Highland Inheritance (Highlands Ever After Book 2) Read online

  “Which is why ‘tis more important than I first believed for ye to have protection about the place.”

  Her head snapped up. “I might have known you would waste no time.”

  “He is correct, Iona,” Janet whispered, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  A hand which Iona shook off. “Do not attempt to comfort me. There is no means of comforting me now. Would that there were. And as it is, I understand too well why we ought to have protection now that I understand the reason for such interest in the estate. I do not have to approve of the notion.”

  “I did not ask ye to,” Colin reminded her.

  “I know—and if you had, you would have been less likely than ever to receive my approval,” she retorted. Did he smile just a bit at this? He might have, or it might have been a trick of the light streaming in through the window, dappled thanks to branches which swayed in the breeze.

  She could not make sense of the man. In all her thinking and weeping down by the stream, she came no closer to understanding him. He could be stern, even demanding. He spoke to her at times as if he were speaking to a child he did not much like.

  At other times, he could be her hero. Just when she had needed him most, perhaps more than she had ever needed anyone aside from Tyra and now Janet, he was there.

  It had been a long time, many years, since she had allowed herself to believe in heroes. That was the sort of thing children believed in. Life had hardened her to such foolish beliefs.

  Now, events of that day had her wondering whether she’d been foolish to dismiss such notions so completely.

  This was not the time to indulge in reverie. She sat up straighter, hands folded atop the table. “What is there to be done? Is there any way for the village to meet, that I might set them straight on this matter?”

  The little bit of faith she had in him vanished the instant he choked on a mouthful of bread. Because he was laughing at her, she discovered with a sinking heart. “Nay, I dinna believe such a thing would be possible.”

  “Why not, then? Is there nowhere people gather? Nowhere I might speak to them? They are laboring under an illusion, and I would rather they stop.”

  She looked to Janet, expecting support, only to find her trusted companion squirming. “What is it?” she demanded. “What are you thinking?”

  “Forgive me, but it seems no one would be willing to believe ye. Were I in your place, I would tell all who would listen such treasure is not to be found on my land. Anyone would.”

  “Whether t’was true or not,” Colin concluded with a grim expression. “Anyone would say it, even if there was indeed a great deal of wealth buried on their land.”

  Iona saw the truth of this, angry with herself for not having considered it. She was accustomed to charging straight through any problem, confident in her abilities. Now, that confidence would get her nowhere. This was not a problem to be charged through, far too complicated for simple solutions.

  “Perhaps I had best sell,” she murmured, her shoulders sagging. “I would rather not, but I will not continue to stand for this. I cannot spend every night sitting up, watching for intruders.”

  She had said too much, noting with dismay the way Colin’s posture changed. He might have been a hungry animal sensing sustenance nearby, his gaze more intense than ever. “So that is what ye have done?” he asked. “I might have known it.”

  “I must protect myself,” she retorted, shrugging as if it mattered not in the least. As if fatigue did not tug at her eyelids even then, while she was in the middle of attempting to work out the most complicated problem she’d faced in recent memory. What she would not have given for a good night’s sleep.

  He let this go, though Iona sensed it was merely for the time being. She doubted he would let the matter sit for long without bringing it up again, holding it up as proof of how unnerved she’d been.

  “Ye ought to eat, first of all,” he grunted, motioning to her bowl with a crust of bread. “Tis strength ye shall need, lass, and make no mistake. I have no doubt ye are of hearty stock, but ye have been through a trying day and like as not have barely slept in far too long.”

  Part of her wanted nothing more than to overturn the bowl and its contents directly onto his head for daring to tell her what to do. Where did that reaction come from? Why was she always so quick to anger? Why drive away the one person who’d offered real protection and advice?

  She lifted her spoon slowly, since the side of her which wished to bathe him in what was left of last night’s stew did not wish to give the impression that she did this because he told her to. “Now that I am about to engage in my supper, what else do you suggest?”

  He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Ye might accept my advice next.”

  “What advice would that be?”

  “To have a man about the place with ye. Dinna ken me falsely,” he added when Janet’s mouth fell open. “I dinna mean the man is to live in the house with ye. I would not wish to see your reputation worsened.”

  “I doubt it could be,” Iona muttered, recalling the laughter which had come at her from all sides. Snide, derisive laughter. The way a person laughed when they felt someone was getting no less than they deserved. The laughter of one who took glee in a situation. How could anyone be so cruel?

  “Dinna underestimate the people I speak of,” he warned. “I have been sheriff of this territory for years—and before that, I grew up outside the village. I have lived here all my life, save the time I spent fighting. These are people set in their ways. Once they’ve adopted an attitude toward a person or thing, they are difficult to sway. Believe me. I know too well.”

  “They have made difficulty for ye?” Janet asked, her voice touched with sympathy. Iona, on the other hand, wondered what he meant when he spoke of fighting. Where had he fought? With whom?

  Colin flashed a wry smile. “Ye know it verra well, Janet McDade. They dinna much care for the Act of Proscription. Perhaps ye have heard talk of it.”

  “Naturally,” Iona murmured. Certain matters alluded her awareness, but not that. She’d heard talk of it all throughout her journey north.

  “It has taken all of my wits to keep villagers from being sent off to one of the King’s many plantations in foreign lands ruled by the empire,” he explained, bitterness heavy in his voice. “They dinna seem to ken, nor to care, that there are serious consequences for acting against the crown in this or in any matter. And because ‘tis my duty to uphold the law, they view me as a traitor.”

  “Because ye struggle to keep them free of hard labor?” Janet asked, a bit breathless. As though she found the man and his tale fascinating.

  “Aye,” he grunted. “Because I wish to keep them free. And because I wish to keep the territory free of the English who take pleasure in strutting about, making certain all who set eyes upon them know who rules them. T’was mere months ago when one such magistrate came through, seeking to hang any and all who fought with the Jacobites. Ye might have seen him, Janet.”

  “Aye,” she muttered, her face darkening. Never had Iona seen her so bitterly enraged, alarmingly so. Of course. Her sons had died in battle. Had they sympathized with the Jacobites as well? Perhaps that was what upset her so.

  Was that it? Was Colin a Jacobite? Iona had never met one—at least, she was unaware of having done so. It was likely not the sort of thing a man spoke of without knowing he was in the right company, that it was safe to speak of such things. She found herself falling deeper into fascination, for Colin Ramsey held far greater intrigue than she would ever have imagined.

  In light of this, and in light of the trouble she had already caused him, Iona felt true shame for the first time in as long as she could recall. He might have ignored her completely, dismissing her as nothing more than a foolish lass who refused to pay heed to those more experienced with highlanders and their way of life. He might have laughed along with those terrible, awful people instead of coming to her aid.

  Yet she’d thought so poorly of him. She
’d only just imagined dropping a bowl of stew on his head.

  He explained the difficulty he’d faced thus far, how the villagers had sought to thwart him at every turn. How they’d scorned and shunned him, calling him a traitor and even spitting in his face. Janet shook her head, clicking her tongue, murmuring in sympathy while Iona kept her thoughts to herself.

  “I ought not to have told ye that,” he admitted with a grimace once he’d finished.

  “You used no names,” Iona murmured, only listening partway. She had the sense of him feeling relief at being able to share his troubles, as well, which left her all but encouraging him to speak his mind.

  “Tis none of your concern, ye ken.” He stood then, looking from one of them to the other. “With that, I ought to be on my way. I would like to reach home by nightfall.”

  “Where is your home?” Iona asked, rising as well.

  He blinked rapidly as if in surprise. “Outside the village, where I came up. Tis small, nothing much. I rarely do more there than sleep, taking most of my meals at the tavern.”

  What a sad, lonely existence. Iona chose to be alone, but this man? He seemed the sort who would do well among others—so long as those others were not spitting in his face and calling him a traitor.

  She left Janet to the cleaning up, walking Colin outside. “Ye are troubled, still,” he murmured, untying the reins. “Dinna lie.”

  “Of course, I am troubled,” she admitted, folding her arms. “I would be daft not to feel troubled after what I learned today.” And she did not mean only the surprising discovery of a treasure which in all likelihood did not exist.

  Now, she knew just how they despised her. How quick they were to mock and ridicule. Who would not be troubled after learning this?

  He did not mount the horse immediately. Instead, he turned to her, one hand on the hilt of the sword he wore at his waist. Had he ever used it? After having heard the way he brought the mocking, jeering crowd to silence with nothing more than his voice, she could imagine him brandishing the sword and daring all comers to test him.

  She had not slept in entirely too long if this was the direction her thoughts took.

  “I wish to help ye,” he murmured, taking a step nearer. He overwhelmed her when the look in his eye and the tone of his voice took on such intensity. “Ye have my protection, if ye wish to accept it. I might post men to make camp near the house, that they can watch and listen while ye sleep.”

  “I would not—”

  “How effective do ye believe ye might be against one man? Or two?” he challenged, one eyebrow arching. “For they might travel in pairs. One as a lookout, one to do the searching. And they might not stop at simply digging a hole in your garden. They might decide they’ve worked hard and deserve a reward.” His eyes flickered toward the house, then back to her. “What then? Dinna allow your pride to turn me away, Iona. Not now. Not any longer. Word of this supposed treasure is bound to have spread by now. There is no telling who might wish to see whether ‘tis true or nay.”

  She swallowed, nearly overcome at the ugly image he’d conjured. What if a man or men decided to break the latch on the door and have their way with her and perhaps even Janet? He was correct. She could not hold them both off with nothing better than a knife.

  Nor, frankly, did she wish to try. Her head ached so, nearly all the time now, and fatigue caused to her to all but sway on her feet even in the presence of another. She wished to sleep soundly, without constant fear. To live peacefully.

  Which was why she drew a deep breath and, rather than dismiss him, ask, “What do you suggest, then? Your guards, camping on my land? Keeping watch?”

  His brow furrowed slightly. Perhaps he did not believe it would be so easy. “Aye. Tis what I would recommend.”

  She sighed. “So be it, I suppose. Starting tomorrow evening?”

  “Aye. I would need to gather the men and explain, then work out who could take the first evening and so on. Are ye truly in agreement?”

  “I am,” she admitted, spreading her hands wide as she shrugged. “You have seen me at my very worst, Colin Ramsey, and you know better than anyone what I struggle against. It seems you are the only one who can help me now.”

  His chest puffed out just a bit, his chin lifting. “Ye need fear no longer,” he assured her, his voice firm. “Ye need fear nothing. Ye have my protection so long as ye need it, Iona Douglas.”

  If only he did not say her name in just that way.

  Her heart might not flutter so.

  13

  He had not entirely told the truth.

  Colin had no intention of going straight home that evening. He had a call to pay first.

  By the time he reached the manor owned by Dougal Craig, night had fallen and the stars had spangled the sky. It was a fine evening, the moon nearly full and casting enough light that it might easily be day. A good thing, too, since the lands surrounding the Craig manor were in worse disrepair than those of Iona Douglas.

  It seemed Dougal Craig cared nothing for his ancestral home, which was in keeping with what Colin knew of him. A rough sort, brutish, quick-tempered and not above kicking a man when he was down. The stories of him were legend. Men he’d run through, women he’d debauched before abandoning them. It was said the man had as many bastard bairns throughout Scotland as the number of clans in the highlands.

  Whether or not this was true, Colin could not say. He’d never known the man well enough, nor had he ever wished to. While he doubted all of these legends and rumors and tales could be true, there had to be basis in them somewhere.

  The fact that he so rarely spent time in his ancestral home, positioned along the moors which began just beyond Iona’s land, only added to the mystery which surrounded him. In that respect, Colin noted, Dougal Craig was not unlike Iona. The fact that he was unavailable to all who might get to know him better and perhaps speak on his behalf made matters no better.

  Again, like Iona. Perhaps the two of them would make fast friends if Dougal Craig were a decent man.

  The house towered over Colin as he dismounted, and he wondered if he imagined the sense of the place being haunted. Yes, he could just imagine a screaming ghoul tearing from one of the broken windows just beneath the eaves, wailing its misery into the empty, lonely night.

  The sort of thing a bairn would be frightened of, he told himself with a wry chuckle, though there was no mistaking the skittishness of his horse. Animals sensed things which men and women did not. Was there more to the Craig estate than met the eye?

  Foolishness. Colin used the heavy, iron knocker to signal his presence. The sound rang out inside, echoing, repeating on itself. Yet there was no additional sound. No calling out in answer, no footsteps. “Dougal Craig?” Colin shouted, his voice carrying on the night breeze. A particularly cool rush of air brought gooseflesh up over the back of his neck as clouds covered the moon and cast him in darkness.

  Yet the moment lasted no longer that it ought to, with the clouds moving away and the gooseflesh smoothing out. There was nothing so strange or dangerous about this place.

  This empty place.

  He walked to the stables to find the entire long, wide structure empty. The number of pens spoke of the number of horses which had once been kept there, when the house and surrounding buildings had been full of life. Colin could imagine candles lighting the windows of the sprawling manor, could almost hear the whispers and laughter coming from servant quarters.

  There were no horses now, which told him the master had gone out riding. Where? There was no way of knowing, nor could Colin imagine when Dougal Craig would return. It seemed this journey had come to nothing.

  No matter, he reasoned, swinging up into the saddle and bringing the horse about. He could not very well have made camp in Iona’s presence, after all, and would have required some means to pass the time before she and Janet retired for the evening.

  If they did at all.

  He hoped Iona would, that she might rest and care for he
rself. A body could only do so much, could be pushed but so far before it collapsed. Many was the time he’d witnessed strong, towering men crumble beneath the weight of exhaustion. Iona was neither strong nor towering.

  At least, not strong in body. She was possessed of a deeper strength, determination. This determination could set Colin’s teeth on edge, to be certain, but he knew in his heart that he admired her for it. He never had understood why there were some in the world who took it upon themselves to tell others how they ought to live.

  Certainly, he’d advised her, but that was more a matter of caring for the lass’s safety. It did not matter to him how she chose to live otherwise.

  Or so he told himself as he made the ride back to her.

  “What of it?” he asked himself. The night offered no response aside from its customary sounds. The screech of an owl, the rustling of leaves.

  What did it matter that he cared what became of her? What did it matter that he wanted to watch her triumph over any and all who stood in her way? What did it matter that he was about to spend the night on cold, hard ground with nothing but the horse’s saddle blanket beneath him?

  He knew it then. Somehow, against his better wishes, he’d come to care for the lass. Very much so. She’d held far too much interest to him from the start, truth be told. Her fiery nature, her stubbornness, her courage. Her beauty. They’d acted upon his senses like a tonic, causing him to think too much on her, to go out of his way time and again.

  Finding her in the muck, ridiculed and mocked with no one to speak for her, had only intensified his interest and caring. It had never been in his nature to turn his back on one in need of protection, and she had most certainly needed someone on her side then. Now, the village had watched him come to her rescue and had most certainly delighted in recounting the tale in the hours since.

  Let them. Let them ask what the lass meant to him. He nearly wished one of them would, so he might set them straight on a great many things. Granted, he doubted they would listen any more than they listened to nearly anything he said, but voicing his disappointment in his people might help ease the weight which seemed to continuously sit upon his shoulders.