So Niall tried again. Then Ian, then Maeve, then the little maid Susan.
“Please, ma’am, won’t you open the door enough to let me give you a tray?” Susan begged. “It’s good hearty fare. Apart from the shortbread, you’ve not eaten since tea yesterday, milady!”
Nothing. Not even the promise of neeps and tatties could lure Heather from her isolation.
“I don’t know what to do,” Maeve confessed to her brothers.
“It’s easy. We get an ax and chop the door down,” Ian grunted. “Don’t know why you’ve not done that already, Niall.”
“Just a hunch, but I thought Heather wouldn’t look kindly on someone who literally wrecked her room along with her life.”
“Bah, women love being chased and told what to do,” Robert said. “They just pretend otherwise.”
Maeve gave him a disgusted look. “Where’s that ax, Ian? I’ve got another use for it. Rob’s head is still attached to his neck.”
He grinned. “I’m just kidding, Maevey-doll. You’re too easy to tease.”
“Oh, indeed? Well, here’s something that’s no tease. Get downstairs and out to the stables to help the boys turn that sick horse! Tis your job today.”
“Ah, hell.” Robert stomped off.
Finally, the MacNair himself stalked down, determined to deal with the sassenach. The family was still gathered around the door, along with several servants—the locked door held a certain fascination for everyone.
MacNair banged on her door with his metal-tipped walking stick, telling Heather that she was being a eejit, and as far as he was concerned, she could stay in that room for the rest of her life. It would merely make spending her money easier.
Heather responded tothat. Not in words…she quietly dumped the contents of her chamber pot under the door, creating a pungent puddle that soaked MacNair’s shoes and stockings before he’d realized what happened.
The old man shrieked, cursed her a hundred ways, and ordered anyone and everyone to tear the door down so he could get at the bitch.
Niall stepped up to his father (avoiding the puddle). “You will do no such thing, sir. Why don’t you go back to your own chambers…and find a new pair of shoes?”
Behind him, Ian snorted with laughter.
The old man left, escorted by Maeve. Susan had already called for hot water, soap, and rags to be brought up to clean up the mess. While the little maid was working Niall went into his own room and knocked at the connecting door.
“He’s gone, Heather. Off to change his shoes.” Niall couldn’t help but chuckle.
Silence from the other side, but he could hear her moving about the room. He continued, “You’ll have to open up sometime, you know. You have no food in there, nor anything to drink, which will make your last trick with the chamber pot hard to duplicate.”
“Must you?” Heather said from the other side, sounding quite horrified that he brought up the delicate matter of bodily fluids, never mind that she’d just used some as a defensive weapon.
“Speaking of that, Susan is tidying up. And my father’s shoes will likely be fine after a thorough soaking. So no harm done. You can unlock the door at any time.”
“I’m not letting you anywhere near me, Niall MacNair! Oh, and tell Susan I’m sorry, please.”
Niall sighed and walked away. Heather was going to take some time to calm down. He ought to strangle Wiggins, for being the bearer of bad news.
How could ten thousand be bad news? Niall wanted to laugh at the absurdity of everyone reacting to the news of Heather’s wealth with such distress. Wouldn’t most people swoon with joy if they learned they were so rich? And yet for Heather, it brought nothing good. It only meant that she was more trapped than before, with men chasing her for her money. And apparently she now counted Niall among them.
Thus it was actually something of a relief when Niall got a message from Cyril Hayes, asking for a meeting at the Cat & Mouse. Niall decided to go even before getting to the end of the note. He wanted to know more about this man, to understand how far he’d go to achieve his aim.
Later that day, Niall walked into the inn. Ian offered to come along, but Niall wanted a private conversation. He did, however, suggest that Ian go as far as the taproom, just in case Hayes was planning something violent. Ian agreed to that idea quickly, no doubt because it meant sitting back and sipping at least one ale in the middle of the day.
Ian headed directly for a table, greeting the barmaid loudly on the way. Brodie caught Niall’s glance and nodded his head toward a private dining room off to the side. Niall moved that way, accepting the whisky Brodie slid across the counter. He’d need it.
The private room held a single table with six chairs. Two were occupied. Cyril sat on one end, already half-drunk. Brom sat at the other, forcing Niall to choose a chair between them.
“Where is Webb?” he asked, surprised at the absence of the third man.
