by Aileen Adams
It was much as he expected when he walked into the mill with Iona. He felt sure she didn’t miss the suspicious glares and obvious dislike of the mill owner when she asked for some flour, salt, and dry yeast. Nevertheless, he took her coins readily enough. He had given Colin the evil eye, even though the two of them typically got along just fine. As they left the mill, he thought he should suggest he carry her baskets, but then decided against it. Such an offer would likely offend her.
“Is that all ye need?” he asked as they left the mill.
“I was hoping to find someone willing to sell me a few eggs. I did promise Elspeth and Beitris that I’d make bread and tarts in exchange for the furniture they brought.”
“Old Endorra has some chickens for sale. I’m sure she has some eggs as well.”
She looked up at him. “How much?”
“How much what?” he said, gazing down at her and then looked up to find several additional members of the community standing in doorways, pausing in their sweeping or opening their shops to gaze at him and Iona, their expressions none too pleased. He could imagine what they thought. He was betraying them, maybe even acting the traitor. He shook his head with impatience. He was the sheriff. He was charged with upholding the laws of the land, even the ones he didn’t agree with. He was supposed to protect the innocent and maintain peace in the area. While he didn’t particularly like it, Iona had every right to be here, and as such, she had a right to be protected. Surely, they understood that, didn’t they?
“How much is she selling the chickens for?”
“I don’t know. She lives outside of town, not far from the road that will take ye back to your place. Do ye want to see her and ask?”
She appeared to hesitate but then nodded.
Not for the first time, Colin wondered if she had some type of stipend to live off of. He supposed she did, especially after inheriting a piece of property. Then again, the house she had moved into had fallen into dire disrepair. He decided to broach a few questions, and though he anticipated her annoyance, he felt it was his business to know. The more he knew about the people living here, the better.
“Might I ask ye a personal question?” he requested as they strolled past the edge of the village and along a footpath that took them slightly northeast.
“What is it?”
“Why did ye come here?”
She looked up at him in dismay. “Because I inherited the property.”
He frowned, trying to find a way to put his question delicately. “That is true, but did ye not live for quite some time on the Isle of Skye?”
She sighed. “Yes, as you well know, Sheriff, but it wasn’t my home. It belonged to a cousin who inherited the property.” She paused for several moments. “He no longer wanted me there.”
For several moments, Colin felt a surprising surge of anger rise in him. So, she had been kicked out. What kind of man would do that? He sighed. Plenty. She wasn’t the first woman he’d dealt with who had no protector, no family members willing to take them in, another mouth to feed, and he doubted she would be the last. Nevertheless, it was disappointing. How could someone do that to a woman like Iona? The idea gave him pause. He didn’t even know her, but in their brief interactions, he had gathered that she was a fiercely independent and proud young woman. She would make do, eschewing anybody’s help, even if it killed her.
“I know I’m not particularly welcome here,” she said, her eyes taking in the landscape around them as they neared the copse of trees and beyond, a small cottage. “Be that as it may, this is the only place I can call home, so for now, here I stay.” She paused and turned to look up at him. “I know you don’t approve, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I will tell you one thing, though. I will defend myself and my property in any way that I have to.”
He stared down at her for several moments, taking in the flash of her eyes and the firm set of her mouth. His gaze lingered on her soft, pink lips for several moments before he tugged his eyes away. He nodded, understanding what she was saying. He just hoped that she didn’t have to put it to the test.
In less than an hour later, Colin awkwardly grasped two wicker cages—one bearing two young hens and another with a young rooster. Iona carried a dozen eggs wrapped in cloth in one of her baskets, a satisfied smile on her lips as they left the old woman’s house and headed toward the McGinty place. He shook his head again, this time with a grin. Iona had proven to be a very good bargainer, ultimately promising the old woman several loaves of bread and a pie as well, in addition to a few coins for the purchase of the eggs and the livestock.
At the moment, Iona looked up at him with a smile, mischief dancing in her eyes. “Now all I need is a horse, a small cart, and a milk cow.”
He chuckled. “And I have a feeling it’s not going to take ye long to talk someone into selling those to ye, too, at a discount, with the promise of baked goods.”
She laughed, a pleasant sound that elicited a surge of pleasure within him. She’d had a long, hard journey, and who knew what else before that, and he was glad to see her smiling. The early afternoon had grown warmer, though a slight breeze wafted through his hair, blowing hers softly behind her.
She turned to him again, her expression more serious. “Tell me about my property.”
He shrugged. “What do ye mean?”
“You told me earlier that the area has a reputation of being haunted? Are you telling the truth or are you just trying to scare me away?”
“Nay, it is true.” The soft clucking of the hens broke the silence. “The property has a unique history, and not just of hauntings and ghosts, but for some type of treasure, maybe gold, while others have passed down the legend of a curse.”
She looked up at him with a frown. “Hauntings, curses, and treasure? I find that hard to believe. Near the coast, well, there’s plenty of legends of gold and booty hidden in caves along the cliffs, but what’s out here?” Both hands grasping her baskets, she jutted her chin toward the east, toward her house. “There’s nothing out here but rolling hills, forests, and a road or two.”
“And it’s also centrally located between the Highlands and the Lowlands to the south. Lots of forests, canyons in the mountains, lakes, and moors. It’s the perfect region to disappear, if ye wanted to, whether you’re coming from the north and from the south.”
“So, what exactly are these legends?”
“Actually, I’m not really sure. I’m not sure if anyone around here even knows how they started anymore. But I know that the rumors have been around since I was a child. And there are strange goings-on around here sometimes, disappearances, an odd death, mainly in the woods to the north and east of you.” He gave her a look. “Another reason ye shouldn’t live alone. The presence of an Englishwoman living alone out here on property that has so much history attached to it will definitely bring trouble. Ye can be assured that some will assume that the rumors of gold or treasure are true, hence your very presence. They’ll think you’ve come to look for it and claim it for yourself.”
“That’s foolishness.”
“Don’t be so sure. Dougal isn’t the only one who’s going to be curious about your presence.”
“And what’s his story?”
“He inherited the property to the northwest of yours. He’s originally from the Highlands, and as I believe I’ve already mentioned, he has somewhat of a reputation as a troublemaker. He defies the law, especially when it comes from England, which is why ye saw him wearing a plaid.”
“He warned me that I wasn’t safe here. Do you think he’ll try something?”
Colin shrugged, but inside, his gut tightened with worry. Dougal better not try anything, because then Colin would have to arrest him. The last thing he needed was more trouble, especially anything involving Dougal. His blatant disregard of English laws had gained him the respect of many Scotsmen. He had no doubt that, if for any reason, he had to arrest Dougal Craig, he would have more trouble on his hands from the villagers.
Her chin came up another notch, and she nodded, but he saw the determination in her face, the fierce set of her jaw.
He had an inkling that come hell or high water, Iona Douglas was going to protect herself and her property. He just hoped that she wouldn’t die doing it.
8
Iona spent another day cleaning, sweeping dust off of the floors, getting rid of cobwebs, and then scrubbing the walls and floors with bucket after bucket of water. Her frustration gave her the energy to work from dawn until nearly dusk. Would there ever be a time in her life when she felt she truly belonged? When someone wanted her? Sometimes, she got so tired of the struggle she wanted to give up, but then what?
She allowed herself to fall into bouts of self-pity once in a while, but even after a few days, she herself grew tired of feeling that way. Then, she would wipe the tears from her cheeks, straighten her back and tell herself that she was the only one who could change her life, her own destiny, and it started with her attitude. While she appreciated the sheriff’s warnings, she didn’t know what else she was supposed to do. So they didn’t want her here, but she had nowhere else to go. She didn’t want to be here, in this region, surrounded by Scots who hated her, although that certainly didn’t seem to apply to everyone. The sheriff himself, though frustrated by her presence, didn’t outright tell her to leave. Beitris and Elspeth had befriended her, but what could they do?
From what Colin told her the other day as they returned to her home with her meager supplies, Beitris, as a blind child, had grown up much as an outsider, much as Iona had been her entire life. Elspeth had befriended Beitris at a young age, and the two had been inseparable ever since. Elspeth had never married, and Beitris had only been married recently. Colin didn’t tell Iona much about Alasdair, Beitris’s husband, other than to say that he kept to himself on his property to the north that he had received as a dowry—more like a bribe really—for his marriage to Beitris.
Iona knew she wasn’t the only woman at the mercy of the men around them. Beitris had struggled, and so too had Elspeth, a woman who it seemed would never marry, devoting her life to Beitris and her future children. It was only through Alasdair’s good graces that Elspeth enjoyed his protection.
But who would protect her?
No one. She had to look out for herself. Her prospects of finding a husband decreased year after year, and now that she was here, she believed that her chances of ever marrying had dwindled to none. Even so, she now had a roof over her head—or most of one. If she could somehow earn some money, she might be able to survive. She had some skills as a baker, and she had not seen a bakery in the village. One challenge to overcome—one of many—was to determine whether villagers would be willing to purchase her baked goods. She shouldn’t hold her breath. She would give herself a certain amount of time here, through the fall and winter. If she found herself without hope, without a way to earn a living, maybe she would sell the property in the spring and find someplace else to live.
With a small stipend left over from the inheritance, and what she considered the good riddance payment that she had received from her cousin prior to leaving the Isle of Skye, she might, if she was very careful with every expenditure, make it through the rest of summer, into fall, and through the winter. First, she had to get this place livable. She still needed to plant a garden, which she planned on doing the following morning. She could live off carrots, turnips, and onions if she had to. She would have soup every night. And bread. She didn’t care. She’d do it, and she needed to sacrifice where she needed to sacrifice in order to survive. Maybe, someday, she might even thrive.
Over the next few days, she kept busy, cleaning, digging up a garden area with stout sticks, planting her seeds, and baking. Every once in a while, she saw Dougal standing at the edges of the wood, just watching her. Since that first time, she made no move to approach him, and he didn’t venture past the edges of the woods. She didn’t know what he wanted, or what he was looking for, but as long as he didn’t bother her, she wouldn’t worry about it. She’d gotten into the habit of keeping a stout stick near her new garden, near the front door, and several throughout the house. She couldn’t afford to purchase a weapon, and she wouldn’t know who she could buy a pistol from anyway.
Yesterday, after baking several loaves of bread, she had gone into the village once more, the walk doing her good as far as settling her mind and enjoying the countryside, but it was tiring and time-consuming. Once colder weather came to the land, she would not be able to do this. She needed a horse and, if she could somehow afford it, a small cart. She had gone to the village yesterday, first venturing toward the blacksmith, asking if he knew of anyone who was willing to sell an old mare or a milk cow. He ignored her for several moments, at his fire, before he finally looked up at her, gave an abrupt shake of his head, then turned his back on her.
After that, she had gone to the apothecary to purchase ingredients to make into a poultice in the event of any minor injury she suffered. Nothing that would take care of anything more than bruises and small cuts and reduce swelling, perhaps prevent infection from setting in. Two customers had been in the apothecary when she entered. The moment she did, they turned to her, gave her a thorough inspection, and then left, telling the apothecary that they would be back once he was able to air out the shop.
She wanted to scold the two visitors for their rudeness, but of course, she couldn’t and wouldn’t. Only with great reluctance had the apothecary sold her the necessary supplies, even going so far as to make her place her coins on the small table in front of him rather than allow her to put the money in his hand.
Her last stop was a small store of sorts, where a number of goods were sold. She needed several needles and a couple of spools of thread to mend tears in her clothing as well as the possibility of having to stitch up a wound. The thought curdled her stomach, but once again she reminded herself that she was on her own. In the small store, she saw a myriad of items that she longed to have. Wooden bowls, cooking utensils, some bolts of linen, likely from Edinburgh, or maybe even France or England. There were farm implements, dried meats, dried fish, and other goods that she couldn’t afford.
Again, with reluctance, the shopkeeper sold her the thread and needles, and by the time she walked away from the village, her spirits were lower than they had been in a long time. It wasn’t her fault that the English government demanded so much from the Scots, and it certainly wasn’t her fault that this trouble had gone on between the Scots and the English for decades. Why couldn’t they judge her on her own? She didn’t look at them as if they were animals, and she had never lumped all people together based on the behavior of a few.
Once back home, she pushed her mind away from all that and focused again on her chores. She still needed to start gathering some long grasses so she could tie them together into bundles for replacing the damaged parts of the roof. She didn’t know how to do it, but figured if she could get up there, look and see how everything was arranged, she could figure it out herself. And of course, to do that, she needed to fashion a ladder. Again, she figured she could do that if she found the proper sticks in the forest, and either look for some leather strips or, if she had to, cut up one of her gowns and use that for bindings.
She shook her head, rueful. While she certainly appreciated inheriting the house, the work involved in getting it livable again and comfortable, and all that she had to do before colder weather set in, she just wished that—
She paused where the road meandered beyond her property and looked down the lane that led to her home. There, sitting on a stump about halfway between the road and her house, sat Dougal, again wearing his plaid, seemingly staring off into the distance although she had no doubt that he saw everything and heard everything around him. What was this man up to? Why did he keep bothering her?
Brushing her hands against her skirt, she approached him, cautiously, of course, sto
pping a short distance away. She glanced quickly down at the ground, thinking that maybe she’d better find a rock, just in case. She saw a fist-sized stone by her right foot and then turned back to Dougal. “Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me?”
He stared at her for several moments, his expression blank, making it impossible to know what he was thinking. Abruptly, he stood, eyed her for several moments, and then gestured at her house before taking several steps toward her. She’d never been this close to him before, and though she stood her ground, her heart began to pound. What if he attacked her? Should she bend down to pick up the rock now? A lot of good one little rock would do against a man his size.
She backed up a step, eyes narrowed. “What do you want, Dougal?”
He lifted an eyebrow and shrugged. “I smelled fresh baked bread. I wanted some.”
She thought she saw a small smile tugging at the corner of his lip. Had he gone into her house and stolen a loaf of bread? “You wanted some.”
“Aye, lass. Ye see, I don’t bake. I’ll buy two loaves from you.”
Dougal? Her first customer? A customer she hadn’t expected, and didn’t even really want, but money was money. She thought about it for a moment, then offered a short nod. “Wait here.”
She walked the short distance to her house, glancing once over her shoulder to make sure the man hadn’t followed her. He hadn’t, resuming his seat on the stump. Watching her. She felt uncomfortable, but again, money was money. She moved inside the house and then walked into the kitchen area. She plucked two loaves from the table and took them outside, approaching Dougal with extreme caution. Was he tricking her? Would he try something? She could’ve kicked herself. She should have brought her stout stick with her, though, venturing ever closer to the man, she realized he could have just as easily snatched it out of her hand and clobbered her with it.
