A Highland Inheritance (Highlands Ever After Book 2)

by Aileen Adams

  Two days later, feeling stronger, if not a lot better, Iona stood in front of the ruins of her home, fighting back the tears, swallowing against the hard knot of anger that settled in her chest. Life could be so unfair! Why had someone done this to her? She hadn’t bothered anybody, had she? What was her fault, that she was born English?

  The house had needed a lot of work, she told herself. It would’ve taken months of hard, backbreaking labor to make necessary repairs, to ensure that the house would stand for years to come. She comforted herself with the fact that whether looking for help in making the repairs or in rebuilding, she would have trouble gaining the cooperation or the aid of any of the villagers.

  She slowly walked around the remains, some areas still smoldering, the scent of wood smoke and ash still heavy in the air. Later, after the ruins cooled, she would see what she could salvage, see if she could find the coins that she had hidden beneath one of the floorboards. She rounded the side of the house and saw that her garden had survived the inferno. The seeds had not yet sprouted. She supposed she should be grateful for that. But the garden looked thirsty. She glanced around, looking for something with which she could fill with water. She turned toward the well in the front yard and looked for the bucket but couldn’t find it. There it was, not far from the remains of the front door, lying on its side, two of its slats broken, the rest of the wood charred.

  It looked like someone had tried to throw water on the house. Colin? She frowned. How had he discovered that the house was on fire? Had he been riding by in the middle of the night? Doubtful. Someone must’ve told him. But who? And if Colin had been notified, why hadn’t other villagers come, if not to put out the fire, perhaps to celebrate?

  She shook her head, pushing her thoughts away from such morbidity. She would find a way to get by. She would—

  “Iona.”

  She spun around, startled, wincing in pain at the renewed pounding in her head. She’d been so engrossed in her thoughts she hadn’t heard the horse ride up.

  Colin dismounted and paused, glancing from the ruined remains of her home back to her. He stood for several moments, eyeing her to the point she began to feel self-conscious.

  “You’re doing all right?”

  She offered a small shrug, tamping down emotions that wanted to overflow. Anger, despair, and everything in between. She took a breath and turned toward him. “Thank you for saving my life, Sheriff. If you hadn’t been here, I don’t know…”

  Her words faded. What did you say to someone who had saved your life? How could you thank them? The sheriff’s expression hadn’t changed. Did he regret saving her life? She saw the bruise on the side of his jaw. “I hope you didn’t get hurt too badly, what with my barreling into you like that.”

  To her surprise, he chuckled.

  “It was… interesting, but I’m glad that ye are up and about. Endorra came into the village today and told me that you had left her home to come back here.” His brow furrowed. “Why?”

  At first, she didn’t understand his question. “This is my home. Why wouldn’t I come back?”

  He gestured toward the ruins. “There’s nothing left. What are ye going to do?”

  She sighed. “Well, at least it’s summertime and warm. I can make a shelter to sleep in, and then, I’ll think about rebuilding.”

  He grimaced and she could just imagine the thoughts running through his head. Rebuild with what? He was thinking that she had no money to pay anyone to rebuild her house. Well, she didn’t. Not much anyway. Certainly not what it would cost to rebuild. Then again, maybe she’d just do it herself. She was that stubborn.

  “You’re not frightened of staying here? Alone?”

  Now it was her turn to frown. She turned toward him again, arms akimbo. “Of course, I’m frightened, Sheriff. Someone tried to kill me the other night, burn me alive in my house. But I have nowhere else to go. This is my land, and no one is going to drive me away from it. No one, do you understand?”

  He looked at her for several moments, then nodded. “I thought ye might say that.” He looked down at the ground, behind him toward the village, and then back at the ruins of the house. “In my spare time, I can help.” He shrugged. “Alasdair, Beitris, and Elspeth have offered to help as well. As has Endorra.”

  Iona’s frown darkened. “And what do the rest of the villagers have to say about that?”

  “Some don’t like it and have expressed their disapproval, while others simply don’t care. Most of us have our own problems to worry about.”

  She was touched by the idea that a least a few of the locals would be willing to help her, but again it came down to money. She had nothing to offer anyone. Not even a loaf of bread or a baked pie. Her garden had not yet begun to produce. She held her arms out to her side. “I have nothing to offer in return for their efforts.”

  “When ye get settled again, then ye can worry about that, all right?”

  Iona turned away, choking back the lump in her throat. There was kindness here, not overt, not obvious, but below the surface, there was some kindness and compassion here after all. She turned to him, admiring his ability to weigh both sides of the issue, not pandering to the opinions and attitudes of others. While she worried about causing more trouble, at least she knew that there were a few more people on her side, even if it was silent support.

  “That would be very nice,” she said, trying not to allow her feelings to show.

  She liked this man, very much. He had stood up for her and shown kindness to her when no one else had. What would happen in the near future, she had no idea, but at least she felt a tinge of hope. Maybe, just maybe, if she could rebuild, get people around here used to her, then maybe she could finally have a place to call her own and live in peace.

  13

  “What about the treasure?”

  Colin had mounted his horse, prepared to ride away from Iona’s property, sensing she didn’t want him there, her attention focused on her garden with a frown. What was she thinking? Even more, how could she even think she could stay out here, without shelter, without supplies, without—

  “What?” he asked, looking down at Iona as she turned from her garden and stood, facing him, fists cocked on her hips.

  “What about the treasure?”

  He frowned. The treasure? What was she—och. The legend of treasure buried somewhere on the property. “Ah, lass, that’s just a legend.”

  “What if it isn’t?” She gazed into the trees behind the skeleton of the house, eyes narrowed. “It’s supposed to be here somewhere… on my property? So if I found it, it would be mine?”

  What was she saying? If she found the treasure… “Aye, it would be yours, but I’ve already told ye, ’tis just a legend. A myth. People have been talking about it since I was a young lad. I think it was Alasdair’s father who told me, and he wasn’t the only one to talk about it. No one’s ever found anything to indicate that there was any truth behind it. Ye ken?”

  Iona looked up at him, an eyebrow raised, slowly nodding. “Behind every legend, every story, every myth, there’s usually a grain of truth.”

  “I don’t think so, Iona, at least not in this case. Besides, if the McGintys thought there was any truth to it, we would have heard. They would have looked for it as well.”

  “How do you know they didn’t?”

  He frowned. How indeed? He took a deep breath and let it out, striving for patience, because he certainly didn’t want to put ideas into her head. “For one, neither one of them said anything about it, not even a hint. And while I don’t mean to criticize, or in any way seem to speak ill of the dead, one of them would’ve said something. It was just their way.” He shook his head, wanting to talk her out of this before she seriously contemplated treasure hunting. “Also, if they had found anything, they wouldn’t have… well, they could have fixed the place up a little bit, don’t ye think?”

  Iona sighed.

  He saw her indecision, arms crossed over her chest now, one slippere
d foot tapping softly in the dirt of the garden area.

  “Have you ever known anyone with a lot of money, Sheriff?”

  For a moment, he just stared at her. What brought that up? She flitted from one topic to the next without warning. “No, why?”

  “I have. Since I was a young woman, I’ve lived in the house of one relative or another. They all had money. In my experience, those that have money wrap their fists around it so tight that they can barely bring themselves to spend a coin.” She waved a hand as if none of it mattered. “Oh, I’m sure that others with money enjoy spending it on things, vices, and lavish homes or fashion, what have you. But in my case, they secreted it away, never to see the light of day.”

  Despite every intention not to, Colin tried to imagine what life had been like for Iona, sent from family to family, no place to really call home, no place to serve as that elusive permanent home that a young girl must long for. Due to her history, he somewhat understood her resolve and stubbornness to remain here, even if she wasn’t welcome. The property had been given to her, and she was loath to leave it, come what may. Though he didn’t feel it was wise, he even understood her determination to endure the suspicion and dislike of many of the villagers because she had no other place to go. Clearly.

  While he hadn’t grown up with much and his parents had died young, he had never felt that he needed to put roots in any particular place. In fact, while he liked this region and the village, he enjoyed his job as well. He had friends here, but still, it wouldn’t concern him overly much if he had to move again. Not that he intended to, but if he did, he didn’t think it would matter. Which only served to emphasize the difference he saw between Iona and himself. She longed for permanence and stability. She was also a woman. She couldn’t just come and go as he could without people talking, like they already were about her—a woman alone without chaperone or companion, moving into a house in the country by herself.

  “When did ye say your companion was going to arrive?”

  “Tyra?” She offered a shrug. “When she gets here. I notified her where I would be and how to get here, but she’s taking care of personal obligations. Two or three weeks, I’d venture to say.”

  Colin studied Iona for several moments, then looked into the woods behind the house, not far from where they had both ended up after Iona had escaped the house fire.

  “What are ye thinking, Iona?” he asked, his horse shifting impatiently underneath him.

  She looked up at him with an expression of innocence that would have made him smile if he were in any way amused.

  He shook his head. “Don’t ye be wandering into the woods by yourself, lass. I’ve already told ye that. There’s outlaws roaming the land, not to mention the dangers of wildlife, or the danger of ye being injured out there alone.”

  A frown appeared on her lips, her jaw set as she took one step closer to his horse, though only after darting a wary gaze at its massive hooves. He saw determination and frustration in her gaze as she looked up at him. “And who appointed you my keeper, Sheriff? You’re not my father, nor my brother, nor my cousin. I can—”

  “Nay, I’m not your keeper, but I am sheriff of this region. To be quite blunt, I have enough to do keeping the peace around here without having to worry about ye disappearing into the woods or making yourself easy prey for bandits.”

  The two of them stared at each other for several moments.

  “I’m not going so far as to tell ye what ye can or canna do, Iona. I am just telling ye, for your own safety, that it’s not a good idea for ye to be wandering about by yourself. Look what happened here,” he said, gesturing toward the ruins of her house.

  “And whose fault is that?” she snapped, hands again on her hips. “Was that my fault? Or is it your people, or someone in your county who did this, and not because of anything I did, except move here. I have not bothered anyone. I have barely spoken to anyone, and nobody even knows me.” She pointed at the still smoldering ruins. “You tell me, Sheriff. You tell me what I did to deserve that! And if you hadn’t come by—” She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out in a rush. “And if you hadn’t come by and saved me, I could very well have burned alive in there!”

  She stomped her foot on the ground. She was angry, her gaze flinty, her face red, and the vein in her neck throbbing.

  Before he could say a word, she continued.

  “Do tell me if you have any better suggestions. I am staying, and that’s all there is to it! Nevertheless, I need money to put a roof over my head. If there is even an inkling of truth in that legend of buried treasure, or gold, or whatever it is, why do you care if I want to look for it? What else am I going to do?” She offered a half sob, half laugh as she again turned to stare at the ruins of the house. “That was my home,” she choked out. “Only for a few days, I agree, but it was my home.”

  Colin saw the tears shining in her eyes and the hard swallow she took as she turned her face away from him, shoulders stiff, obviously attempting to gain control over her emotions. Unbidden, a wave of pity swept through him. He didn’t want to feel pity for her. He admired her stubbornness, to a point. She was a woman who knew what she wanted, but she was going about it all wrong. She could get hurt. One attempt had already been made to kill her, so why didn’t she listen? Why didn’t she take his warnings seriously? Why didn’t she understand that she was taking a huge risk, even by staying? He knew there were people who didn’t want her here, people who were obviously willing to go to great lengths to make sure that she left or died here. Why couldn’t—

  “I absolve you from any responsibility for my safety, Sheriff,” she said, her voice softer now, not quite as tremulous as before.

  He mumbled, scowling. “Ye can’t absolve me of my responsibility for you. Whether ye like it or not, I am responsible for the safety of all the people in my county. I just—”

  “Why don’t you go take care of them then?” She turned to him once more. “Why are you wasting time arguing with me? Go take care of your people. And while you’re at it, why don’t you ask which one of them was so brave as to sneak up to my house in the middle of the night under the cover of darkness and set fire to it while a poor and defenseless woman slept?” She gave him one last glare. “Because if you do, I would like to bring charges against that person—or persons—responsible for doing this.”

  Colin’s jaw dropped. A woman bringing charges? Unheard of!

  “And it won’t stop there, not with just damaging my property and burning my house down. No, I’ll be prepared to accuse them of attempted murder!”

  With that she turned and walked away from him, disappearing around the smoldering ruins at the rear of the house as she made her way down to the stream behind it. He had no idea what she was up to, and he wasn’t about to follow. Not yet anyway. He shook his head and turned his horse to head back to town. Just what he needed. A vengeful woman. No doubt her vengeance was justified, but on top of everything else going on in this county, he didn’t need more trouble. The lass, small and supposedly helpless as she was, would likely end up heaping more trouble down on his head. He had no idea who had started the fire, but he would look, not just for her sake, but for his. It could’ve been outlaws, it could’ve been one of the villagers, it could even have been Dougal, even though he doubted that. Dougal was no coward, nor was he a man who would attack a woman. At least he didn’t think so.

  With a deep, heartfelt sigh, Colin turned his horse onto the road leading back to town, not sure what he would find when he got there. The village up in arms against the Englishwoman who’d survived a burnout and murder attempt? Of course, they wouldn’t see it that way, but tensions were mounting with the upcoming date of the tartan-wearing issue. On top of that, they now had a fiery Englishwoman in their midst. He had a feeling that the tensions would continue to grow, hopefully not to the point where they would explode, but he wasn’t going to hold his breath.

  By the time he returned to the village, a half dozen
of its inhabitants had already gathered in front of his jail. He frowned, recognizing the mill owner, Duilach Monroe, and the blacksmith, Michael Shaughnessy, at the front, expressions resolute, arms crossed over their chests.

  Behind them, to his amazement, stood Angus Phearson and Curt Stevens, apparently united in a common cause that Colin had no doubt went by the name of Iona Douglas. Beside them stood Bruce Reed, whose small farm stood at the other edge of town, as well as the apothecary, Bruce O’Bannon. For a moment, Colin glanced around, looking for Dougal. Oddly enough, he wasn’t among the group.

  Holding in the deep, frustrated sigh that threatened to escape, Colin dismounted, tied his horse’s reins to the iron ring bolted to the solitary hitching post and then turned to the small crowd. He said nothing, eyeing each and every one of them, waiting for one of them to broach their current complaint. No one spoke.

  “Well?” he said, his tone low with warning. “What is it? I have work to do.”

  “We want to know what you’re going to do about her.”

  Colin frowned and his heart skipped a beat. So that was the way it was going to be, was it? “What am I going to do?” He eyed them. “The law obligates me to find the persons responsible for burning down her house, and I could even go so far as to charge that person or persons with attempted murder.” He held up his hand to halt the immediate flow of protests coming from every man standing in front of him. “Now, mind ye, that’s the law. But I will ask, what would ye have me do?”