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The man shrugged and said, “Stay here.” He whispered to another man who went inside, and Mortimer stood by the gate, his hands behind his back while his horse was led away to the stables. The clansman moved back to his position, ignoring Mortimer as they waited.
Mortimer thought about what he wanted to say and what he could offer the Campbells if they could give him information and do what he asked. He couldn’t offer Charlotte, who would be safely married within a couple of weeks. He didn’t want to offer Elizabeth, for he needed her as his companion for the time being. He would marry her quietly to another friend when the time came. That way, he could keep an eye on her.
But, he could offer protection during any upcoming battles between the English and the Scottish. Ah yes, that’s what he would do. The door opened once more, and Mortimer was waved inside. How crass, he thought.
He entered into a large, dank stone Hall. It was dark and not very well-kept. They were brutes indeed and did not seem to care whether or not they lived in squalor. But the paintings and weapons on the wall, as well as the coat of arms, hung proudly, despite the rather meager surroundings.
A round-bellied, bearded man blundered through to the Hall, his large voice bellowing out, echoing against the walls. “So, what do I owe the pleasure of having a strange Englishman come tae me castle?”
Mortimer bowed with proper regard for the laird’s position. “Hello, Sir, Laird Campbell, I presume? I am here on business and wish to gain a bit of information.”
“Aye? I cannae say we’ve done business since that bastard General Whiteman died and left us in peace without his swindling.”
Mortimer froze. His muscles tensed with anger. But he had to control himself. He could not rail his anger against the man he wished to help him. “I hope that you will find me much more pleasant company to work with. Is there a place we can meet?”
Archibald eyed him crudely, turning his head to assess him. His eyes betrayed his lack of intelligence and brashness. His large belly made him seem that he had used his body in the past to enforce his will, but now it had fallen into sad neglect. Mortimer was strengthened by this. He could deal with an idiot, especially one who made rash decisions. Rashness was its own kind of stupidity. He had dealt with many before him, and this time should be no different. Mortimer smiled.
Archibald grunted and waved him towards a side passage. “Come. I shall ask me brother, John, tae join us as well. He is the one that handles the business.” Archibald bellowed to a servant to find John and send him in. Mortimer followed dutifully behind, the picture of grace and manners.
Once they were inside the meeting room, Archibald didn’t ask but simply placed a glass of whiskey in front of Mortimer. Mortimer shriveled up his nose and pushed it ever so slightly away. He was not the type of fool to imbibe dulling alcohol right before he entered into a business meeting. He needed his mind sharp.
“So what is it ye want tae discuss?” Archibald sat gruffly into an armchair by the fire. Before Mortimer spoke, a man he presumed to be John entered the room. He eyed the two of them and then sat down in another chair. Mortimer’s eyes narrowed. Damn. This man’s eyes were definitely of the intelligent kind, even if they did belong to a Highlander.
John was tall, muscular, and much younger than his elder brother. Archibald said, “This is John. He handles all affairs outside of the castle.” He took a loud sip of his whiskey, and Mortimer took that as a sign that he should begin.
“Well, I have been assigned by the King to work as an assistant to General Andrews. You know him, I assume, stationed at Fort William?”
John’s eyes flashed for a moment, but then his expression calmed. Archibald nodded. “Aye, we know him. A better man than that Whiteman.”
“That’s what I wish to speak to you about. Word has reached the King that there was some skirmish on the MacLean Isle, and the General died mysteriously. Would you happen to know what happened? That was before I came to Scotland, of course.”
Archibald pursed his lips in dumb thought. “I dinnae know why ye’d want tae know about that. ‘Twas insignificant.”
A line of heat burned through Mortimer’s brain. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take of the prattling of this stupid man. He coughed and made his voice stern, glaring pointedly at Archibald. “The King finds it very significant, seeing as there are whispers of war on the wind. He wishes to know whether or not this death has any relation to the rumblings we hear.”
John and Archibald looked at each other briefly. Mortimer pressed on. “What relationship do you have with the MacLeans? Do you have any trade connections with them?”
Archibald laughed, and a drop of whiskey spilled down his chin. “Aye, ye could say that. My brother afore the winter went tae threaten them that we would take their land if they didnae get themselves intae shape. John, ‘tis soon time tae check up on them. I sent a spy there tae see how it goes, and he says that there is more progress than expected. Plus, he was threatened with pain of death if he returned. It appears old Angus found him. We made a deal with Whiteman tae get that land on which he could train his men. For a price, of course.” Archibald continued to chuckle to himself.
Mortimer thought it best he should address his phrases to John instead. “So, perhaps Angus is somehow involved in the skirmish that caused the General’s death?”
John hesitated for a moment when Archibald said, “Aye, ‘twas the MacLean lad. Nasty temper that one.”
Mortimer grinned. Ah, to deal with brutes and idiots. He was one step closer to his revenge.
