Highland Inheritance (Highlands Ever After Book 2) Read online

“There is a great deal to be done,” she shrugged with a faint smile. “It would appear my uncle did not care overmuch for maintaining his land. I would like to grow a great abundance of herbs, that I might use them rather than making the long ride to the village. In case of emergency, as well, they would be a welcome tool. Yet I’m afraid there are more weeds growing there now than anything else.”

  “Ye would be the niece of Malcolm Douglas, would ye not?” The woman turned to her, holding an amber bottle in the palm of one hand. There were ever so many, rows and rows kept on shelves, in cabinets. How the woman knew which was which was a mystery, as nothing was marked.

  “I am, at that,” she replied. This woman struck her as one she might benefit from acquainting herself with, and as such her smile widened. While she was never interested in making friends for the sake of saying she’d made them, she was not so headstrong as to deny the importance of certain people in her life. A wise woman with a wide understanding of herbs and remedies might be a likely ally.

  “Is there any truth to the rumor, then? Is that what has ye looking so fretful?”

  Iona’s stomach clenched. This again? She would have thought better of an old, wise woman. It seemed everyone around her was determined to be a disappointment. “Rumor? What do you speak of?”

  This earned her a shrewd look, a thin mouth screwed up in disbelief. “Come, now. Everyone knows of it. Pretending to be unaware will earn ye nothing, my lass. It would do ye well to unearth yer uncle’s wealth and place it elsewhere. Ye might sleep better if ye did so.”

  “Wait.” When the woman attempted to scurry past, Iona took hold of her thin arm and held her in place. She would not normally have been so bold as to take hold of a stranger, especially one as old and shrunken as the one before her, but certain situations could not be left to propriety. “I truly know nothing of which you speak. There is wealth buried on my land?”

  “Aye, or so the legends and rumors go,” the woman assured her before shaking her arm loose. It took no effort, as Iona’s hand had gone as slack as the rest of her body in light of this new discovery.

  That was it, then. That was why the man, whoever he was, had been digging about the place.

  This understanding granted little consolation, for now there was the question of how to best meet this challenge. How was she to know where this wealth was buried, if any were buried at all? Was there something left behind in the house which she had not yet uncovered? Her uncle was hardly a careful, cautious sort when it came to the management of his papers—there was an entire study stuffed with them which Iona had not yet found the heart nor the patience to manage.

  It seemed she would have to manage them now, for that was her only chance of finding a clue.

  Then again, what if the legends were nothing more than idle talk? That was more than likely the case. Word in the village had already spread of her being a witch, or so she’d heard, so anything was possible.

  She concluded her business with the old woman in a sort of daze, pocketing the vial and leaving the shop without asking after the herbs she’d sought. Nothing mattered more than returning to the manor, locking herself behind the door and catching her breath. Perhaps between the two of them, she and Janet might be able to find a solution.

  It wasn’t until she walked into a wall of solid manhood that Iona was wrenched from her troubled thoughts. The man stood before her mare, tied off at one of the many posts lining the road. “Och, ye might watch where ye walk, lassie,” the man growled with an edge of humor in his voice.

  She barely favored him with a look before stepping around him, intent on untying the mare’s reins. “You might step aside to allow a woman to pass,” she muttered, teeth clenched. It was the worst time imaginable for a man to pester her.

  “One hears things about ye, lass,” he warned, chuckling. “Stories which leave a man wishing to know more. Such as why ye choose to live alone in a large house when ye ought to have a man and a passel of bairns to fill the place.”

  How tiresome. The man scarcely deserved her attention, yet it was clear he had no intention of stepping aside that she might continue on. She tossed her head, brushing a lock of hair away from her eyes and standing tall. “It is no more of your concern than it is anyone else’s in this village, and I care not who hears me say it! My life is mine to live, and I owe you no explanation as to how I choose to live. Now, move aside.”

  Yet even her righteous fury was not enough to move aside a mountain of muscle. She shoved, both hands on the man’s chest, yet all that resulted from her effort was a sore backside as she fell in the mud.

  The man doubled over with snide laughter. “So strong, she is!” he laughed, pointing down to where she struggled to stand. Her hands and feet slid, making her fall to her knees. His laughter grew louder.

  No, not his laughter. The laughter of others, all who’d happened to witness this most humiliating scene. Tears of indignation burned behind Iona’s eyes, yet she would not allow them to fall. She might die on the spot, but she would not allow these simpleminded people the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

  “Not so high and mighty now, are ye?” one woman laughed.

  “Nay, she is just as common as I suspected!” another shouted with glee. “Nay, nay, dinna assist her. Let her wallow in the muck for a bit. Might improve her temperament!”

  “Enough!”

  That last voice cracked through the air like a whip, and its effect was instantaneous. All laughter, all snide remarks went silent. From where she knelt, Iona saw several pairs of feet racing from the spot, bringing to mind children running from a scolding mother or father.

  “And you, William McIntosh. I always knew ye to be a bully, but to laugh at a woman in need of assistance? Ye might at least have helped her to her feet.”

  Iona lifted her head, hair hanging loose in her face. She knew that voice, but never had she imagined being so glad to hear it.

  Colin Ramsey reached down, extending a hand. “On your feet. All is well.”

  Somehow, even covered in filth and with tears threatening to spill onto flushed cheeks, she believed him.

  11

  “So that is the way ye allow the villagers to behave?” Janet demanded, slamming bowls onto the table at which Colin sat. “Ye allow them to mock a woman in distress?”

  Colin understood her outrage for what it was: concern for her friend, along with a great deal of affection. He respected this. And the knowing of it was the only thing keeping him from setting her straight in a manner which he suspected she would not much appreciate.

  Rather than flying into a rage, which he so desperately wished to do—anything, so long as he was able to give voice to his frustrations—he managed to keep an even tone upon offering reply. “I dinna allow them to do anything, as it is not for me to allow. Ye must know this, having lived there all your life. Aye, I must uphold the law, but there is no law against mocking anyone, man or woman. As your mistress described upon our arrival, it was due to my assistance that the crowd dispersed and she was able to mount the horse and ride on.”

  What a dreadful ride it had been. He’d offered to pay a call at the house far earlier than one would be expected to arrive for supper, and Iona had accepted without hesitation. He suspected her humiliation had something to do with her sudden acquiescence.

  After that, they’d spoken barely a word to each other, with Colin riding before her that she might cry without being spied. And she did cry—no matter how quiet she tried to be, no matter how she strove to conceal her pain, there was no ignoring it.

  And it had affected him more deeply than he would have imagined. Her soft sniffling, combined with the memory of her kneeling in the worst sort of filth with her hair hanging in front of her face and no one to come to her rescue, twisted at his insides until he felt ill.

  And once that illness passed, he was downright furious for her. And embarrassed, truth be told—for while he’d been honest with Janet, while he could not force the people of the village to be
have, they were his people. It was his territory to be managed.

  And they certainly had not cast themselves in a favorable light on that particular day. He was ashamed of those laughing, jeering women, and he wished to whip William Macintosh within an inch of his miserable life after having seen him mock Iona.

  She was washing in the stream, and had ordered Janet to leave her be. Colin suspected Janet took it poorly, as an insult, though he did not imagine Iona intending it as such. Only someone who had witnessed the dreadful humiliation the lass had endured could understand why she needed to be alone.

  Rather than attempt to defend anyone who’d mocked Iona so cruelly, he gestured for Janet to take a seat. When she cast a scornful look his way, he all but snarled at her. “I wish to speak plainly with ye. Sit.”

  She plopped down onto the chair, watching him with a wary expression. “I enjoy being told what to do only slightly less than my dear Iona enjoys it,” she informed him, smoothing back grey-streaked hair which had come loose from her bun as she’d hurried about the kitchen while berating him.

  “I would expect nothing else,” he sighed, “but there are times when a person must put their pride aside and listen to reason. Ye of all people know this well, or ye would not have come in search of help.” The way her shoulders slumped, eyes downcast, told him his remark had hit home.

  “I can do nothing for her if she insists upon riding through the village alone, with no companion. This will continue to happen, I assure ye, for the people whose acquaintance and assistance she snubs dinna take such behavior lightly. They view it as an insult, as though they are not good enough for her. Dinna insult my intelligence now by pretending Iona does not harbor such opinions.”

  Janet looked down at her folded hands. “I could not say. I dinna believe that is the matter.”

  “Verra well, pretend otherwise. Even if she does not feel that way towards them, they have imagined it so. Naturally, they would delight in finding her on her knees in the muck, as from what they’ve seen of her, ‘tis no better than what she deserves. Mind ye, I dinna feel this way. I can only speak for them.”

  Janet’s head bobbed up and down. “I can imagine how that would be so,” she admitted in a whisper.

  “Ye might believe me when I tell ye how it infuriated me to find them making a mockery of her,” he admitted, his voice now a whisper. It would do him no favors for Iona to suddenly appear, having overheard everything he now shared with her friend. “I was ashamed of them, if ye must know. I believed them to be better than that—though truly, they have given little reason for me to believe so as of late. I know not who has caused me to lose more sleep: the villagers, or Iona Douglas.”

  “She has caused ye to lose sleep?” Janet asked, her eyes meeting his in frank surprise.

  He cleared his throat, suddenly finding it tight. Yes, he had lost sleep, just as he’d lost hours of his life to thoughts of her. Questions about her. Wondering where she was, what she did, whether she was safe. Whether she might ever relax and allow herself to be happy. “That is, I fear for her after all ye told me. It has caused me a great deal of concern, the notion of the pair of ye alone here, with no means by which to alert anyone should there be trouble.”

  “I see. I suspect neither of us had considered that,” she admitted, teeth sinking into her lip.

  “Can ye tell me why she is so determined to have her way?” he asked. Only the worst desperation would ever leave him to ask such a question, but that was the way of it. For he was nearly desperate to understand. There was something inside him, some drive he could not name, some deep desire to be of service to this infuriating lass. He pitied her, knowing how she would hate it if she knew.

  That did not stop him. He pitied her, for he suspected she was as unaware as he of just why she behaved as she did.

  “She is possessed of great determination,” Janet shrugged.

  “That is not what I mean. What happened to her? The pair of ye must have done a great deal of talking over the last week or more. Has she told ye anything about her life on the island? What caused her to become so set in her ways?”

  Janet’s already wrinkled brow creased further. “She had a difficult time of it after her father’s passing. That much, she has mentioned. Her companion, Tyra Fletcher, came to her shortly afterward. The lass’s mam sent her so the wee thing would not be alone. Yet there were weeks between the two events which were terribly hard on her.”

  Colin’s jaw tightened, imagining a lass as young as Fiona Frey, but with Iona’s fair hair and delicate features. Including eyes wide with fear and hunger. “Was she mistreated? Abused?”

  Janet shook her head. “Not that she ever made me aware.”

  “Then what is it? Why is she distrusting?”

  “Perhaps because she was abandoned,” Janet mused, gazing out the window in the direction of the stream. There was nothing to be seen from where they sat aside from trees and blue sky, but Colin knew she was gazing toward Iona just the same. “It had been more than three months since her father’s death before Tyra arrived. She did what she could to keep body and soul together and to manage the household, but she was all alone. Over time, it became clear that many of her father’s acquaintances had promised assistance, assuring her she would be cared for, but they soon forgot her.”

  Colin sank back against his chair, a sigh escaping through pursed lips. “I am beginning to ken more fully,” he muttered. “I suppose after suffering so, she decided ne’er to rely on the generosity of others again.”

  “She would flay me to the bone if she knew I’d spoken to ye of this,” Janet whispered. “Nothing is so important to her as privacy and taking care of herself. Yet I could not allow myself to sit back and say nothing, not after what took place in the village. If only I had been there for her.”

  “Like as not, they would have scoffed at ye as well,” he replied. “Yet in the future, I believe it would be best for the pair of ye to ride together. Dinna allow her to venture out alone. Aye,” he groaned when Janet frowned. “I dinna expect her to make it easy for ye, but ye must surely know her well enough to know what to say to convince her. Perhaps after the events of today, she might be more agreeable.”

  “That is so,” Janet admitted, nodding. “She might be more agreeable, at that.”

  “Might be more agreeable? To what?” They’d both been so interested in their conversation that neither had taken note of Iona’s entrance through the front of the house. He’d imagined her returning through the kitchen, as Janet was preparing their supper when she and Colin had arrived.

  She was dressed in a clean dress now, her skin scrubbed to the point of turning pink, her golden hair in a wet braid hanging over one shoulder. She stood with hands on her hips, looking back and forth from one of them to the other. “Well? To what should I be more agreeable?”

  Colin exchanged a look with the pale-faced Janet before offering response. “To no longer riding alone into the village. It seems ye have made no friends here, though I ken too well t’was ne’er your intention.”

  Her blue eyes narrowed slightly. “You have sat at my table and spoken of me?”

  “Out of concern for ye,” he replied, determined not to back down or placate her. “Tis obvious to us that ye are in need of friendship now. It was not gossip. Dinna mistake me for one of those women in the village whose tongues wag day and night. “

  Nothing could have surprised him more than Iona’s acceptance of this, offered without so much as a scornful glare. “Very well. There is a great deal for us to discuss. Let us start with the treasure supposedly buried here, on my land.”

  She managed to surprise him again.

  12

  “How did ye learn of it? Of the rumor, that is.”

  Iona gazed across the table. No amount of thinking about him by the stream, as she wept until there were no longer tears to be shed, had clarified her thinking about the man. She knew not how to take him, what to believe. Was he her savior, as he had appeared to be b
ack in the village when she had been in most desperate need? Or was he simply another who would wish to bend her to his will? Not only his will, but the will of so many others who thought themselves in a position to determine her life?

  “I heard of it at the apothecary, just before I made the acquaintance of that terrible man.” She did not shiver at the memory of him, nor did she flinch away from speaking of him. She had lost all of that at the stream, as none of it served her. No amount of fear or dread would erase the memory from her heart, but he could no longer hurt her.

  Though if she ever saw him again, she would be better prepared. Even if it meant carrying a dirk concealed in her skirts, she would do it. Never would a man laugh at her again.

  “Speaking of the rumors, I must ask,” Janet admitted, turning to their guest. “Is there wealth buried here? Do ye know of it?”

  “I could not say,” Colin admitted in a tight voice which Iona took as a sign of his frustration. “Would that I knew. I might be able to offer advice if I did. Yet I am no more certain than any of whether there is treasure buried beneath the ground.”

  “That explains the hole we discovered,” Janet whispered with a look at Iona.

  She nodded, grim. “Precisely what came to mind when I spoke to the woman in the shop,” she admitted. “It suddenly became clear why anyone would wish to dig as that man had done. They hope to find buried treasure.”

  “Ye dinna make light of this,” Colin observed in a low voice.

  “I do not,” she agreed. “While I do not believe its existence, I understand men will go far when they believe there is treasure to be found. That alone is reason enough for a man to dig until his arms cease to function.”

  “And enough to make hm violent should any stand in his way,” Colin added, his voice still low, eyes fixed on her. She resisted the impulse to squirm beneath his probing gaze, but just barely.

  “I would not doubt it,” she murmured, looking down at her untouched supper. Indeed, she had no appetite to speak of.