“Good to see you could make it,” Gordon said. “I thought for sure that you’d gone bush on us.”
Hamish wordlessly dismounted.
His brother’s brows lifted to their highest. “By the Goddess’ sweet name, what have you been up to?”
“Ewan’s farm,” Hamish replied, jerking a thumb back the way he’d come. “Boar took out all the leeward fences.”
His brother nodded. “Aye, I ken you were going to check the damage. But what’s all this?” He gestured to Hamish’s attire. The pig’s blood had dried on the trip out of the woods, but it’d left dark marks all across the soft brown leather of Hamish’s hunting jacket.
Hamish self-consciously brushed at where the tunic hem was unprotected by his jacket. His trousers, baggy in the traditional style, were also liberally smeared with blood and dirt. The laundry workers would no doubt give his ear quite the chewing once it was known. “We tracked down the boar. He’ll nae be destroying much but a wee bit of hunger now.”
Gordon clapped his hand on Hamish’s shoulder. “Well, you missed the ambassador’s arrival.”
“Did I?” Hamish finally relinquished the reins to the waiting stablehand. He nodded his thanks to the lad and turned back to Gordon as his horse was led into her stall. “I’m fair heartbroken.”
His brother beamed. “You might be when you see who they sent us.”
Who? Hamish peered at his brother, trying to decipher just what had put that gleeful twinkle into his normally stark green eyes. “I thought it was just some countess?” He glanced back at his parents and the man they were speaking with. No woman at all beyond his mother. Including his sister. “Where did Nora scamper off to?” Granted, she wasn’t much one for the false niceties of politics, but if Hamish was expected to be here, then so was she.
“Herding the troublesome trio to lessons, where else?”
“And your daughter?” At twelve years of age, Sorcha was more than old enough to begin the training that would eventually lead to her taking the throne after her father. Even if she did prefer stalking deer to politics.
“She’s probably the one leading them astray, as always.” Still grinning, Gordon shook his head. “Come on. Mum’s head is practically exploding trying to be civil about the change.” His brother chuckled and pulled him in close. “Let’s see if we can still make that dam burst.”
“Nae that I’m complaining about her absence,” Hamish said, choosing his words carefully as they veered within earshot of his parents. “But did something happen to the original ambassador they were sending?” He’d admit to a few unfair prayers sent her way, but it wasn’t her fault his mother played matchmaker with him and every single noblewoman.
His brother shrugged. “He said she couldnae make it.”
“He?” Hamish echoed. His gaze flicked back to the man chatting with his parents, barely seen around his father’s shoulder. That was the ambassador? They’d sent a man? After his mother no doubt requested the ambassador be a woman? Small wonder she was fair fuming.
He rounded the crowd, hoping to get a good look at the ambassador to determine just what sort of man their kingdom would be dealing with.
His silvery-white coat remained closed without any noticeable way of doing so. No metal buttons like Hamish’s own attire, nothing visible at least. What Hamish had first mistaken to be a cape appeared to be a shawl. The red fabric hung over one shoulder, winding behind him to hang in the crook of his other arm. The way it draped spoke of him being very conscious that the golden thread embroidered along the edges be visible to everyone.
The man’s whole outfit seemed to scream the same thing. Luxury. The silvery-white garb halted at his knees to reveal matching trousers that hugged his figure far more than the voluminous fabric encasing Hamish’s own legs. All of it was heavily embroidered in a sort of floral motif with gems stitched into the design. The stones sparkled in the noon light and made the man look very much like a cheap trinket.
No one, not even Hamish’s own mother, looked quite so… gaudy. If he planned on impressing anyone in Tirglas with such an obvious display of wealth, he’d quickly learn that bearing weapons and proving he knew how to use them would work far better.
“Aha!” Hamish’s father bellowed. He’d turned sometime during Hamish’s scrutiny and now singled Hamish out with one thick finger. “There’s me missing son. Come, lad.” His father beckoned him closer, clapping a hand onto the ambassador’s shoulder, which had Hamish wincing in sympathy right alongside the man. To the uninitiated, his father had quite the grip.
The ambassador turned, his brow arched in curiosity, and froze. On his face sat an odd metal framework encasing a pair of small clear discs like windows for his eyes. From behind these eye-windows, the man’s gaze flicked over Hamish in apparent disinterest, widening to reveal a multitude of colours as they slowly traverse back up Hamish’s body before making eye contact. A ring of black darkened the edge of his eyelids, making the whites that much brighter and his eyes seem huge.
“This is our ambassador, Darshan vris Mhanek.” His father fumbled with the foreign words. What could be seen of his face through the thick and greying, dark red beard was screwed up in concentration.
Hamish knew as much as any Tirglasian did about the Udynea Empire, which wasn’t a lot. But he knew what those words meant, or at least in part. Not just any ambassador, then. The empire had sent a prince in place of the countess. He held out his hand and bowed slightly, getting his height as close to the man’s and then a little lower. “Welcome to Tirglas, your imperial highness.”
The ambassador continued to stare at Hamish. His eyes had glazed over, much like a deer stunned by a glancing arrow. One brow lifted and the slight twitch
