by Aileen Adams
Without a second thought, Iona ran, the sound of his words echoing in her ears, desperate to get as far away from him as she could. Had he been the one to set fire to her home? Was he the one who wanted her dead? He was her neighbor, the closest one. He would have had ample opportunity, and hadn’t the sheriff told her that he was often suspected of illegal doings in the region?
Heart pounding, hands slapping at branches and pine boughs, she darted into the woods, watching where she placed her slippered feet, avoiding bulging tree roots, rocks, and sudden dips that could twist her ankle as she ran from Dougal’s property, his shouting echoing in the trees behind her.
Frantic to put more distance between her and the angry man, she ran, deeper and deeper into the forest, choosing the easiest path even among the thick undergrowth of trees, shrubs, and bushes that threatened to slow her forward momentum.
Finally, her chest aching, her side burning, gasping for breath, she paused and gazed around. She didn’t recognize anything. She couldn’t even tell which direction she faced, the canopy of the trees, the overgrowth, and the shadows cast by the nearby hillsides disorienting and oppressing. Her head pounded, her heart still raced, and every muscle in her body shook with fright and fatigue. Where was she?
Lost! She was lost! She turned in circles, not sure which way to go. If she went that way, would she end up back on Dougal’s property? If she went that other way, would it take her back to her property? She turned around. How deep had she run into the wilderness? She stood, catching her breath, trying to calm her racing thoughts and soothe her panicked emotions.
Think!
Iona swiveled and took several steps, looking for anything that seemed even vaguely familiar. She moved slowly at first, and then fear once again took hold of her heart, prompting her to move faster, until she ran again, heart pounding, breath escaping her chest in harsh gasps. Home! She wanted to go home! She needed—her foot struck a rock.
Her arms thrust in front of her, she tried to stop her forward momentum before she crashed into the rough bark of a tree, bounced off and then, at the last moment, realized she stood precariously on the edge of a heavily overgrown ravine.
Arms windmilling, she tried to make herself fall backward, away from the ravine, but she teetered in the wrong direction. She lost her balance and tipped over the edge, her scream short-lived as she landed hard on her left shoulder, bounced and then rolled.
A half sob, half cry for help left her throat and then with a grunt of pain the breath gushed from her lungs as she landed hard on a stone, pain shooting through her left side, and then an even sharper, harder pain against her temple as she landed on yet another rock at the bottom of the ravine, blackness hovered. Yet it wasn’t the darkness of the woods, nor the passage of the sun overhead.
Exhausted, both mentally and physically, she relinquished herself, if just for a little while, to the welcoming blackness that encompassed her.
19
Colin had spent most of yesterday and early this morning trying to resolve an issue between Duilach Monroe and Bruce O’Bannon. The two had nearly come to blows late yesterday afternoon when, as part of the crowd who had originally confronted him outside of his office regarding the presence of one Iona Douglas, O’Bannon had finally decided to employ common sense and announced to the group that he would try to get along with the Englishwoman as long as she didn’t cause trouble.
In turn, that had upset Duilach, who insisted that the villagers must show a united front in refusing friendship, aid, or services to the trespasser. Colin, his patience close to reaching its limit, shook his head in frustration. In just a short time, the tartan edict, as he called it, would go into effect. With Dougal and several other Scots living on surrounding property already flaunting the ruling by wearing their tartans into the village, they were provoking, daring, and even instigating even further divisions, arguments, and problems within the community. Some wanted to accede to the new law to avoid trouble while others wanted to fight against it. In most cases, those who decided to just accept the law had lost loved ones fighting against the English in skirmishes throughout the years, if not battles, the most recent during the Jacobite rebellion, leaving several members of the community lying to rot on the fields of Culloden.
Others, those who had not yet been tested by battle, raised their fists and shook them at the sky over the horizon, spitting their hatred of the English and everything the monarchy stood for. In essence, Colin’s village was split in two with differing opinions regarding the tartan edict, the presence of Iona Douglas, and those who knew about or were hiding the truth about who had set her house on fire and tried to kill her.
In the midst of everything… the arguments, the disagreements, and the back-and-forth, he’d also learned that just yesterday afternoon, as Beitris and Elspeth had pulled their small wagon into the village to stock up on supplies, they’d been confronted by a number of people who had learned, possibly through old Endorra, that they, Alasdair, and old Endorra herself, had offered aid and succor to the Englishwoman. As Alasdair headed toward the blacksmith shop, the two women had headed toward Duilach’s mill. Of course, gossip traveled fast in a village so small, and Duilach had the audacity to refuse to sell the women flour or salt. That is, until Elspeth had mentioned the fact to Alasdair, who, of course, strode into the mill, hands fisted, his face red with anger, making that awful scar on his face stand out even whiter and making him appear even more fearsome than usual. Apparently, Alasdair had threatened to break Duilach in two unless he sold the needed goods to his wife and Elspeth.
Only reluctantly had Duilach acquiesced, mumbling the entire time about traitors in their midst. Alasdair had barely managed to restrain his temper, probably due to Beitris’s peacekeeping efforts. Of course, Beitris gave the mill owner a good scolding, telling him how ashamed she was of such behavior from a person that she had known her entire life. Thankfully, the situation had not grown any worse, but it had boded ill for the former serenity and friendships in the village. Colin shook his head when he learned of the incident from O’Bannon, wondering how one small Englishwoman who didn’t even live in town could cause such disruption in such a short amount of time.
O’Bannon had warned him that things could get worse before they became better. In turn, Colin had asked O’Bannon if he knew who had set fire to Iona’s house. He shook his head and seemed to be telling the truth, but who knew? He wasn’t sure how to go about getting a confession from someone, especially with tensions already reaching the boiling point.
He decided that early that afternoon he’d ride out to Iona’s property later on that day and search for any indications of the guilty culprit or culprits by searching the woods opposite her house and across the meadow for signs of torches, rags, or firebrands that might have been utilized to cause the destruction.
To round out his day, none other than Duff Finley rode into town.
Colin barely bit back a groan. He hadn’t thought things could get any worse, and yet, here was Duff. He didn’t know Duff very well, only that he was rarely a visitor into the village, most often only coming into the village when he needed a few supplies that he couldn’t grow, hunt, or gather on his own property a good day’s ride to the northwest. Duff, originally a Lowlander, had lived down on the southeastern coastline, and had been in the area for several years, keeping to himself, his demeanor somewhat off-putting if not downright rude.
The villagers commonly gave him a wide berth, much like they did Alasdair and Dougal. Except when it came to Duff, they avoided him like the plague. Not because he was filthy and unwashed or unkempt, which he wasn’t. Though he did look a bit wild and rough around the edges with his long, unbound hair, full beard, and perpetual glower. Rumors had followed him from the Lowlands that he was suspected of murder—more than one—from whence he came.
Colin had waited outside of his office, watching Duff, hoping that he didn’t ride his way with a complaint of his own. He had enough troubles to deal with as it was. Than
kfully, Duff rode his horse directly to the mill and disappeared inside. While Colin felt relieved that Duff had not approached him with some issue, he wasn’t particularly pleased that the man, already with a less-than-healthy reputation, was venturing into the mill, where Duilach had nothing good to say about Iona Douglas. Just what she needed. One more enemy to add to the mix.
By the time nightfall had come, Duff was nowhere to be seen, most of the villagers had closed up their shops and returned to their homes for the night, and Colin had heaved a sigh of relief, hoping for at least one good night’s sleep before the rule regarding the tartan plaid was due to be enforced. He had no doubt he would have his hands full once that occurred.
In the meantime, he was determined to focus on keeping the peace, preventing another outbreak of violence against Iona, and even more importantly, to finding out who had set fire to her house. That discovery would not bode well and could very well instigate a civil war in the village. At least legally. Not one person had been concerned overmuch about the fact that the young woman had been burned out of her home, but it wasn’t as if he’d taken a poll on the matter either.
The fact that Beitris and Elspeth had faced criticism for their actions was also concerning. He didn’t want to put the blame on Iona because it wasn’t her fault, but her presence had upset the normalcy of his village. Of course, there were always complaints and issues, or they wouldn’t have needed a sheriff in the region, but her presence was like a thorn in their sides, festering, waiting for infection to set in. He didn’t know anyone who, after being burned out of house and home, would be stubborn enough to remain in an area where they weren’t wanted.
Except Iona Douglas.
And then he remembered. He hadn’t been out to her place yet. Tomorrow. He’d do that tomorrow, as soon as he was caught up on the paperwork he kept putting off.
The following morning, after a surprisingly good night’s sleep, Colin sat at his desk, looking at several scrolls that had come his way by stagecoach a couple of days ago. He hadn’t had a chance to study them yet, what with all the problems in town, but he grew concerned when he opened the scrolls and found rough sketches and descriptions of two outlaws believed to be in the area from Edinburgh, probably heading toward Glasgow. These weren’t the usual miscreants. They were murderers, charged with horrible crimes against a family in Edinburgh. They had brutally murdered a middle-aged man, his wife, and their two children, both under ten years of age. They had beaten the woman’s mother and left her for dead before they set the house on fire.
Could these two men be in the area? Could they have seen Iona and set her house on fire? The pattern seemed to fit. But why would they stick around here? Why set Iona’s house on fire? To what purpose? The parchment didn’t give additional information, but Colin studied their faces and reread their physical descriptions, determined to be wary. He’d tell Iona as well, take the papers with him to show her so that if she saw those men, she would know to hide. He grimaced. If she saw anyone lurking around her property, she should hide.
He’d also remind her that under no circumstances, none whatsoever, was she to argue with, confront, or otherwise purposely come into contact with such individuals. The thought prompted a chill to run down his spine. He knew that Iona wasn’t naïve, but she could be stubborn, especially when it came to her property. She hadn’t hesitated to attack him when he’d frightened her after her bath in the stream. He had surprised her. He thought about that. If she saw someone approaching her home would she hide or would she stand and fight?
With a sigh, he decided to ride over and have a talk with her. Halfway to the door, he paused. Why had he taken such an interest in Iona? If she wanted to tempt fate, he couldn’t stop her. He couldn’t protect her every hour of every day. She had brought this on herself, so why did he care? No, that wasn’t fair. She hadn’t done anything wrong, except be born in the wrong country. Nevertheless, he had enough to do as it was without acting like he was her bodyguard. Still, he couldn’t help himself. Despite his intentions not to, despite the trouble she had caused by her mere presence, he did care. Perhaps more than he should. Perhaps to the degree that he would be ostracized himself, to the point that lawlessness would take over his village, that no one would any longer respect the laws nor his attempt to uphold them. He already stood on precarious ground with the English laws, trying to enforce them. He often found himself taking the middle ground, which frustrated many of the villagers to no end, as well as himself. Nevertheless, regardless of where she came from or what blood flowed in her veins, the thought of leaving a woman defenseless stuck in his gullet.
With yet another put-upon exhale leaving his lips, Colin left his office and strode toward the small stable behind the building, where he saddled his horse. By the time he rode toward the borders of Iona’s property, the sun had just risen above the tops of the trees carpeting the landscape to the east and rising up the mountain slopes that seemed to touch the sky. He paused his horse, and the gelding stomped a hoof impatiently, tail swishing at a determined fly. The massive animal shifted slightly under Colin, and he leaned forward to pat his horse’s neck.
“Aye, she’s a stubborn one, isn’t she? And here we are again, trying to convince her to be watchful and—” Another stomp of a hoof and a shake of the horse’s mane. “Shall we go have a chat with her?”
A snort was his only reply.
He could understand why Iona was determined to stay, not because she only owned the property, but because of the beauty of the landscape. He’d never been to the Isle of Skye, but he imagined a rugged coastline with sheer, rocky misshapen cliffs, trees clinging to its surfaces, constantly windblown, waves crashing against rocks below. Like Iona. Out here, it was peaceful, quiet, only the sound of birds, the hum of a bee, and the wisp of the wind brushing gently through the trees. Aye, he could understand her determination even though he didn’t agree with it.
He approached her property, the blackened ruins of her home standing stark against the early morning sunshine, dew clinging to the meadow grasses around it. No more timbers smoldered orange or red nor did wisps of smoke rise from the ruins. He noted that her piles of salvageable timber had grown slightly, as had the pile of head-sized rocks. He shook his head in wonder for the hundredth time thinking that she was the most stubborn woman he’d ever come across in his lifetime. He had no doubt anymore that she was going to try to build a home for herself. He also knew that she would likely refuse his help, or that of Alasdair, Beitris, or Elspeth. She knew which way the wind blew, and it wasn’t only a matter of the landscape. She wouldn’t ask for help. She’d be hesitant to open anyone up to ridicule, so she’d do this herself.
While deep down inside, he appreciated her concern for his friends, it also left him feeling out of control. He was the sheriff for this region and yet, ever so slowly, he felt his grasp on his villagers loosening, slipping between his fingers. Troubling times were ahead, but that was nothing new. Yet, because of the attention he paid to Iona, this newcomer, he also knew for a fact that it would be his own diligence that would eventually discover and deal with the person or other individuals who had set fire to her property. He also knew that because of that, his welcome in the area might also be on a short tether.
He rode closer to the remains of the house and gazed into the woods beyond, frowning when he saw movement. A gust of wind kicked up, and he lost sight of the shadow at the tree line due to the waving boughs, the ripple of leaves…
To the east, behind the rising sun, a bank of clouds gathered.
“Iona?”
He called out softly, thinking that perhaps she was merely sleeping inside the tent. No answer. A moment later, a deer emerged from the woods, stared at him a moment, ears pointed forward, then quickly disappeared back into the shadows of the trees. He turned toward the tent again and its open flap and dismounted. “Iona?” he said again, approaching. Still no answer. He hesitated and then gazed inside, but she wasn’t there. He quickly rounded the tent and h
eaded down toward the stream. Maybe she was there, washing clothing, gathering water, taking… taking a bath. The thought of her creamy white skin prompted his heart to skip a beat. He forced his thoughts away from such temptations.
Again, she wasn’t there. Where had she gone? He glowered, his temper rising. How many times had he told her not to venture too far from the house? He glanced back at his horse, contentedly munching at the grass in the meadow. He’d be fine there for a while, unwilling to run off when he had plenty of grazing about.
Grumbling under his breath, Colin slid into the shadows of the tree line, casting his gaze about for any sign of Iona. After a short distance, he paused to listen. No sound of humming, singing, or footsteps. A squirrel clambered down the bark of a tree nearby, its toenails loud in the silence as it scrabbled for purchase against the rough back. The squirrel flicked its tail at him several times, then quickly retreated back into the canopy. High above, a couple of birds twittered. He moved farther into the woods, casting about for footprints. This was a waste of time. He had no idea which direction she had gone, when she had gone, nor where she intended to go. He paused, searching the undergrowth, not sure what to do. He looked back over his shoulder, toward her property, and cursed again.
“Ye looking for the lass?”
Colin spun around, hand reaching for the dirk tucked into his waistband, angry that once again, Dougal had succeeded in sneaking up on him. “I thought I told ye to stay away from her property.” He scowled, hoping to cover his embarrassment for being caught off guard yet again.
“Ye might caution her the same. She was snooping around my property, so as far as I’m concerned, she’s lost her right to her own privacy.”
Colin frowned. Dougal’s property line was a fair distance from where he stood. A flash of irritation swept through him. He shouldn’t be surprised that she had ignored his warnings but was frustrated regardless. “She was at your property? When?”
