Highland Inheritance (Highlands Ever After Book 2) Page 4

  He held up one such message, though he suspected the lad unable to read the contents. “Here, the sheriff of Inverness warns of the crown taking harsh measures against any who choose to flaunt the law. One young lad, perhaps of your age, died two days after being whipped until the skin hung from his back in ribbons. Would ye like your mother to see that? What do ye think it would do to her to hear your screams?”

  The lad paled, his throat moving as he swallowed. “I dinna believe she would much enjoy it.”

  “Ye know t’would be a great deal worse than that,” Colin snapped. “I shall have to detain ye for several days for what ye have done.”

  Suddenly, this brazen young man who’d proudly marched through the village wearing his clan’s tartan as a shoulder-belt turned into a horrified, trembling lad. “Ye canna!”

  “Do ye ken, lad, that I’ve been tasked with jailin’ ye for six months?” he demanded, slamming his palms against the table before standing to face the frightened young man. “Six months for the first offense, mind ye. Do ye know what I am to do with ye upon the second offense?”

  The lad offered no reply outside of a slight shake of the head.

  “The second offense brings with it seven years of labor. Do ye ken? Seven years on a plantation in a land far from home. No friends. No family. Nothing but work fit to break a man’s back, every day. And there is nothing I can do to stop another magistrate from invading this territory and taking ye away. I am trying, lad, truly I am. I dinna wish to see any of ye come to such a fate. But I canna keep them away for always. I canna lie much longer, either, and report little to no opposition. Surely there will be reports sent before long, and the truth will out. I will have no choice but to step aside and let them take ye—if they dinna take me along with ye for not keeping the king’s peace.”

  “They never would.”

  “They would,” Colin assured him. He was so very tired of repeating the same things. So tired of fighting to be understood by those who seemed unwilling to listen to reason. “I will not have such public displays of lawlessness in my village! If I must make an example of ye, be glad I am not taking ye out to the post and tying your hands, then tearing the tunic from your back and using my whip.”

  “Ye canna mean it,” the lad protested in spite of Collins frankness. “You fought alongside the Jacobites! Ye are one of us!”

  “I have a duty to uphold the law,” Colin reminded him as he took him by the arm. Two of his men waited outside his chambers, and he waved them in. “He is to remain with us for five days,” he decided. “Bread and water once a day.”

  “Ye are a traitor!” The lad went so far as to spit upon him, though for all his bluster, stark fear shone in eyes which now welled with tears. It was a simple matter for a lad to stand up for what he believed was right.

  It was another to spend five days in a cell, without enough to eat or drink, among men who were perhaps a great deal harder and coarser than himself. Then again, they might welcome him as a hero.

  Colin merely wiped away the spittle with one sleeve before jerking his head, a silent signal to remove the lad from his presence. The sooner he could be alone, the better.

  How was he expected to go on? Especially with the word traitor being thrown in his face so blatantly. It was not as if he had been unaware of the way his people had begun to think about him, the way they had begun to turn against him. The last fortnight had been disastrous, leading to numerous arrests and more than one bitter epithet cast his way as he rode through the village.

  Never had he felt so alone, isolated even while in the middle of a crowded territory. These people were supposed to be his friends—if not friends, exactly, at least people who respected him, who he respected in return. After all, all any of them wished was to get along in life, to live in relative peace, to be left to do as they pleased.

  But the law was the law. Why could they not see it? He asked himself, not for the first time, if they would finally be satisfied at him locking all them away, down to the last man and woman. Perhaps then they would understand he did not make idle threats.

  When a knock sounded at his door, he stiffened in preparation for what was to come. “Aye, enter,” he barked.

  “Sheriff, ye have been requested by Alasdair Macintyre,” the guard informed him.

  Colin rose, his heart in his throat. “Do ye know why?”

  A shake of the head. “Nay, merely your presence was requested. One of the lads from the farm rode through and delivered the message.”

  Colin barked a few orders at the man before hurrying from the stone structure which served as the village jail and his headquarters. This could only mean something had befallen a member of the household—naturally, his chief concern was for Beitris, who he’d neither seen nor heard from in a fortnight. The last time they’d been in each other’s presence was the evening he’d taken supper with the Macintyres.

  Perhaps she had not made it through her delivery. How it would crush Alasdair if that were the case. He rode hard, urging the horse to greater speed, fairly tearing through the village and out toward the farm.

  When he arrived, it was clear his fears were unfounded. Alasdair greeted him with a smile which Colin had not seen the likes of in more than a year. Before the battle, before they’d lost so terribly. Before Alasdair was nearly killed, the knotty scar running down the side of his face reminder of the brutality they’d both withstood.

  All of that might as well have been nothing more than an unhappy dream at the present moment. “The child has come!” he nearly sang, taking Colin by the shoulders. “A wee lassie just as bonny as her mother.”

  Colin released his held breath, laughing as he congratulated his old friend. “Tis a grand thing! And how did Beitris fare?”

  “As ever. With courage and strength beyond that which any man could possess.” Alasdair swayed slightly on his feet, revealing the methods he had likely used to cope in the hours his wife spent struggling. Colin had witnessed this many a time, husbands drinking themselves into unconsciousness, unable to listen to their wife’s cries as she labored.

  “I would expect nothing less,” Colin grinned. “Tis a fine day.”

  “Wait until ye see her,” Alasdair sighed, the smile affixed to his face. “Truly, a remarkable bairn. I canna tell ye my pride.”

  “Nor do ye need to,” Colin assured him.

  They retreated to the study, where Alasdair poured generous cups of ale for them both. “Have ye decided upon a name for the lass?” he asked.

  “Beitris had a suspicion from the start she carried a wee lassie,” Alasdair confided. “She told me she wished to name the child after her mother. Margaret. I suppose I shall call her Maggie.”

  “To the health of wee Maggie, then,” Colin announced, raising his cup. “And the health of her mother. May they both live long, happy lives.”

  “Indeed.” Alasdair bolted back the ale, giddy with relief and pride and joy.

  Colin watched with fond amusement as the ever-controlled, sometimes ill-tempered man reveled in this happy turn of events.

  Alasdair raised a finger, pointing at Colin. “It shall be ye in my position soon enough, mark my words,” he announced. It seemed his generous attitude knew no bounds that morning.

  Colin snickered at this, shaking his head. “I canna agree with ye.”

  Alasdair’s response came in the form of a waved a hand. “Dinna allow yourself to dismiss the notion out of hand,” he advised. “I of all men know well what it means to believe such joy to be an impossibility. Yet here I am, the happiest man who ever drew breath. If a woman can love me, ‘tis certain ye will find such a woman for yourself.”

  “I dinna believe ‘tis as simple as ye make it out to be,” Colin chided with affection. “Tis enough for me to be happy for the two of ye, and I am. Most terribly. Yet I dinna need this for myself.”

  It seemed his friend would not be so easily dismissed. “Dinna ye wish to one day know this for yourself?”

  “Truly, I
do not,” Colin lied. “Now is not the time to discuss this. Let us rejoice in your good fortune and your happiness.” He poured them both another drink, hoping in vain to discourage Alasdair from this course of thought.

  After promising to pay a call soon that he might meet the bairn for himself, he took his leave and went to his horse and asked himself what it would mean to be in Alasdair’s place. Indeed, he’d found a woman capable of loving him, of looking past his external disfigurement, of seeing the men beneath the scars, beneath the rather cold, hard manner he’d adopted after life had taken such a cruel turn.

  But Beitris was blind. That was why she was able to look past her husband’s physical shortcomings. Never would Colin dismiss her due to her disability—indeed, she was the strongest lass he’d ever known—but that was the way of it. Alasdair was able to find his match only because his match was perfectly suited to accept him as he was.

  Certainly, such miraculous occurrences were not possible for every man. Perhaps only for men who deserved it, which Alasdair certainly had.

  Colin was not certain he would deserve such mercy. The memory of being called a traitor was still fresh in his mind. It mattered not that he knew it was not true, that he knew his methods were for the best. The word still stung, still hung over him as he rode away from the farm.

  It was not until he passed nearly an hour in the saddle that he realized the direction in which he’d led the horse. He had not exactly made a habit of riding past the estate now owned by Iona Douglas, but he’d been past several times in the fortnight since she’d arrived. Not enough for it to become a habit, but enough for him to unconsciously head in the direction just the same.

  His thoughts were too scattered, he supposed, too tired to think straight. Rather than turning the horse about and heading for the village, he continued on his path.

  He’d heard nothing from the manor since depositing the willful lass. Certainly, this silence could be construed as a positive development. She raised no concerns, troubled no one.

  Yet he knew he could not allow himself to become complacent. She might just as well be too prideful to admit she needed help, or her silence might be the result of some calamity or another. He could scarcely sleep for thinking of what might become of a woman living on her own, so removed from her neighbors.

  This coupled with the fact that her presence—and her deliberate refusal of assistance from any who offered it—left her quite the topic of conversation in the taverns. It was a scandal, they said, a woman so brazen as to insist she could manage entirely on her own. It simply wasn’t done.

  She seemed to either be unaware of this, or unimpressed with the opinions of others. But she did not understand, and Colin knew this after having argued the point with her, that this was not merely a matter of opinion. There were those who wanted nothing more than to take advantage.

  Especially when the land which the lass had inherited held such interest.

  Surely, she knew this. How could she not? He could not imagine her never having heard the legends, which might be more than legends. He’d never known a legend that did not have at least a grain of truth.

  If Malcolm Douglas had buried the bulk of his treasure on the land, Iona would do well to unearth the valuables and place them elsewhere, for it would not be long until she found herself preyed upon by the very sort of men Colin had attempted to describe in his warnings.

  For the time being, at least, things seemed well enough. There were linens hanging from open windows, airing out after being closed in for endless months or even years. Malcolm Douglas had not been one to open his door to visitors—in that, he’d been not much unlike his niece. Perhaps this was a family trait.

  Iona had matters well in hand, or so it seemed. From what he’d heard, however, this companion of whom she had spoken had yet to arrive in the village. It was nearly past the time by which Iona had expected her. Surely, the lass would be concerned by now. Surely, she would see reason and agree to have a woman in to assist her.

  He might send Janet McDade, whose sons were both killed in battle. The poor woman was sometimes visible in the village, wandering in the manner of one who was lost. Perhaps she was. Perhaps, without her late husband and now with no sons or grandchildren to tend, she had nothing to keep her mind and body occupied.

  Yes, he decided, this was the best course of action. He would even see to her pay.

  Iona would be none too pleased were she aware of his concern. He smiled, grim, imagining how she would fly into something close to rage and his interference. Never had he known anyone so determined to prove themselves capable and resourceful and thoroughly independent.

  This soothed his already troubled mind at least in part, and as such he brought the horse around and rode for the village. It was enough for now to know the lass would no longer be alone.

  And heaven knew she was far from his only concern.

  6

  “Iona! Iona, ye must wake up!”

  Iona stirred at the sound of Janet’s voice close to her ear. The woman had appeared upon her doorstep as if by magic a week earlier, weeping as she told a tale of woe. Her sons had both been lost in battle, her husband long since dead and gone. She had nothing, no one, after so many years of tending her family. Not even a wee grandchild, as the woman had wept.

  She’d heard word about the village of a lass living alone, she’d explained as Iona had poured tea. It seemed dreadfully dangerous, alone in the woods, so near the estate of one such as Dougal Craig who might cut her throat should they meet up on the road. It had seemed to her to be nothing short of the Lord’s intervention. Janet needed someone to care for. Iona needed care.

  Iona most certainly did not need care, and she’d felt the woman quite bold and presumptuous to arrive unbidden and all but make herself at home in the kitchen. By the end of the day, she had already cleaned the room until it fairly shone, had scrubbed the pots and kettles and even washed the windows.

  How was Iona to refuse after that? Besides, she was a kindly sort, and her assistance in the kitchen was much appreciated. As was the conversation. Perhaps this kind woman might provide insight into the strange customs of Iona’s new home.

  At this very moment, however, she wished the woman had never darkened her doorstep.

  The bedchamber was dark, the night sky just as inky black outside her window as it had been before she’d first closed her eyes. It was nowhere near dawn. “What is it?” she whispered, doing what she could to shake away the last of the dream she’d been enjoying before being so rudely awoken.

  “I heard something. Noise.” Janet’s hand gripped hers in the darkness, squeezing until Iona had no choice but to bite her tongue rather than cry out in pain.

  “There are many noises at night,” she attempted to explain as gently as possible. “I spent many a frightened night, I must confess, before your arrival.”

  Yet the pressure on her hand lessened not a bit. “This was not an animal,” Janet whispered, frantic. “It was a man. I heard him outside my window!”

  This was enough to finally free Iona of what was left of her sleep. She sat upright, her heart in her throat. “You are certain of this?” she whispered, clutching her wrapper tight after putting it on as though it might do anything to protect her.

  “Aye! I know well what I heard.”

  Iona winced at the clear outrage in the woman’s voice. “It is not that I cannot believe you,” she was careful to explain as she rose from her bed, fixing slippers upon her feet before hurrying from the room. She made her way to the first floor in the dark, feeling along the wall to guide her. “I simply wish to be certain. Did you see the man?”

  “I did not.” It was unlike a levelheaded woman such as Janet to fall to pieces, yet that seemed to be the case as she followed Iona down to the kitchen. Her voice shook as she explained, “All was darkness, ye ken. I know not whether he heard my gasp of surprise. It might be he has already taken his leave.” There was a great deal of hope in that notion. Janet wished
most fervently for it to be so.

  Then again, so did Iona. Just the same, she pulled the largest knife from the sheaths affixed to the kitchen wall and held it aloft before opening the door leading out to the kitchen garden.

  “Be careful!” Janet hissed. “He might be lying in wait for ye!”

  Iona scowled at the way her hands now trembled, likely thanks to Janet’s well-meaning yet unnecessary warning. Naturally, the notion of an intruder lying in wait did not escape her, which was why she’d fetched a knife at all.

  The night air was warmer than she’d imagined, heavy with moisture. The rains they’d endured the last few days had finally come to an end, leaving the ground slippery with thick mud which threatened to pull the slippers from her feet with each treacherous step.

  In the back of her mind, Iona knew the mud would serve to conceal any footprints left behind by the intruder, though she supposed it was just as well, as she would not know what to make of any prints left behind. Why was she thinking these thoughts at all? Perhaps as a means to distract herself? This was not the time for the comfort of distraction. She needed to have her wits about her, thoroughly.

  She did not realize Janet had followed close behind until, upon stopping suddenly, her companion bumped into her and made her all but leap into the air in surprise. “Forgive me!” she whispered. “I would not leave ye to do this alone.”

  Together, guided by moonlight, they wandered further from the house. Janet held a lit candle, the flickering light causing shadows to dance across her face. “We had better return,” she whispered, clutching Iona’s arm. “What if this was merely a means to lure us away? What if they wish to obtain something within the house?”