who and what she was. She was an intelligent and curious woman. Worse, she had moments where she was outspoken and did not hesitate to voice her opinions. She did not know her place. That might have been tolerable, albeit just barely, had it not been compounded by her inability to produce an heir for him. Put together, the situation had quickly become untenable.

Fueled by his frustrations with her barrenness and her penchant to be mouthy, Burchard had endeavored to teach Emmeline her place. Had striven to teach her manners and what he expected from his wife. He had tried to instruct her over the years but was met with limited success, which had just stoked the flames of his anger. Only when he’d been forced to take harsher measures did she become more compliant. They had finally reached a place where Emmeline, although perhaps still difficult, was willing to hold her tongue. He didn’t necessarily like the measures he had had to take, but she had forced his hand.

Her presence though, was a constant thorn in Burchard’s side. Over the years, he had thought many times about setting her aside in favor of somebody who might produce him an heir. But he knew that if he did that, tongues within the clan would begin to wag. Some might even blame him for the inability to produce an heir. He’d seen it happen before. And once those rumors began to circulate, it would weaken him as a man and a laird in the eyes of some. The thought of that was more intolerable than the woman’s presence.

In lieu of setting her aside, Burchard had begun bedding other women. If Emmeline couldn’t produce an heir for him, perhaps another woman could. While the child might be a bastard, it would still be his, with a claim to the lairdship, and he vowed to himself he would do everything in his power to solidify the child’s standing. He would ensure the Macfie name would rule the lands he held as well as those he would take in the future for a very long time.

“This could be yer chance tae finally be rid of yer ladywife, me laird,” Laith said. “But ye’ll have tae play this just so.”

“Dae ye have any thoughts on that?”

“Actually, I dae.”

Laith got to his feet and walked to the table then poured himself a cup of ale, drawing out the moment. That was the one quirk of the man’s personality that irritated Burchard… his need to make everything a spectacle. Not everything had to be a show. He knew Laith probably had had the idea he was about to share the whole time and instead of just telling him from the outset, had played out this mummery, letting Burchard get himself sufficiently worked up about what was happening within the walls of his keep before swooping in to offer the solution.

Burchard muttered darkly, feeling manipulated and angry about the games the man played. But it was something he had to put up with, simply because Laith had a cunning wisdom that usually allowed him to pull the right strings that gained Burchard every advantage a situation required. And this situation was going to require every advantage he could muster.

The man took a long swallow of ale, then turned back to Burchard, letting his silent gaze linger for several long moments, dragging the show out even further. Burchard finally sighed and looked at his advisor with impatience on his face.

“What is it, Laith? What thoughts dae ye have on the situation?” he demanded.

“I think I’ve come up with a way fer ye tae finally be rid of yer wife and Laird MacLachlan while giving ye claim to his lands and his fightin’ men without losing any respect or makin’ yerself appear rash or unstable.”

“It sounds too good tae be true.”

He raised his thin shoulders in a half-shrug. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s a stroke of genius.”

Burchard rolled his eyes. The man had an ego that was perhaps even larger than his own.

“Why dinnae ye tell me what this great plan of yers is and I’ll decide on it meself.”

Laith inclined his head in a small bow. “As ye wish, me laird. But let’s refill our cups and sit before the fire. This may take a moment.”