Gargouille Ch. 08

Kieran did not respond. He slowly walked over, opened the cabinet, and retrieved a cup where he poured himself some coffee before sitting on the high stool near the island. He took a sip then placed the mug on the counter. Sighing, he turned and looked at Eyon.

"Ye remember the day I brought Nicole home? Ye were fascinated. Yet, angry at the way I had taken her." He paused as if seemingly gathering himself, before continuing. "Ye were enamoured by her loveliness and we vowed that night never to hurt her. We vowed to love, protect and cherish her. I know ye love her, and yes we want to protect the Elders. But what of our mate?"

He got up and walked over to the window, looking out at the beautiful scenery. "I am done listening to ye and to the Elders."

He slashed his hand through the wet strands of his blond locks. "Enough, Eyon. I have had enough of this nonsense with ye."

He continued. "Ye can suffer by yer self, I'll not be joining ye in this no longer," he finished coldly.

Eyon stood there, tight lipped, trembling, his eyes burning fire in his head. He had never felt more powerless in his life. Though ever since the death of his mother where he was sealed in a cave by magic, unable to save her, it all seemed like nothing compared to being powerless within his memories and guilt. Every time he closed his eyes, Eyon was plagued with everything he'd had to do to ensure that he would protect his mate and clan folk. It all flashed so vividly, and he flinched at some of the ways he had treated her. How hurt and powerless she must have felt when they placed so many restrictions on her without any reasonable explanation, except to obey them. How could he let her suffer thus? He was only hurting himself, for she was his better half.

"What a damn fool I have been," he cursed.

..MW..

"Good morning, signore," the girl repeated, for the fifth time. Her accent was nerve jarring. A foreigner no doubt, trying to be Italian, making her actual dialect difficult to decipher.

She was of Asian ancestry, Bhaltair decided. She was cute, you couldn't call her pretty. The kind of woman you'd fuck once and forget, although her skimpy outfit would probably have insured that anyway. He disapproved of the tight mini skirt and leather jacket. A true whore - he hated them. All liars. The cruel scowl on his face caused the young woman without hesitation to turn on her heel and sprint down the path. Her glittering heels clipped-clopped on the cobbled ground, and around the corner. Within a minute, she was completely gone.

The puttanas had been arriving by the dozens a few days ago. No doubt to secure cash for kind. Bhaltair had no time for distraction and the men he made sure knew that too. Bhaltair's evil smile faded away as he sneered.

Whore all but forgotten, his vision trailed down to his left, then at his men. He had growled at his minions afew days ago for being late in the delivery of his goods, for he was sternly methodical. Yet they were late again. Time was money and the men were warned that any untoward delay would be taken from their pockets.

Because of their tardiness, the trucks would go streaming through the streets for all to see. He didn't want to arouse suspicion among the few locals. They thought him a rich land owner and he would like to keep it that way. For soon he would laugh in the face of his enemies.

"I'll show them," he thought proudly. 'Them' were his Clansmen, especially the Lairds, Eyon and Kieran. How he hated them.

"Soon," he sneered.

Bhaltair looked around the large yard. The trucks had not yet appeared; the men were busy with their work moving and loading crates. The dimly lit morning added an ominous feel to the chill hanging in the air. He smiled and drained his brandy.

Through the big iron gate behind him came the sound of vehicles coming in. A youth, weary of trekking with the burden of heavy load between warehouse and the yard, shifted his weight ceaselessly and steadily against the ground with one impatient foot, clink, grunt, clink, grunt, upon the paved yard. It seemed he was wearing chains. Bhaltair grinned.

"Easy, ye bloody imbecile; ye'll drop the goods!" came a voice. Then there was the smart slap of an open hand on a thin neck, a quick start, and the rattle of boxes as the youth shrieked to the blow.

"Run a white or blue tarpaulin across the yard, Toby, to keep the crates from cracking open," came another voice. "And careful on the top there with them big ole feet. Do ye think a crate was made for ye to parade on with them mighty hooves of yers?" Then the voice sank to the hoarse, warning whisper of edginess - squeaky in angst, yet throaty from fear of being heard. "Hurry up, fool, hurry up, or he'll be down on us like leeches for being so late in getting in!"

Bhaltair smiled evilly, and a red gleam shot from his eye as he glanced round to the gate and caught the words. The fools did not know he could hear them. Good. Good.

He walked to the gate, his shoes making no noise. "Where have ye been, my loyal men?" he said softly... Imbeciles!"

He said the word like a snake hissing, with a chilling sharpness in its tone that made it an evil contrast to the sweet words, 'my loyal men.'

"Imbeciles?" he said again, and stared with open mouth and fierce, red eyes.

"Hurry up, Toby," whispered Dane, "hurry up fool, for God sake. He has the red glower in his eyes."

"Sorry, my lord; we're a bit late!" cried Toby, running out to open the back of the truck. Toby was a wizened little man, with a sparsely mop of beard beneath his chin, a scar on the top of his hawkish, crocked nose. He always went about his work with eager alacrity. He affected the quick agility of youth to atone for his meagre insignificance.

"Idiot! Do ye think I have time or money to waste? Or gave the orders to cease the dalliance lightly? Do ye think when I told ye to get this out two day hence, it was not well considered?" In a fury, Bhaltair threw the metal tankard at the now-cringing man.

"For yer stupidity and greed ye may have ruined everything! Everything!" From his crouched and cowering position, Toby peered warily at his enraged master. "T'was not easy, Lord Bhaltair. We were nearly seen by the Lairds right hand, Aodh, 'tis why it took us so long. Ye see what we brought in. All the ammunition- the fine weaponry ye can—"

"What!" Bhaltair's eyes narrowed. "Aodh? Ye're certain? Who else was with him?" Toby did not hesitate to supply information if it meant saving his own skin. "No one else my Lord, but I overheard the conversation he was having with the man he was meeting."

"What did ye hear?"

"He ordered the man to prepare the villa for the Lairds and their mate's visit."

There was a tense silence. Finally the still-angry Bhaltair stood still as a rock looking unseeingly in space. When he looked down, he fixed a now black lifeless gaze on the other man. "Ye'll receive only half of yer portion of the profits this time. The rest is forfeit to me— to remind ye not to make the same mistake."

The man said nothing. "We'll both benefit handsomely from this. Ye need me to keep ye alive from yer pack and I need ye to supply me their weapons. I see no need to fuss over this matter." He paused and smiled coldly. "Do ye?"

The other man opened his mouth as if to speak, but then his eyes fell to the sinister claws Bhaltair now sported. No one would care if he lived or died. His Alpha had cast him out as a traitor. He supposed he was for allying with this cold hearted monster. He clenched his jaw, then met Bhaltair's cold, expectant stare.

"I'll not fight with ye, my Lord," he reluctantly conceded. "But I cannot keep this up much longer. The Alpha and his men grow suspicious. They're onto me."

"Tis not forever, ye fool! Neal has by now been caught- all part of the plan. We've nothing to fear now."

"So they're coming to Italy. No doubt to their villa in Venice. Good news. Good news indeed." A small smile crossed Bhaltair's face.

He thought it a stroke of genius when he'd planted those lies in Neal's head and had him attack the Lairds. Not only would he have gotten the title he deserved, he would have also been blameless. After all, he didn't commit the crime. But the stupid pitiful drunkard had fucked that up. But his greatest achievement at getting back at the Lairds, an evil smile lighting his face as he smiled in memory, was tossing the woman in the brook. That would teach them to mess with him. They've humiliated him enough. All would see his triumph.

Still, he had hoped his men would have remained loyal, but most had deserted him. The hag Manig was nowhere to be found and when he had turned to Bronwyn she had looked down at him - the little slut.

"I will see them pay. All of them," he muttered.

Rage, hot and hard, roared through him. He turned his anger again; this time toward Dane who he had no doubt been behind the hitch in his plan. He stared down at his talons. He would deal with the bastard later.

With self-satisfied smile he looked back at Toby and saw the man tremble. For once things seemed to be looking up.

...

I hoped you all enjoyed it. Please leave a feedback. I would be ever so greatful. I lost my previous editor. But God as given me another. So chapter 9 will be right around the corner. Thanks a bunch my lovelies. Feedbacks pretty please!..grinning