Highland Inheritance (Highlands Ever After Book 2) Page 7

  She chuckled, shaking her head. “Have ye forgotten how well I know ye, Colin Ramsey? Everything ye think is written upon your face, whether ye wish it there or nay.”

  “I dinna wish it there,” he admitted, but he was able to laugh at himself because his old friend was able to do so. Otherwise, he did not much enjoy being the subject of laughter, no matter the intention behind it.

  “Come. Gavin will be pleased to have ye, as will the young folk.” It was only then that Colin noticed the swelling of the woman’s belly beneath her thin shawl, the way she walked with one hand pressed to her back.

  It would be improper to make mention of this—one did not simply take note of a woman’s delicate condition, no matter how familiar he was with the woman in question. Rather than make a fuss, then, he drew the horse nearer. “Perhaps ye might like to ride the remainder of the way through the fields,” he offered. “Ye appear quite worn out.”

  Her eyes twinkled merrily as she accepted his offer, going so far as to allow him to assist her onto the saddle. “My mam always recommended walking when in this condition,” she explained as they set off toward the bright, cheerful farmhouse. “Though today, I am quite tired and perhaps walked further than I ought to have done.” Her carefree manner of speaking about what was not generally discussed in polite conversation ought not to have come as a surprise, he supposed.

  “How fares the rest of your family?” he asked, guiding the horse and its rider between rows of leafy growth.

  “Young Fiona is seeing to supper as we speak. She takes the responsibility quite seriously and is eager to be of service once my time comes.”

  “She canna be as old as that!”

  “She has passed her thirteenth winter,” Innis informed him with what sounded a great deal like pride, perhaps touched by a tinge of disbelief.

  “Thirteen! That canna be so. That would make me a great deal older than I am.”

  Certain things, time could not alter. One of them was the sound of Innis’s laughter—joyful, carefree. She sounded a great deal like the lass she once was, rather than the mother of a lass older and they’d been when they’d climbed trees against her mother’s wishes. “The years pass quickly. Tis the days which are long.” Colin thought he’d never heard a truer statement in all his life.

  There were a pair of redheaded lads chasing each other in circles outside the kitchen door, though they were quick to silence themselves upon spying their mother’s approach. Colin bit back a smile as he raised a hand to greet them.

  Gavin was quick to join them, coming from the trough with wet hands, hair and face. He’d washed after a long day of work in the fields, Colin imagined. They exchanged warm greetings before entering the house, where a surprisingly tall young woman hurried back and forth. “I shall have it on the table in a minute,” she called out without turning about, too involved in her work.

  “We have a guest,” Gavin announced, leading Colin to a chair and pouring him a cup of wine. “We shall need another bowl.”

  The lass’s cheeks flushed when she turned to find Colin seated there. “Och, I didna—that is, I—”

  “Tis no matter. Ye must be Fiona, then,” he grinned. “I understand ye have been a great help to your mam. Be certain to ask how fond she once was of climbing the old birch outside her bedchamber window.”

  “Colin Ramsey, I shall take this to the side of yer head.” Innis gestured to a heavy kettle, though she laughed. “I shall not invite ye to take supper with us again if this is what I get for it.”

  “Verra well,” he shrugged before winking to one of the two lads who hung on his every word.

  “What were ye doing, coming from the Douglas lass’s?” she asked, obviously eager to change the subject. “Ne’er do I see her, except when she is riding either to or from the village. She ne’er troubles herself to say hello as neighbors do.”

  “She is a strange one,” Gavin agreed. “One hears many tales.”

  “What manner of tales?” Colin asked, careful to conceal the depth of his curiosity.

  “She is a witch!” one of the two lads exclaimed.

  “Dinna speak that word!” Innis barked, her face going red. “Ye will not say such things, young Jamie. I will not hear them.”

  “Careful, my dear,” Gavin warned in a quiet voice which Innis plainly ignored in favor of glaring at her sons.

  “But Mam!” the other lad insisted. “Tis what we’ve heard!”

  “I care not for what ye have heard, Cameron,” Innis hissed. “Ye will not accuse in that matter. Ye dinna understand the power of accusations.” Colin had a sense that the lads would have been in much worse trouble with their mother or it not for his presence, though the trouble they faced was enough on its own. “The woman is not a witch. And ye might do well to tell your friends as much should they ever make mention of it again. She simply wishes to be left on her own—there is nothing evil in that. And nothing dangerous about it, either. One does not use the word witch carelessly, and I would thank ye to remember it.”

  Colin cleared his throat. “I have been in the woman’s presence several times,” he assured the lads. “There is nothing of a witch about her.”

  “Just the same, ‘tis exceedingly strange for a woman to be so immovable,” Gavin mused, tearing a large piece of bread which he used to soak up the juices from his bowl while his wife calmed herself. “Ye must admit that. I went so far as to offer my services should she be in need, and she all but spat upon the ground in response.”

  Why did Colin feel the need to defend her? It made little sense, but there was no ignoring the bitterness which rose in his throat like bile, removing from his mouth to taste of Fiona’s delicious cooking. “It seems she has been ill-used in the past,” he murmured. “She had a difficult time of it. Orphaned at nearly the age of young Fiona here, called upon to fend for herself. Perhaps she is a bit young to be set in her ways, but that seems to be the truth of her.”

  Innis shook her head, clicking her tongue in sympathy. “Tis a sorrowful thing, to be certain. Yet she must know what it means to refuse her neighbors. Tis curious enough that she insists upon living alone, but to turn her nose up at kindness? I canna believe there is any excuse for such rudeness.”

  That, Colin could not defend. Rather than try, he looked to Gavin and moved his head just slightly in the direction of the kitchen door, signaling for private discussion once supper had been finished. They turned their conversation toward lighter things, happier things. By the time the last bit of meat and vegetable had been drained from the pot, Innis was laughing again as her sons pulled faces and jested with her.

  Still, Colin was troubled when he joined Gavin behind the house. “Have there been any strange riders nearby?” he asked, taking pains to keep his voice low. The only sounds came from the stables, and from the coop in which the chickens were kept. It was a soothing sound, the birds preparing themselves for slumber, yet it did nothing to soothe his concerns.

  Gavin’s brows pulled together. “We are of the same mind. While I have not seen him, I’ve heard word of Dougal Craig being seen in the area.”

  Colin closed his eyes, cursing the man. It had been years since the infamous Dougal Craig had returned to his home, the home which had belonged to his father and then his father’s father before him. Dougal Craig had never expressed much interest in the estate, only appearing now and then to see to important matters.

  “I suppose his reputation has not improved much with time,” Colin muttered, looking off in the general direction of the estate which sat to the other side of Iona’s, positioned along the moors. A lonesome place, once full of life and now falling into ruin—much as the man who owned it.

  “He is still causing trouble wherever he goes,” Gavin replied with a tense nod. “I heard word just this morning of there being a price on his head in Edinburg.”

  “Then why would he return here? Why not sail for France, or even America?” There was no sufficient answer to this question, not that Colin expected
one. There was no reason why Gavin would understand the workings of a mind such as Dougal Craig’s.

  “It will not be long before he causes trouble for ye here. In fact, I had intended on riding to the village on the morrow, to ask whether ye need assistance in keeping him controlled.”

  Colin cast a fond eye upon his old friend. He’d been horribly injured by a runaway horse shortly after his marriage to Innis, leaving one of his legs to appear hopelessly crushed. While the healer had done a great deal of good in setting the bones, the man would never walk without difficulty again. Never would Colin or any man with good sense question Gavin’s bravery or determination, yet this did not make him a likely choice for a guardsman.

  “Better to keep watch over Iona Douglas, if only from a distance,” Colin decided. “Tis a great deal to ask, but I do worry for her sake. Especially now, knowing the man whose land borders hers has returned.”

  “Is she the reason you asked if I’d seen anyone unusual?”

  Colin nodded. “Someone dug a hole near her home. Her companion spoke of hearing a man passing her window in the night.”

  “Dug a hole? To uncover her treasure, no doubt.”

  “So ye have heard the rumors, as well. Is there any truth to them?”

  Gavin lifted his shoulders, sighing. “Who is to say? Perhaps, perhaps nay. The lass would know better than any of us.”

  “I’m beginning to suspect she is unaware,” Colin confided. “Perhaps Craig is behind this. I recall there being disagreement regarding the borders between his property and hers. Many years ago, I was a lad. Perhaps ye remember hearing of it.”

  Gavin snorted. “Hearing of it? I recall seeing the men nearly come to fists in the center of the village on more than one occasion.”

  “Perhaps he is intending to drive her from the land,” Colin mused. “It would be just the sort of thing a man of his character would attempt. Perhaps I shall pay a call upon him on the morrow. I have not spoken to the man in three years, at least. I might remind him of our adherence to the Act of Proscription, and that would be an excuse to see him.”

  “I doubt he will want to hear much of it,” Gavin chuckled, stroking his flaming whiskers. “I heard he was wearing his tartan with pride when he was spotted. He cares nothing for the act.”

  “That would make him part of the majority for once.” Colin snorted without humor.

  Was Dougal Craig behind Iona’s troubles?

  If so, how could Colin prove it?

  And in the meantime, how could he convince Iona that this was not a man to be trifled with?

  10

  “…living alone. Who would choose such a fate…?”

  “I heard no man would have her…”

  “Who would? Tis said she never smiles. Who would wish to marry a lass who never smiles?”

  “…believes herself to be better than the rest of us.”

  “Exceedingly strange…”

  Iona continued to ride with her head held high, her gaze fixed squarely ahead as she crossed through the village. This was ever the way of it. The whispers, the laughter. The accusations, the opinions of her. Opinions formed by people with whom she’d never exchanged a single word.

  Why would anyone ask themselves why she preferred to live alone in peace and stillness after witnessing the manner in which her entire life was laid bare before her? Why would anyone wonder how she could prefer to be away from people when people on the whole were so terribly cruel and thoughtless? To speak of her as if she could not hear!

  No, they knew she could hear them, which was why they chose to hold their conversations as she passed. It was not enough for them to consider her strange. They needed her to know they felt that way, as if that would do anything to change her. As if that would make her want to get to know them better.

  It was not even so much the whispering and gossiping of adults which struck her to the core. It was the manner in which children treated her—rather, the way they did not treat her. She attempted to smile at a pair of lads pretending at swordplay with two long sticks, only for them to run in the other direction. What had she done to offend them?

  What had she done to offend any of these people other than decide to live her life as she chose? Undoubtedly, children learned from their parents, and these children had heard more than a few ugly rumors from theirs. What other reason was there for it?

  She continued on as if none of it mattered, bringing the mare to a stop before the apothecary. While she and Janet had discovered several types of herbs growing into thick patches near the house, there were others which she would rest a great deal easier to have in her possession.

  The shop was cool and dark, and Iona found herself relieved. She was finally away from those eyes, so many eyes, staring at her, questioning her. She could breathe without the sense of an invisible weight sitting on her chest.

  A great many dried herbs hung in clusters from the low ceiling, tied with bits of twine and even ribbon. She recognized many of them on-sight. Heather, of which there was no shortage in the fields beyond the manor house. Bog myrtle to aid in the lowering of fever. Tormentil for the healing of wounds or to be drunk after boiling in milk when one’s insides were in a fervor.

  “What is it ye are in need of, then?”

  Iona jumped, startled at the sudden voice, and her arm swept over a row of bottles which clattered onto the floor. None of them broke, she was relieved to see, though it took a bit of work to put things to right. “Forgive me,” she pleaded again and again as she scrambled to collect what she had nearly destroyed.

  The old woman who’d surprised her offered no response, nor did she emerge from her dark corner to assist Iona. That was just as well, Iona supposed, as it was her clumsiness which had caused the disarray. “It seems I have collected them all,” she offered upon placing the last of the bottles on a tall table.

  “Verra well,” the woman croaked. “As I asked, what brings ye here? What do you need from old Saoirse?”

  Iona gulped. Now that the time had come to speak of it, she found she had no words. Pointing to her head, she murmured, “While I am in need of several herbs, there is a more pressing matter. I have had an ache for several days which nothing seems to cure. Would you offer a tonic or other remedy?”

  “For an aching head? Of course,” the woman scoffed. “What is the cause of the ache, then? Too much drink?”

  “No!” She did not mean for it to come out so loud, or so sharp. “No, that is not the reason. I have had a bit of trouble, and my head pounds terribly.”

  “Tis yer time, then? A lass’s head aches some during her time.”

  Iona forced herself to bite back a sharp retort. Were it her time, and were her headaches resulting from that familiar monthly toil, she would know what to do. She’d taken care of herself these last ten years, ever since that time had first begun. “No, it has nothing to do with that.”

  “Does it pain ye to look into the light?”

  “Yes, in fact. It does.”

  “And noise. Sounds. Do they make the pain worsen?”

  Finally, it seemed someone understood. “Yes, most dreadfully,” she admitted. The ride through the village would have been terrible enough without the rumors and gossip swirling around her, simply because of the noise.

  Saoirse stroked her long chin, nodding slowly. “I might be in possession of a tincture which ye would add to boiling broth or tea,” the woman decided, suddenly moving with great speed across the crowded shop. Iona jumped back in surprise, once again startled by the woman’s abruptness. She would not have expected one of such advanced years to move with such speed.

  “I thank ye,” Iona sighed. Even now, in the dark and quiet, the ever-present thumping behind her eyes would not cease. It had been many years since she had suffered these headaches, not since days immediately following her father’s death. When they had taken their leave, she had nearly wept with relief.

  Now, they had returned, and she could not help but suspect the additional stra
in of recent days as the culprit.

  “Have they interfered with yer sleep?” Saoirse asked while sifting through bottles and vials with long, gnarled fingers. “I might have just the tincture to assist with that, as well.”

  Oh, how Iona longed for sleep. How she longed for the blessed serenity of peaceful slumber. How she would have enjoyed nothing more than to release her burdens at the end of a long day and allow herself to float away into nothingness.

  “I do not require anything of the sort,” she replied instead, her fists clenching out of sight of the old woman. There was no means by which she could help herself, by which she could give her body and soul what they desperately needed.

  Not when there were so many ills that could befall her while she slept.

  The brief bit of rest she’d taken since the events of two evenings prior had taken place during daylight hours, when she was not nearly as frightened of what might be lurking near her home. With Janet about the place, she could steal an hour or two of slumber.

  But at night? When anyone or anything might wander outside the house? She sat up, either at the window near her bed or in the kitchen, the knife lying on the table beside her in case she might need it.

  If she had known this was what her life would become, she never would have left Lindisfarne. She would have left her affairs in the hands of some capable solicitor, would have allowed him to sell off the place and forward the proceeds to her. She had not been unhappy in her former life. Lonely, perhaps, but not unhappy.

  Now? It seemed each day was full of new nightmares, new challenges for her to meet, new worries.

  “Tis merely that ye appear distressed and worn down,” the woman explained, casting a flinty eye over her shoulder. Iona found herself shrinking beneath that knowing eye, the strangest sense of being truly seen and understood washing over her. She might easily imagine this woman having seen and heard everything there was to see and hear over the course of a long life. It was no easy matter, hiding the truth from one so wise.