Highland Inheritance (Highlands Ever After Book 2) Read online

  “Iona, ‘tis several hours ride through rocky terrain to reach your uncle’s estate,” he explained. “Then again, ye can easily manage it in much less time than that—if ye know the way.”

  Her forehead creased, green eyes narrowing as she considered this. “Much less time? How much less?” Ah, that had reached her. The lass had been traveling for some time and wished only to arrive at her destination.

  “Easily hours less. Truly,” he added when she scoffed. “There is a much simpler way about it, though it does involve cutting through fields owned by other men. I might take ye through those fields, introduce ye should anyone question your presence. I’m certain t’would be safer for a lass to ride alone across those fields that it would for her to manage the woods alone.”

  When she hesitated, he added, “Woods which are known to be filled with bandits and cutthroats.”

  “You need not try to frighten me as if I were nothing more than a willful child,” she snapped.

  “T’was not my intention,” he lied. “I merely wish to help ye ken precisely what ye are wandering into if ye choose to ignore my advice.”

  This was a sensible lass, he could tell. While she was headstrong and stubborn and possibly determined to destroy herself with her own pride, she was also wise enough to know when she was outmatched. “Very well, then,” she decided as if the decision was hers to make. “You might accompany me and instruct me as to how I might reach the village more quickly in the future.” She managed to sound as though she were granting him some great favor. He could not help but be amused by her, though instinct told him the biggest mistake he could make would be to laugh. Surely, she would freeze him out in the blink of an eye if he made such a mistake.

  And while he would not have cared personally whether or not she resented him, she was now under his protection by virtue of the fact that she lived in his territory. He was loath to leave her open to what would certainly be a cruel reality should she choose to travel alone in dangerous areas. He would not be able to stop wondering about her unless it was he who left her on her doorstep, safe and sound.

  “Let us be off, then,” he decided, hoping they made it to the estate before she drove him mad.

  4

  He was a brazen sort, this Colin Ramsey who rode slightly ahead of her as they crossed one field after another, taking pains to ride along the borders rather than cutting straight through and disrupting the neat rows of leafy, green growth.

  Though in her heart of hearts, while his cocksure manner irritated her as long riding irritated her thighs, she appreciated his assistance. The woman at the tavern had been unable or unwilling to find someone who would able to guide Iona home. Perhaps anyone she’d found had demanded payment. Perhaps they had been just as greedy as the young man she’d spoken to upon arrival at the inn.

  Or perhaps no one cared enough to assist a strange lass in need.

  It was clear to Iona that the man riding with her did so out of a sense of duty. She supposed she could respect this. He understood her plight and sympathized, though she guessed he certainly had more than enough to manage without taking additional time from his day. She had witnessed no fewer than three fights in the street before mounting her weary mare and starting off from the village.

  Certainly, Colin seemed fatigued. Perhaps even more than she was, which up until that point she would have imagined was impossible. Still, there was a nobility about him, in the way he held himself, in the way he’d managed an uncomfortable situation at the stables.

  “Where do ye hail from?” he asked, which was precisely why she found him to be quite brazen.

  “Why do you wish to know?”

  “Curiosity?” he suggested with a chuckle. “Ye dinna have the way of a highlander about ye. Ye dinna speak as one, either, though neither do ye speak as a lowlander. Are ye from Scotland?”

  “I was born on the island of Lindisfarne,” she explained. It did not seem to matter, sharing this with him. She did not consider herself English, no matter the location of her birth and life. Besides, it was all but a stone’s throw from the Scottish border. “Though both my mother and father were Scottish by blood. It seems there was a falling out between my father and his brother—I was never able to learn the nature of their troubles, nor why my father fled to the island. There were times when I imagined him running from the law, though I cannot imagine him ever to run afoul of what was right.”

  Colin stroked his chin, thoughtful. She could only imagine what he must be thinking, though it mattered not. So long as he helped her get where she needed to go, he might think whatever he wanted. “He has passed, I take it?”

  “He and my mother both. Quite some time ago.”

  “Ye have my sympathies.” Once again, she had the feeling of him studying her. “It has been only yourself for so long, then? On your own?”

  “Indeed.” She left it there, unwilling to share more than was necessary. From where she sat, she’d shared all she needed.

  “Do ye plan to live alone now? On the estate, that is?”

  “Is there a law against that?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then I cannot imagine how it is any of your affair where I plan to live, or how.”

  She did not expect him to chortle, but that was exactly what he did. While it ought to have comforted her, the fact that he did not take her attitude too hard, the sound of his mirth only stirred her resentment. It had been such a long journey, after all, and she was hardly of a mind to withstand ridicule. “Have I said something that amuses you?”

  “Nay, not at all,” he assured her, though he continued his snickering. “Ye seem verra angry at someone or something. Is it against your wishes, traveling such a long way to claim your inheritance?”

  “Not at all.” Still, she bristled, gritting her teeth. “If I am angry, it is because I’m expected to obtain a man’s assistance simply that I might survive. That angers me. Would you not be angered if you were a woman?”

  He was silent for a moment, at the very least, telling her he considered this seriously. “I admit, I had never given it a moment’s thought.”

  “This does not come as a surprise.” She sighed. “Men need not consider such things. Only women.”

  “This is a dangerous time,” he offered, perhaps as a means of explaining himself. “And a dangerous area, at that.”

  Rather than taking him seriously, she scoffed. “I believe you are tasked with keeping the peace? Have you shirked your duties, Sheriff?”

  She regretted this the moment it left her mouth, even before he looked back at her over his shoulder, scowling. “Many dangerous men ride through every day, from all corners. I canna stop them. T’would be like holding back the tide.”

  “I ought not to have said it,” she murmured, chastened. It was no small feat, making her regret something she’d said in haste.

  He sniffed, still wounded. “I can agree with that. Ye know nothing of the highlands. Have ye ever so much as visited the land of your kin?”

  For the briefest instance, the impulse to lie was almost too strong to resist, but she would not allow him to catch her in that lie. “I have not.”

  “So I imagined.”

  “What possible difference can it make?”

  “The fact that ye feel the need to ask me says a great deal. As I told ye, there is danger. A great deal of it. Lawless men travel the roads at night, making camp during the day. They especially enjoy praying upon lasses such as yourself.”

  “I have little for them to steal,” she pointed out, the drawstring purse at her waist feeling heavier than ever.

  “They would not know that, would they?” He glanced at her, smirking as his eyes flickered over her. “Besides, a woman has value to such a man, beyond that which she carries on her person.”

  Her cheeks all but burst into flame as awareness of his intended meaning sank in. “How dare you?”

  “Ye need not take such a tone,” he said, unbothered by her embarrassment. “I onl
y speak the truth. An ugly truth, to be sure, but truth just the same. Ye would do well to keep that in mind.”

  “I certainly will,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. Perhaps if she were not so thoroughly worn down after riding, she might have been better suited to take this warning to heart. She might not have found him quite so tiresome.

  “Ye shall be living alone, then?”

  “As a matter of fact, no. I will not.”

  “Will ye have a man on the place?”

  Once again, she rolled her eyes at his insistence. “No. A woman. Her name is Tyra Fletcher, and she is a dear friend. She was my companion on the island and acted as a maid and a cook and has stayed behind with my permission to settle my affairs. She ought to be along in a week, perhaps a fortnight.”

  “Ye are not worried?”

  “Why would I worry? Do not tell me I must fear these men who prowl the woods at night while behind a closed door.”

  “Ye would do well to not be so flippant.”

  “You would do well not to imagine me helpless simply because I was born a woman. I can assure you, I’ve never been helpless. Perhaps when I was a bairn, but that is all. You would do well to remember that,” she added, echoing what he’d only just said.

  “Who are ye to say what I ought to remember?” he asked. The fact that it sounded as though he laughed at her only inflamed her further.

  This was nothing new, this being underestimated simply because she’d been born a woman. “I would have you know I have looked after myself these last ten years. I was thirteen, having just passed the commemoration of my birth when my father succumbed. My mother… I hardly remember her.”

  “I am sorry to hear of it.”

  “I do not tell you this that I might garner sympathy,” she assured him, resentment bitter in her mouth. “Merely to make you understand. I do not fear any man.”

  “An admirable attitude,” he murmured, nodding slowly. “Though, if I may, unwise.”

  “You may not. “

  “To be fair, I was not asking permission to speak my mind.” No, Iona could not imagine this man refraining from speaking his mind regardless of who he spoke to or the subject at hand.

  “And forgive me if I speak my mind and say I find you entirely too bold.”

  “I dinna forgive ye.”

  “To be fair, I was not truly asking for forgiveness.”

  “The man not possessed of my even temper would take that as an insult.”

  “Perhaps that is how I intended it to be taken.”

  “Perhaps ye ought to think better of who ye insult.” He was no longer jesting, his voice now sharp. “I know not how ye were raised, nor what ye were led to believe. Nor do I care. There is only so much I can do for someone who refuses to act in their best interest.”

  “Which means?”

  “It means ye ought to not take my advice lightly. I know that of which I speak. There will be a great deal of interest in ye, the fact that ye live alone. Tis unheard of.”

  “I have known many small-minded people.”

  “I would wager ye have, but this is not the same as what ye have known prior to now. Ye ken nothing of the highlands, ye care nothing for what others think of you. Keep in mind the people whose opinions ye scoff at and whose values ye think so little are the same people ye may one day come to need in times of trouble.” He looked at her over his shoulder once again, and his gaze was a great deal softer than it had been before. “T’would be a pity, indeed, for that day to come to pass. I ask that ye consider your future, and that ye make as little trouble for me as possible.”

  The stark reality of what he’d said hit her harder than she would have expected. It was one thing to want to be alone, but another to perhaps need assistance from people who felt she’d scorned them. She was no stranger when it came to pride. It was one of her greatest faults, and she had never shrunk back from admitting as such.

  At least, she would admit it to Tyra, who knew her well and was worthy of Iona’s confidence.

  “Very well.” She tossed her braid from one shoulder to the other. “I shall keep to myself and call upon others as little as I can possibly manage it.”

  “Tis not what I meant, and ye ken verra well. Do ye deliberately seek to infuriate me?”

  “No. In fact, whether you agree with my thinking at all is of no importance to me.”

  He muttered what was clearly a string of obscenity, his shoulders rising, his back stiffening. “There is nothing I can do for ye,” he sighed. “I will never ken why some people choose to deliberately go against the advice of others, especially when they have no understanding of what they are about to embark upon.”

  “I have no need of your advice.”

  “I would say ye do.”

  “I would say you are terribly wrong.”

  “Pride is a dreadful thing.” He left it there, muttering to himself now and then but on the whole pretending she no longer existed.

  She was glad for it. Her head was beginning to ache with so much talking, more than she was accustomed to. While she and Tyra had passed many a pleasant hour chattering like magpies, she was not accustomed to long conversations with strangers. Especially strangers foolish enough to question and insult her.

  They were forced to dismount upon reaching a low, stone wall, part of it broken and crumbling. “This is the last wall between this land and yours,” Colin explained in a tight voice. He still bore anger against her, it was clear. And it was nearly enough to please her, knowing she had hurt his pride. His fragile, male pride. They walked the horses across the gap, and once on the other side Iona drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

  Her land. Hers and hers alone. Granted, the cottage had been hers, left to her by her father, but this was something else entirely.

  It was very green. It was also quite rocky, the land rising and dipping, loose stones making it difficult for the horses to manage. There was a reason Colin had not mounted his steed. People could make their way easily enough on foot, but it was more difficult for a horse with a rider on its back.

  They walked down the incline, coming to a stream shallow enough to cross without much trouble. She supposed that would be where she did her bathing, where she would collect water.

  “The house, I suspect?” she asked, nodding in the direction of a thatch-roofed manor. It was not as large as some which she had observed along her travels, but it was a great deal grander than the three-room stone cottage in which she had up to that point spent her entire life. Far larger than two women would ever need.

  And it was charming. Ivy grew along the front walls, covering them except for the small, rounded door and two front-facing windows on each of the two floors. An overgrown garden bordered the entire house, and Iona could not wait to dig her hands into the earth, to feel connection with her land.

  Though she did not expect much growth beyond the shrubs which had gone wild after not being tended, as the land was quite rocky. She rounded the house, coming upon what might at one point have been a kitchen garden. So someone had managed to grow food there—besides, she’d spied rows upon rows of crops just on the other side of the stone wall. This eased her concerns.

  When she came back around to the front door, having observed several additional buildings—stables, perhaps, among others—but not yet taking the time to explore, she found Colin waiting by his horse. He might be a handsome figure, she supposed, would he not scowl so much. His hair was black as midnight, his eyes a flinty gray which turned nearly silver when the light hit them.

  “T’would do my heart good to know ye had a man here to watch over ye until your companion arrives, at the very least,” he insisted. “Ye are a great distance from the village, and as such would be without assistance should ye need it.”

  “I will not need it,” she assured him, tossing her head. “However, I thank you for your concern.” The words all but curdled in her mouth, but she supposed she ought to be grateful. She would still be riding were it not for him.
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  “I might at least send a woman from the village to ye. One skilled at cooking, cleaning and the like. I suspect ye shall have quite a time of it, all alone.”

  “I will not need it,” she repeated. “But thank you for your concern.”

  Again he muttered what could only be the foulest words, judging by the way his strangely handsome face darkened, the way his jaw tightened alarmingly. “There is no helping some people,” he grumbled, swinging back up onto his horse.

  He headed in the opposite direction from which they’d come. “You will not ride as we did?” she asked, curious for a reason she could not imagine. Now that their brief acquaintance was coming to an end, she found herself wondering about the man. What he did, where he went, what it meant to keep the peace in such a—as he described it—lawless, dangerous land.

  He merely shook his head, his jaw just as tight as it had been before. “A long ride might do me good, at that.” He tipped his head in her direction in silent farewell before tapping his heels to the horse’s sides, sending it galloping away as if he couldn’t wait to be away from her.

  In spite of her knowing it was just as well, as there was a great deal of work to be done and she could scarcely wait to attend to it, Iona could not help but be sorry that he so wished to be rid of her.

  “Well,” she decided, clapping her hands once to snap her out of her reverie. “Let us begin with the bread and meat I purchased in the village.”

  There was no one to speak to but the mare, who seemed less than concerned.

  5

  “How many times must I tell ye?” Colin balled up the length of red and green tartan and threw it in the face of the lad before him. He could be no older than fifteen, Colin imagined, though this did not stop him from believing himself full-grown and fully able to make a fool of himself.

  Though Colin suspected there was no age at which a man ceased making a fool of himself.

  “What do ye believe this would do to your mam?” he demanded from his seat at a table fairly overflowing with orders and commands. He could scarcely keep up with the number of messages carried his way by countless riders, men with tales of whippings and other painful, shameful punishments being carried out throughout the Highlands on any man—or woman, in some instances—who dared speak out against the crown.