A Highland Inheritance (Highlands Ever After Book 2)

by Aileen Adams

  “Pshaw,” he muttered, dropping the missive on the table.

  He glanced out the window, noting that it was past midday. The coach should be arriving anytime now. No sooner than the thought crossed his mind did he hear excited shouts from several of the village children. The coach made infrequent visits to the village, so anyone coming or going in such a coach instigated curiosity and excitement.

  With a sigh, Colin rose from his chair and stepped from behind the desk, moving toward the open door. He leaned against the threshold, arms crossed over his chest as a black coach with well-worn and faded gold embellishments pulled by four magnificent sorrels rolled into town, stirring up a small cloud of dust behind it.

  He watched the driver pull the coach to a halt, the horses blowing and stamping their hooves impatiently as he wrapped the reins about the brake and jumped down, cheerfully greeting four or five children now milling around the horses and wheels of the buggy. One brave child dared to reach out and touch one of the massive horses.

  Colin grinned, thinking that at least the children would have a bit of amusement and excitement to round out their day.

  The driver moved to the coach door, opened it, and then reached inside to help a passenger out. Colin caught a glimpse of a small, dainty, slippered foot, the long hem of a forest green velvet traveling gown, and then a thin arm as the woman exited the coach.

  Colin stared.

  Not a middle-aged woman.

  He observed in dismay as a young, shapely, and very pretty woman with hair the color of corn silk stepped from the coach and glanced around with a smile and a nod of thanks to the coach driver. Colin blinked and pushed himself away from the threshold, making his way toward the coach. Was it possible? Was this the Englishwoman? Much younger than he had assumed and apparently traveling alone, as no one else emerged from the coach. Several bystanders had already paused to stare at the passenger as she stepped from the coach.

  Colin paused only a few steps away.

  She turned to him, and he felt her gaze on him like a punch to the gut.

  Grayish-silver eyes, the like of which he had never seen before, combined with the corn silk hair, the pale complexion, and dainty features took him by surprise.

  At that moment, he almost wished that she was an old crone or a curmudgeon, but of course, she wasn’t. That was the problem.

  2

  Iona stepped from the carriage, heart racing erratically as she pasted a pleasant smile on her face, striving for a sense of calm. She wanted to exude confidence, although inside, her stomach felt like it was tied up in knots. She had no idea what to expect here, in this village that seemingly had no name.

  At least her long and tiring journey was over. She stepped down onto terra firma, relishing the end of the jolting carriage ride, longing for a good night’s sleep, and reveling in the sensation of being still. The journey by boat from the Isle of Skye to the mainland had not been long, but it had been harrowing; a thunderstorm ravaging the sea had alarmed her no small degree. The following weeklong journey by carriage, stopping at numerous points along the way, negotiating the rugged coastline, the mountains along the coast, and then along roads so narrow, winding, and precarious that she had pulled the curtain across her window, not daring to look outside.

  She could have opted for a different route, taking the ship from the Isle of Skye to the north and to the west, through Little Minch, following the western coastline of Scotland past numerous islands through the Firth of Lorne, where she could then have disembarked well to the south of the Grampian Mountains and Ben Nevis. Nevertheless, she did not like sea travel, was petrified of water, and barely able to swim. The overland journey had been difficult, especially as they crisscrossed the mountains, the coach driver ever aware of Highland brigands—although thankfully, they had been ignored by criminals—and then, having emerged from around the southern tip of the mountain range, moving deeper into central Scotland, to this small village seemingly in the middle of nowhere.

  Children gamboled around the coach, prompting a genuine smile from her as she thanked the driver for helping her disembark. She turned, nearly bumping into a man staring at her in apparent stunned dismay, his eyes wide, mouth open. She often had that effect on people and had decided it was the color of her eyes that disconcerted people so. Eyes she inherited from her mother, and her mother’s mother before her.

  “Oh! Pardon me,” she said smoothly, eyeing the man who stared at her with such interest.

  Reddish-blond hair, more blond than red actually, although his closely cropped beard had more of a reddish tinge. Dark green eyes the color of spring grass, strong, lean features tanned brown by years in the sun.

  “Iona Douglas?”

  She nodded, an eyebrow lifted. “I am, and who might you be?”

  “I’m the sheriff. Colin Ramsey.”

  Though only twenty years of age, Iona felt herself much older, having dealt with much in her life. She considered herself a serious woman, levelheaded, with plenty of common sense, and yet here she was, thinking to settle in the middle of Scotland, surrounded by Scots who currently did not think too kindly of the English. What was she doing here?

  Yes, she had inherited property from distant relatives she had only seen twice in her life, who had been bequeathed property in the area two generations ago. Upon her great-aunt Ealasaid’s death, Iona had been surprised that the woman had passed the property on to her, but only because she had no immediate male relatives. Women didn’t own property. Not usually, but these were uncertain times with plenty of unusual circumstances. Unheard of, to say the least. She didn’t know any women who owned property outright, but as there were no male heirs, the aunt had chosen her, rather than let the property fall into abandoned ruin, or into the hands of some unsavory relatives from the “other” side of the family.

  As a woman who was not wont to care much about etiquette, politics, or grudges, Iona thought that the least she could do was take a look at the property. She needed a place to live anyway, as her stepmother had recently passed away, leaving the property on the Isle of Skye to her firstborn son by a previous marriage. That son had not so delicately sent word to Iona that she was to vacate the house within three months.

  So here she was. “Nice to meet you, Sheriff Ramsey. Did you get my letter?”

  “Aye,” he grumbled. “Ye want me to escort ye to the McGinty property.”

  She nodded. “I hope I’m not asking too much.”

  The man merely stared at her, as did an alarmingly fast-growing group of villagers.

  She swallowed, offered another smile, brushing her hand against the skirt of her traveling gown as she stiffened her back and lifted her chin. “If you would be so kind.”

  The sheriff stared at her another moment, his gaze taking her in from the top of her head down to her toes and back again before he nodded. He turned to the driver. “Her belongings?”

  “I only brought one trunk with me, and a valise,” she said. “The dark green one with brass nails. The trunk I mean.” She pointed as the driver yanked a dark red, well-worn valise from beneath a leather-covered section connected to the back of the coach. “That’s mine as well.”

  Colin nodded and glanced again at the driver. “Ye can put them in the jailhouse over there,” he said, pointing to a building a short distance away. “While the property is not too far to walk, perhaps four miles, it would be difficult with your baggage. I’ll have to hitch up a wagon to take your belongings to the property.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He started to turn and walk away, then belatedly paused, begrudgingly extending a bent arm toward her. She lightly placed her fingers on his forearm, heat rising in her cheeks when she felt the twitch of muscle beneath her fingertips.

  “The McGinty place is perhaps an hour’s walk or so from the village. If ye don’t mind waiting in my office, I’ll hitch up the wagon, and then I’ll take ye out there.”

  “Thank you,” she said again.

  T
he sheriff escorted her to his jailhouse and gestured for her to sit in a chair in front of the desk. She did, and the moment she sat, he turned and disappeared, closing the door softly behind him. While he hadn’t been rude, he hadn’t been exactly friendly either. What did she expect? These were tenuous times, and the strife between the English and the Scots were not conducive to overt friendliness. She should be relieved she hadn’t been accosted and run out of town, tarred and feathered, or worse, the moment she stepped from the coach.

  A smile turned up the corners of her mouth, as she doubted that the sheriff would have let something like that happen. He might not like her, but he was charged with keeping the peace in the region.

  Her smile disappeared as she thought her arrival could have gone the other way. How did she know that he would have stopped anything? She had met a few county sheriffs before, not only on the Isle of Skye, but growing up in England, and for a while, visiting in Ireland. In some cases, not all, of course, sheriffs were the absolute law of the land, and some took blatant advantage of their positions. What kind of sheriff was Colin Ramsey? She wasn’t sure, but there was no denying he was handsome and he had agreed to escort her to the property with no argument.

  She stood and walked around the tiny space, tired of sitting. She stepped toward the open window to gaze outside. The air here was crisp and clear, smelling of pine, grass, and a hint of baking bread. For years, she had grown accustomed to the scent of the sea blocking out everything else, so this was a nice change. The villagers went about their business, only occasionally casting curious glances toward the structure in which she now awaited. She turned from the window and paced, idly glancing through the open doorway into the room beyond. She spied the edge of a bed and quickly turned away. The structure must serve as both office and domicile for the sheriff. She meandered her way to the other side of the room, her hands trailing along the iron bars encompassing a very small space containing a narrow straw mattress and a chair beside it.

  Now that she was here, she would have a new set of challenges to face and hopefully overcome. She would need to make a living, but how? Along with the property, her great-aunt had left her with a very small stipend, which she assessed, after doing the figures, would only last a couple of months. The property would surely need some work, and she had no idea what kind of condition the stone and wood house was in.

  Iona was a good cook. She was somewhat skilled in herbs and healing, although not enough to be known as a healer or anything close to an apothecary. Just enough to get by, to take care of small injuries, nothing serious. Surely, she should be able to find a way to turn that into a position.

  For several moments, a surge of panic welled up inside her. What would she do and where would she go if things did not work out here? She had no family to speak of, at least none that were offering to take her in. She was on her own now. No one wanted her, and she accepted that. Unfortunately, throughout her youth and into adulthood, Iona had developed a reputation for being outspoken and stubborn. Willful, even. While she certainly didn’t think that was so bad, many did. Women were not allowed to speak their minds. They obeyed their husbands or the male members of their family without question. She had long bridled against that, wanting to be a woman who made her own decisions based on her own wants, needs, and desires. But what if—

  The door opened, and the sheriff stepped inside.

  She turned from the jail cell and gulped when he filled the doorway. She offered yet another tentative smile. He didn’t smile in return. So much for a welcome.

  “Wagon is ready, and the trunk and your valise have been loaded. We better get going.”

  She nodded and stepped outside, again noticing the wary glances of the villagers as she emerged. The sheriff helped her up into a small wagon in which her luggage had been loaded and stepped up and plopped onto the wooden bench seat himself. He grasped the reins and then slapped them against the horse’s rump, prompting movement.

  “How are ye related to the McGintys?” he asked, glancing at her, a frown marring his brow. “I’ve lived here a good part of my life, and I’ve never heard of you.”

  Iona offered a small, delicate shrug. “A distant great-aunt was related to Afiric and Ealasaid. She passed away and left the property to me.”

  The frown deepened. “Why? No male heirs?”

  “Not that I know of,” she replied calmly.

  “Och. Well, sorry for your loss.”

  She nodded, not quite comfortable with the awkward silence but not wanting to invite further conversation either.

  The sheriff guided the wagon around a curve in the road, the village disappearing behind them. They headed into a lush, green forest, the chattering of birds overhead only briefly interrupted by the passage of the wagon through the trees along a deeply rutted path. A brief opening in the trees enabled her to see past the clearing toward a small lake in the distance. A number of geese, ducks, and other birds with which she was not familiar floated on the surface. The sun glinted off the water, causing her to squint before the wagon moved forward, farther into the trees, blocking her view.

  They rode silently for quite some time before emerging from the forest and into a large, broad expanse of grass dotted with purple heather, sage, and other beautiful yet unidentifiable flowers. The path dipped down to a small valley.

  He pointed. “The property is down there, sheltered up against that copse of trees at the far end.”

  She peered into the distance and nodded, and though her outward mien of calm had not slipped, her stomach knotted still more, her fingers clasped together in her lap as she realized how secluded the place was. So far from the village. And she would be there alone.

  “It’s… erm… it’s unusual for a woman to be traveling alone.”

  It wasn’t a question but a statement, so she wasn’t sure how to reply.

  “That may be, but I prefer it,” she said calmly.

  An eyebrow lifted in surprise.

  “I’m used to being on my own, Sheriff, fending for myself. I’ll be fine.”

  “It’s secluded,” he said. “Times are tenuous…”

  She turned to him, no stranger to male attitudes. “As I said, I can take care of myself, Sheriff. I appreciate your concern, but there’s nothing much to be done about it.”

  “No husband?”

  She shook her head. No, no husband, no beau, no fiancé, no one to claim her hand in marriage, to provide security and, if she were lucky, comfort, and that most elusive quality, love. She had given up on that a long time ago. She turned away from the sheriff, looked toward the house and property she had inherited, and despite her trepidation and uncertainties regarding the future, she resolved that she would do the best she could. That’s all she could ask of herself.

  The sheriff said nothing after that, focused on guiding the horse along the rough path meandering along the edge of the meadow toward the stone and wood house in the distance. The road was unused and uneven, prompting Iona to grab at the seat bench and hang on more than once to prevent herself from being bounced over the side.

  Every time they hit one of the deeper ruts in the road, she frowned, gritted her teeth, and allowed herself to wonder if the sheriff was doing that on purpose.

  She turned to ask him just that, but was startled to find him watching her, those dark green eyes of his boring into hers, as if he wanted to search her thoughts.

  If he was foolish enough to do that, then he would get exactly what he deserved.

  3

  Colin watched the woman’s expression as they neared the house, or what remained of it. The half stone, half wood structure was in a bad state of disrepair. A good portion of the thatched roof—if not collapsed already—was close to it, most definitely on the side over the main room, and then on the top of the second story on the same side.

  The forest behind the house loomed dark and dismal, and beyond a slope at the rear of the house ran a small stream. He had explored inside the house, just to make sure no wi
ld animals or humans had taken up residence, but the place prompted within him an unsettled feeling. He had looked quickly, and then left as swiftly as possible.

  The chinking between the stones serving as the foundation, which rose to waist height, needed to be replaced in several sections. In addition to the damage to the roof, age had taken its toll. Two of the window shutters on the front of the house dangled from rotted leather straps.

  “Oh, my,” Iona gasped, hands tightly clutching the wagon seat as she gazed at the dilapidated structure.

  He almost felt a grin forming on his lips. Maybe she’d leave sooner. Then he decided it wasn’t funny. “What are ye going to do now?”

  She turned to him, eyes wide with surprise, eyebrows arched upward. “What do you mean?”

  He gestured. “Ye can’t live in a place like that—”

  “I have no choice, Sheriff. I have nowhere else to go. I’ll find a room inside the house where I can stay while repairs are being made.”

  He frowned. “Miss Douglas—”

  “Please, call me Iona,” she said, her voice tired and filled with frustration. “Thank you for bringing me and my belongings here. If you can just help me unload them and put them in the front room, I’ll get along just fine.”

  His frown deepened. She was the stubborn sort, wasn’t she? “And what do ye plan on doing for food? What will ye do if it rains? This season has been especially stormy, and I doubt you’ll find a spot in that house that doesn’t leak somewhere.” She lifted her chin, gave him a steely look, and then turned back to the structure.

  “That’s for me to worry about, Sheriff, not you.”

  “Now look here, lass, I can’t in good conscience leave ye out here all by yourself, with no decent shelter, no food—”

  “I have food… well, a small packet of dried meat and a half loaf of bread in my valise, if that’ll satisfy you,” she said coolly. “As for the shelter, well, I’ve stayed in worse.”