Highland Inheritance (Highlands Ever After Book 2) Page 6

  He merely held up one hand, wincing at the thought. “Ye need not tell me what she would and would not do,” he assured her. “I can imagine well enough.”

  After thanking him several times, Janet took her leave, and he watched her hurry to mount a spotted mare. He noticed she followed the path he’d revealed to Iona, telling him the two of them must have visited the village together for Janet to have learned the shorter way. He wished now that he’d been aware of their presence.

  While he knew Iona would have ignored him or even openly scoffed had he attempted to approach her, he would have liked to observe the effect she had on the villagers. He’d already heard talk of the strange, scandalous young woman who insisted upon living on her own. He would have enjoyed watching the villagers watch her. He would have further liked to hear what they had to say after looking upon her.

  The impression he’d received thus far was that no one was overly impressed with her strange ways. And unfortunately, her strange ways had attracted attention. Evidently, since someone had been brazen enough to dig on the property while two women slept mere yards from where they worked. No doubt word had spread while he was busy fighting against people who refused to obey the law.

  In that, they shared something in common with Iona Douglas, though they did not know it. They would do the very opposite of that which would ensure their safety.

  No matter. He welcomed the opportunity to visit the house, to inspect the area in which the digging had taken place. Perhaps the man who’d been brazen enough to do so have been foolish enough to leave a trace of himself behind.

  It was unlikely, but all Colin had in his favor was hope. It was not much consolation, but he’d been in difficult spots before.

  No matter how formidable an opponent Iona had proven to be, she was nothing when compared to the English.

  8

  “What ails you today?” Iona asked in passing as she and Janet toiled in the garden behind the kitchen. There was quite a deal of work still left to be done, even after hours spent digging and weeding. It seemed the garden had not been used in years, left to grow wild as the shrubs which circled the house had been left to do.

  Janet did not so much as acknowledge the fact that Iona had spoken. She was far away, as she had been through the day. Still upset and shaken over what had come to pass in the night.

  Iona knew, deep in her heart, that it was not proper to take a tone of irritation with her companion. After all, in the depths of her heart Iona, to, was frightened. Uneasy, at the very least, imagining who else might be waiting in the dark to prey upon two unarmed women.

  Perhaps, in the end, the Sheriff’s warnings had been warranted.

  It was not pride which left Iona wishing this were not so. Not the need to be right.

  No, it was something she had not fought against for quite some time. It was fear. She had never known fear like this since this immediately after her father’s passing, when she’d questioned whether she was capable of caring for herself, whether she would survive.

  Even so, there was another layer to her current fear which she had not known in those days. For then, she’d understood the enemy: starvation. While it was not an enemy she could see, she knew it and could therefore fight it with all she was worth.

  Now? Now, not only could she not see her enemy or guess their plan of attack, but she had not the first idea why they were attacking at all. She did not know who to ask, either, for not only had she made no friends in the village or among the farmers bordering her land, but she would not know how to phrase the question.

  Who would wish to dig on her land? And why? And how could she stop them? Was there even a way to do so?

  Yes, she was troubled, but that was no excuse to give herself over to panic or trembling. She’d come so far, had built for herself a simple life, but an honest one. She had managed to escape the traps laid for young lasses with no hope. She had not resorted to selling herself, either to lecherous men or to the first likely lad who would come along and promise protection and comfort.

  After all, there were many ways for a lass to sell herself. One might even sell oneself in marriage.

  She had not managed to avoid such indignity only to lose her self-respect now. Not now, not ever. She would do what needed doing, as always.

  Iona pretended to be much braver than she was, something she’d never admitted even to Tyra Fletcher, who had been by Iona’s side since shortly after she’d been orphaned. She was not half as brave or strong as she behaved—if her life’s experience had taught her anything, it was the importance of pretending. If an opponent believed her to be strong, they would be that much less formidable an adversary. Often, the appearance of strength alone was enough for her to win an argument.

  Which, she suddenly realized, was why the very thought of Colin Ramsey caused her to wrinkle her nose. Because he was not fooled. And unlike a gentleman with manners, he did not pretend to be convinced for the sake of soothing her pride.

  She was deeply, truly frightened for the first time in years. Even when riding endless miles with no one but a coarse, dismissive guide to protect her, she had not known true fear. The sort of fear that made sleep an impossibility, fear which caused her throat to close up, her chest to tighten until she was certain it would stop her heart.

  The sort of fear she’d wrestled with all through her silent, lonely vigil, keenly aware of every sound coming from outside. All but holding her breath at times, straining asking herself whether it was a hungry, curious mole or a greedy, perhaps violent man searching for…

  For what? That was the endless question. What in the world who could anyone find of interest on her land? Perhaps they believed her the sort to bury her goods as a means of protecting them. She supposed that was reasonable enough, that anyone who did not know her might assume she would behave so. How could she possibly tell them they were wrong, when she knew not who they were?

  She left Janet to the garden, noting how her friend did not so much as lift her head in response to Iona’s movement. “You never did tell me,” she said.

  Janet jumped, surprised, then shielded her eyes against the sun as she looked up. “What was it ye said?”

  Iona bit back a sigh. “I asked what ails you today, and you never offered reply. What is it? Do you wish to speak of it?”

  Janet shook her head hard. “I… did not sleep well. I suppose my thoughts are muddied as a result.”

  “Perhaps you ought to retire for a bit. Rest. The ride from the village must have tired you further.”

  Janet averted her gaze, which again struck Iona as being exceedingly strange. The older woman did not seem by nature the sort to keep secrets. What ought she do now? Should she continue pressing her friend for information or would it be better to leave the matter?

  She decided upon the latter, leaving Janet to continue weeding while going inside. It had been a terribly trying night for both of them, so she supposed confusion and distractedness could be forgiven.

  The kitchen smelled of rich stew, one of Janet’s specialties. She had secured a leg of lamb while in the village, and Iona’s mouth watered at the aroma. Perhaps she would serve the meal that evening and wash up afterward that Janet might rest.

  She washed her hands in the bucket near the window before adding potatoes and carrots which had already been prepared to the mixture on the hearth. Within another hour, their supper would be finished.

  “This is quite a lot of meat and vegetable,” she noted when Janet joined her. “More than you would normally prepare for the two of us.”

  Janet shrugged her thin shoulders, scrubbing dirt from beneath her nails as she did. “I am fairly hungry today,” she muttered, “perhaps due to my fatigue.”

  This did not strike Iona as a fitting excuse, but she chose to let the matter rest rather than pursue it further. When Janet took on a sharp, insolent tone, it was a sure sign of her being close to the edge of her patience. Perhaps she did not overmuch enjoy her choices being questioned and had t
aken Iona’s observation as such an insult. There was no sense falling into argument.

  After all, they were all they had. Iona knew she was not skilled at making friends, and it would do her no good to destroy the only friendship she’d managed to make since her arrival.

  She had set two bowls upon the small, wooden table and was about to place half a loaf of bread between them for sopping up the gravy when the sound of hooves set her heart racing.

  “Who might that be?” she asked in a tight whisper, though there was no one to answer, as Janet had retired to her chambers earlier. They never received visitors—in fact, the road running past the house rarely saw a rider, if ever.

  Knife in hand once again, Iona peered through one of the windows in the front room. “What is this?” she whispered, her stomach sinking when she recognized the black-haired man who approached on the back of a chestnut steed she’d seen before.

  There was movement over her head, the creak of floorboards. Iona cast a withering glare in that direction, understanding finally taking root. So that was why the old woman had behaved so strangely. She was behind this.

  They would have words about it, no doubt.

  First, the matter of ridding herself of this intruder.

  It was her heart that sank, rather than her stomach, when Colin Ramsey dismounted as she opened the door. The late day sun brought out hints of red in hair she had imagined was only blond, and the whiskers on his cheeks and jaw gave him a rather rugged appearance which she did not find entirely unpleasing. An inconvenient time for her to notice the man’s looks, to be sure.

  Rather than replace the knife in its sheath on the wall, she stood before him with the weapon in plain view. “What brings you here?” she asked, taking no pains to appear pleased.

  Colin seemed to expect her attitude—at least, her greeting did not appear to surprise him or even slow him in his approach after he’d hobbled the horse near a thick patch of weeds so he might feast. “I’d promised myself to look in on ye at my earliest opportunity. It pains me to tell ye this is the earliest I’ve been able to do so.”

  She forced a smile. “As you can see, all is well.”

  His steady gaze left her, lowering until he stared at the knife. “Are ye in the habit of greeting visitors with a knife in hand, then?”

  “It was yourself who warned me of the dangers here,” she reminded him with the same tight smile. “I have taken your warnings to heart. I would think you would be pleased by this.”

  He folded his thick arms—why did she notice their thickness now, when she had not before? And what difference did it make whether his arms were thick or thin? “Let us cease this. I am a busy man, as ye well know. I spoke with your companion only this morning.”

  “As I had suspected.”

  “She asked for my promise that I would not reveal our discussion.”

  “I would expect that, as well,” she sighed. “Why did you break her confidence, then?”

  He removed his tam o’shanter, running a hand through his thick hair with a sigh. It seemed to come from his entire body, this sigh, from the very tips of his toes. She sensed instinctively that he was not in the habit of revealing his true feelings in front of others, as it seemed to cause him pain. Why in front of her, then?

  “I am far too tired to engage in subterfuge,” he confessed. “As I rode from the village, I asked myself how I might best conceal the truth of the call I intended to pay. It all seemed a dreadful waste, so I felt it best to be clear with ye. Janet McDade spoke of the difficulty you experienced last evening.”

  The strangest thing happened then. While gazing upon this man with his thick arms and red-streaked hair, eyes which filled her with a sense of pity for him—for there was such fatigue and heart sickness in those eyes, the likes of which she had never seen—the impulse to share the entire tale all but overwhelmed her. Would it not be a relief, after all, to share her troubles with another who might be of service?

  For a moment, she felt nearly faint with the relief of this notion. The thought of laying down her burdens was enough to nearly intoxicate her as if she’d drank too much wine. The notion of no longer being alone, of being able to rest, to truly rest easier than she had since she was a child. Yes, she would tell him, and she would rely upon his wisdom and strength.

  Pride and bitter memory stirred within her breast before she had the chance to speak. She could not rely on anyone, nor would she. No man, regardless of his esteemed position, would tell her what to do. And that was precisely how this would unfold, she was almost certain. He would feel he knew best in all things, not only when it came to matters of her safety. He would take it upon himself to guide her, to judge her decisions—if he allowed her to make decisions for herself at all. How often she had seen this, and how furious she had always been on behalf of the women whose freedom and self-reliance were continually chipped away at as one would chip a block of ice.

  Not for her was such an existence. Not ever.

  Which was why she lifted her shoulders in a careless gesture intended to display confidence. “It was not so much. Yes, it appeared as though someone had dug at the ground, but I cannot imagine why anyone would go to such trouble. Perhaps they found what they were looking for—they certainly took their leave quickly enough.”

  He held her gaze for a long, silent moment which seemed to stretch on infinitely. What was he on about? Attempting to read her mind, no doubt, to see through her bravado that he might pounce upon any perceived weakness, any excuse to make himself superior to her. “That is not the way Janet described it.”

  Was she listening at the window upstairs? More than likely. As such, Iona raised her voice that she might be heard with ease. “I believe Janet reacted badly. We were in no danger, and we are not in need of assistance. Everything is well in hand. Although,” she added as an afterthought, “it warms my heart to know you are so keenly interested in the needs of your people. Truly, if ever we are in need of assistance, I shall know upon who to call.”

  No sense in creating an enemy, after all. Especially when the man in question wielded power.

  He blinked hard, even shaking his head slightly as if he did not understand. “Are ye truly that determined, then?” he murmured, and his voice no longer carried the note of frustration she’d heard upon their first acquaintance. He no longer seemed angry with her or distressed. Again, he gave her the impression of one too overwhelmed to do much more than accept what was before him.

  Rather than offer a reply, she took a different tack. “Janet cooked lamb stew for our supper, and there is much more than enough for the two of us. Would you care to join us? You appeared to be in need of a good meal.”

  Something moved across his face, a softness she’d never seen before, but that expression was quickly replaced with something harder, more determined. “Thank ye, but I shall decline. I must attend to other matters. Perhaps I shall pay a call again on the morrow, and we might discuss whether there have been further intrusions upon your slumber.”

  “I doubt there will be,” she assured him with what she hoped passed for confidence. “Please, do call. Your company would be appreciated. While I have never been over fond of strangers, there is something to be said for conversing with someone aware of matters in the village. We are quite secluded here, after all.”

  Never had Iona been of a mind to dance—after all, there had been little opportunity to do so on the island, where most of the women were much older than herself and there had been nary a man close enough to her age that she might consider favoring him with her attention. Yet she’d seen dancers, had watched them with a keener interest than she’d ever let on. Based upon her experience, she could not help but imagine the two of them dancing in their own way. One step, then another, working together. This was nothing less than a dance the two of them were performing.

  If only she did not feel whenever she was in his presence that he knew the steps better than she.

  He nodded once, and what might have been a s
mile crossed his face. “Aye, it shall be.” He then took his leave, mounting his horse in a fluid, practiced motion. “Tomorrow evening, then,” he announced, tipping his tam in farewell before instructing his mount to continue on.

  Only then could Iona breathe easily, only then could she allow herself the luxury of leaning against the cool stone wall beside her.

  Why had she invited him? Was she mad?

  Or simply lonely and helpless at the memory of his thick, strong arms?

  No, it could not be. She shook her head, willing away any such reverie, and marched into the house. There was supper to eat, and a certain scheming cook to tend to.

  9

  “Is that Colin Ramsey I see? Ye appear as if ye are in need of sustenance, my lad.”

  In spite of himself, and in spite of the dark turn his thoughts had taken upon taking his leave of Iona Douglas, Colin could not help but smile at the familiar voice. He found Innis Frey standing beside the stone wall separating her land from Iona’s—rather, the land owned by her husband, Gavin.

  They had come up together, Innis and himself. He had always looked upon her as a sister, like as not because he never had sisters of his own. She was as good a substitute as any, and a fine playmate. There was not a lad in the village half so daring and bold.

  In a way, she reminded him of Iona, though Innis was not beyond admitting when she was wrong, nor was she beyond a cry for help should the need arise. In that respect, Iona could take a lesson.

  He favored her with a smile, leading his horse by the reins after guiding the animal over the rocky terrain leading up from Iona’s property. “As a matter of fact, I am quite in need of a hot meal. I was given the opportunity to take one, but it seemed folly to wear my welcome out.” He glanced behind him, in the direction of the Douglas manor.

  “Och, ye seem displeased.”

  He shot Innis a look of surprise. “What makes ye say it?”