The miller blinked, clearly only hearing half of what she was saying. “I didnae see anyone till old Reggie Eylar came running up the road, yelling fer us to get oot of the hoose because it was afire. We were oot by then already, but he helped me with the pigs and sent his boy doon to alert the castle.” A sob broke from his chest. “My da’ and his da’ and his da’ before him worked that mill. What will we do now? Where will we live?”
A hand touched Fiona’s shoulder, warm and firm. “Firstly, Mr. Garretson,” Gabriel said, “you and your family will stay at Lattimer as long as you need to. Secondly, once this fire is well out, you and I and some of your neighbors will pull the wreckage apart and see if anything can be salvaged. Thirdly, I will expect your assistance and advice when I arrange for a new cottage and mill to be built here.”
Letitia burst into tears, hugging her daughters to her. “Oh, my laird, thank ye so—”
Gabriel held up his hand, and she immediately subsided. “You just spent half the night watching your home burn, Mrs. Garretson,” he said. “You don’t owe me anything.” He tightened his grip on Fiona’s shoulder. “Will you see them to Lattimer, Fiona?”
“Aye,” she returned, holding out her arms to herd the family to the nearest wagon. “We’ll find ye someaught to wear, and Mrs. Ritchie’ll have a nice, hot breakfast fer ye.”
“I’ll stay,” Niall stated, looking again at the smoking ruins.
“No,” Gabriel countered. “Eat, and get some sleep. There’s nothing to do now but make certain the fire doesn’t flare up again, and there are plenty of men here to see to that.”
The miller nodded. “Aye, m’laird. I will thank ye, too, and I reckon ye cannae stop me.”
With a brief smile, Gabriel inclined his head, then turned away. “Give me a moment,” Fiona told the Garretsons, and walked after him. “Gabriel.”
He immediately turned around again. “They could have been killed,” he said, his voice low and hard, fury in the stiff line of his spine. “Those two little girls. This is far beyond stealing some damned sheep.”
“It makes me wonder,” she said, not certain she should say anything that could potentially make him even angrier. “Has anything that’s ever gone wrong here been an accident?”
“That’s a very good question, Fiona. I have several others, myself.” Gabriel looked around the clearing, at the dozens of people, mostly men now, who stood surveying what little remained of the mill and attached cottage. “I want to take a quick look here, before anything can be moved. Or removed.”
“If it makes a difference, Niall said the sound of a shot woke them up in time for them to escape the hoose.”
“It makes a difference if our arsonist wanted mayhem but balked at murder.” He tilted his head, his expression easing as he gazed at her. “Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now?” he murmured.
“I ken I do,” she returned, doing her best not to smile in the midst of the destruction, “because I’m near to tackling ye to the ground and having my way with ye. Ye look very fine with yer shirt untucked and soot smudged on yer face.”
His brief, precise smile made her forget how tired, cold, and dirty she was. When he reached out and hooked her forefinger with his, she didn’t even care if anyone else saw them.
“I love you, Fiona Blackstock,” he said quietly, then released her hand to return to the smoking pile of timber and stone.
For a long moment she simply stood there, seeing her own breath as she exhaled in the dawn light. Whoever had said words had less impact than sticks or rocks had no idea. This morning she could fly. All she needed to do was jump, and her feet would never touch the ground again. He loved her. It didn’t matter whether that altered anything or not, because in her heart it changed everything.
“Are ye ready to head back, Miss Fiona?” Oscar Ritchie asked, as he walked up to her. “I reckon Niall’s bairns could use some breakfast.”
She shook herself. Contemplating everything those three words meant to her could wait for a more opportune moment. Four of her kinsmen had just lost both their home and their means of earning a living. “Aye. I could use some of the duke’s American coffee, myself. I reckon he could part with two cups, if ye’ll join me.”
The head groom grinned, then dropped the expression as they reached the wagon where the Garretsons waited. “Aye, miss,” he returned, handing her up and then clambering onto the seat beside her. “Ye’ve persuaded me, if ye think the laird willnae mind.”
Oh, she didn’t think he would mind at all. And as for him being convinced that no one would ever see him as the laird of MacKittrick, he wouldn’t mind being wrong about that, either. It made for an unexpectedly fine morning despite the troubles of the night, at least as far as she was concerned.
* * *
Gabriel stomped into the house, trying to get the last of the soot and mud off his shoes so he wouldn’t track it through Lattimer. Fleming had found time to dress in his proper livery, though the dark circles under the butler’s eyes told their own tale of a sleepless night.
“We found two adjoining bedchambers fer Niall and Mrs. Garretson and the wee lasses,” the butler said, taking Gabriel’s filthy coat with two careful fingers. The rest of him likely reeked of smoke, as well. Apparently he could be as hard on civilian clothes as he could his uniform. “Those girls said they’d nae seen such a grand bed in all their lives.”
“Make certain they have whatever they need,” Gabriel returned. “No one unexpected came calling while we were away?”
“Nae, m’laird.”
“Good.” As much as he wanted a hint or two about who might be sabotaging Lattimer, they’d had enough damned excitement for one day. “Where’s Miss Blackstock?”
“In her office. She asked to see ye after ye had a chance to eat and clean yerself up.”
“Thank you, Fleming.”
Eating and changing his clothes could wait. Trudging up the stairs, he pushed the half-closed office door open. She sat at the desk with an open ledger beside her as she scribbled madly on another sheet of paper. She’d bathed and changed into clean clothes, but had left her hair down but for a loose ribbon holding the mass back from her face. It was quite possibly the most enchanting sight he’d ever seen. That in itself proved either that he’d gone mad, or that he was in love. And he’d told her so. Seeing her at the mill with her singed dess and the wreckage all around them, not telling her how he felt would have been absurd.
The scent of coffee touched him, and he narrowed one eye. “That smells suspiciously like my coffee,” he said aloud, indicating the cup at her elbow.
Fiona looked up. “However can ye tell, over the smoke smell ye’ve got aboot ye?”
“A man can tell.” Wearily he sank down onto one of the straight-backed chairs opposite her. Sitting seemed like something he hadn’t done in a year.
“Then I confess. It is coffee,” she returned, setting down the pencil. “And I offered Oscar a cup, as well. He blessed ye fer it.”
“Well, I can always use a blessing.”
She eyed him for a moment, then picked up the pencil again and began doodling. “Did ye find anything?”
“Kelgrove and I poked through the mill’s ruins as best we could, with it still smoking. I could smell a trace of kerosene, but there was no sign of a lamp, broken or otherwise.”
Her lips pressed together tightly enough to turn them white. “Niall’s been running that mill fer fifteen years,” she returned. “I’ve nae known him to be careless aboot it.”
“At this point I would be happy to hear that it was an accident,” he returned, dragging a hand through his hair.
“But ye dunnae think it was one.”
“No, I do not.” He sat forward. As much as he wanted to know what she thought of his declaration, they had several more pressing worries. “Nor do I think Brian’s cow was an accident. And for both of them to have happened within a day? I don’t know what those odds are, but I wouldn’t take them.”
“I have to blame the Duke of Dunncraigh, Fiona. This began after I refused to sell Lattimer to him.”
She shook her head, her expression grim. “Nae. It didnae begin then.” Fiona turned around the paper on which she’d been working, pushing it in front of him. “The sheep, the irrigation system, the flooded fields, the rotted seed—Lattimer’s bad luck has been going on fer years.”
He looked down at the list. Beside each incident she’d noted the approximate loss of income and the repair cost. With the mill added at the bottom, the amounts were staggering. “No wonder Lattimer hasn’t been making a profit.”
“Aye. Part of that’s my fault, fer hiring so many staff here. If ye hadnae come, and after what happened last night, I would have had to let some of them go.”
And he was very glad, for more than one reason, that he’d arrived here when he had. But his current ability to replenish Lattimer’s coffers couldn’t continue indefinitely. And if the number with which she’d provided him equated to only four years’ worth of misfortune, they were even closer to the edge than he’d realized.
“These circumstances,” he said slowly, not wanting to see more pain in her lovely black eyes, “aren’t sustainable. Which, I imagine, is the idea. If it is Dunncraigh, and I have no reason to think otherwise, he’s making this place as undesirable as possible. Just looking at the figures without knowing the tales behind them, no one in his right mind would want to own it.”
“Gabriel.”
Holding her gaze, he smiled. “I’m not in my right mind. I haven’t been since I set eyes on you.”
That at least earned him a smile in return. “Ye dunnae need to use flattery to win me over. Ye’ve already had me.”
He took her fingers in his. “I’d jest with you if I wasn’t so tired, my lass, but at the moment I’m being perfectly sincere.”
“The first time ye set eyes on me, ye grabbed me aboot the chest and nearly drowned me.”
“You’re the first woman I’ve ever met who didn’t want or need to be rescued.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and he cursed to himself. Making her cry had not been part of the equation. Why was it easier to charge into battle than to tell a woman how much she’d come to mean to him?
“That was supposed to be a compliment,” he offered.
Fiona stood up and leaned across the table to kiss him. “I think I did need to be rescued, Gabriel,” she said. “If ye hadnae come up here, I’d slowly have drowned beneath the weight of all this, and I’d have thought it was all my fault.”
“It is definitely not your fault,” he returned emphatically, lifting her over the desk to sit across his thighs. “It is Dunncraigh’s fault. He might have thought he was doing nothing more than turning Lattimer into a money sinkhole, but he forgot that this place is more than just land.”
Resting her forehead against his, she slid her arms around his shoulders. “And here ye are, a man accustomed to fighting over land and territory and politics, and ye’ve nae forgotten fer a moment aboot the people here.” She kissed him again, long and slow. “Ye told me someaught this morning, Gabriel Forrester. I’d like to say it back to ye. I dunnae ken what’ll come of it, but I love ye.”
She loved him. He’d felt it in his bones, but hearing her say it aloud meant … more. It gave him a connection to this place, to this life, that he couldn’t otherwise have hoped to find. And he would do anything to keep it from slipping through his fingers. “Considering how we did meet,” he murmured, stroking his hand through the long, loose tail of her dark hair, “I mean to have revenge on whoever killed Brian Maxwell’s cow.”
“Do ye think Dunncraigh intends to bankrupt ye, then? Ye refused his offer, so he’ll cost ye so much money to keep Lattimer that ye end up having to sell it to him, after all?”
“That’s entirely possible. He said that he petitioned the Crown for the property after my uncle died. The old duke wouldn’t sell to him, so that was his next option. And now I won’t sell it, so he’s decided to be less subtle.”
“It’s still subtle enough,” she muttered, her muscles tightening. “We cannae prove anything. And even if we could, ye ken half of clan Maxwell will think we’re lying. Neglecting the people here is one thing. Doing someaught to hurt them, that’s something else entirely.”
All he needed was another round of “blame the Sassenach” to begin if he did find proof of Dunncraigh’s misdeeds and decided to bring charges. On the other hand … “I can’t do nothing, Fiona. That’s not in my nature. And I will eventually run out of the blunt to keep this place.”
She held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “Then we’d best make certain he cannae wriggle oot from under the blame.” Closing her eyes, she leaned against his shoulder. “I’d be inclined to accuse my uncle fer yesterday and last night, but Hamish couldnae walk into Strouth unnoticed with a great cow slung over his shoulder, even in the middle of the night. And he’s nae inclined to dirty his hands, anyway.”
That made sense. Hamish Paulk was a spiteful sycophant, but as Fiona had noted, hauling dead cows about didn’t suit him. And if he had set the fire at the mill, Gabriel doubted he would have bothered with trying to wake anyone to warn them. “Most of the things on your list happened at night, didn’t they?” he asked, freeing a hand to lean over and pick the paper up again.
“Aye. Which means it could be nearly anyone.” Fiona grimaced. “I dunnae like having to suspect my own.”
“No one does. But I have no difficulty with suspecting your own.”
“At this point, Gabriel, I’m grateful fer that.”
It would be so easy to sit here in the quiet office, Fiona in his arms, and Gabriel swore an oath to himself that one day he would be able to do so. For now, though, the need to resolve Lattimer’s substantial troubles outweighed his yearning for a moment or two of peace. “Let’s look at this logically,” he said slowly, gathering his thoughts back together.
“There’s nae anything logical aboot anyone willing to harm his own people.”
“You’d be surprised what little it takes sometimes,” he returned. “But let’s begin with facts rather than motives. How many men would it take to maneuver a large, healthy heifer into a well?”
“I reckon she had to be dead first, or everyone would’ve heard the commotion. Poison, likely, since the only wounds on her were from hitting the walls on the way doon.”
Gabriel nodded. “The dead weight of a cow, heaved over three feet of well wall. Eight full-grown men? Nine?”
“I’d agree with that.”
“And knocking down the cliff face, making off with half the flock of sheep, and getting them away before the shepherds could get over the landslide to find them?”
“Aboot the same, I’d say. Between eight and ten.” She shifted a little, twining her fingers with his, a simple intimacy he found fascinating. “The irrigation gates would’ve taken fewer than that,” she went on, “since it didnae all happen at once. And one man could’ve set fire to the mill.”
“Not considering any matters of suspicion, who could go about at night in numbers eight or ten strong without being noticed?”
Fiona scowled, clearly not happy with the line of thought. He didn’t expect her to be, though. It wasn’t pleasant, especially for her, but it was necessary. And after last night, figuring out who was doing Dunncraigh’s dirty work had become more urgent than ever.
“We’ve had extra men oot watching fer thievery at night since the sheep began going missing. They’re nae noticed, but the thievery came before we sent them aboot.”
“Who else might be out of doors at night?”
“The shepherds, though they generally have the dogs watching at night, with only one or two men up and aboot. Ian and his gamekeepers go oot at night when we have vermin aboot. Some of the drovers, when they’re bringing cattle through the property on the way to market.” She paused. “The drovers come from all over the Highlands, from a dozen or more di
fferent clans.”
That sounded interesting. “Are there always drovers in the area?”
“Nae. They come when someone has a herd or a flock to drive to market. Ye can find them anytime except fer deep winter, but unless ye send fer them fer yer own animals, ye can only guess when and where they’ll make an appearance. It could be some of them, Gabriel. They’ve nae loyalty to clan Maxwell. It’d be a small matter fer the duke or my uncle to pay them to create some mayhem here.”
Hm. It made sense that Fiona would want to blame the nomadic and ever-changing group of drovers. If she knew any of them personally it wasn’t well, and they weren’t people with whom she shared a past or kinsmen to whom she’d devoted so much time and effort. “Did any of the estate’s misfortunes happen over the winter?”
“A few. Some of them might have been accidental, after all.” She stood, leaving his front feeling cold. “I can fetch Ian Maxwell. If there’s a herd and drovers nearby, he would know it.”
From the pattern of disaster beginning to take shape, it made more sense for the culprits to be local, but Gabriel didn’t feel ready to dismiss her idea simply because it was convenient for her. “That sounds like a good beginning.” Slowly he pushed to his feet, his muscles protesting at being asked to do more work already. “I feel the need for a hot bath and a change of clothes. You’re welcome to join me for the former.”
A smile curved her mouth. “Ye say such romantic things. But I need to send fer Ian and look in on the Garretsons and see to—”
“Stop,” he protested, chuckling. “I’ll join you after I’ve cleaned up. I know I still smell like smoke.” Taking one of her hands, he pulled her in for a kiss. “And you smell like heather.”
“Smoky heather now, ye heathen,” she returned, kissing him back before she walked to the door. “I may join ye yet, if the water’s still warm when I finish.”
“I’ll still be warm,” he noted, as she headed down the hallway. “And naked.”
Staying with her would mean a lifetime of joint baths missed because she had people after whom she needed to look. And it would also mean a lifetime of nights where he went to sleep with his arms around the same lass, and mornings where her smile was the first thing he saw. For a man who’d meant to spend his life as a soldier, just the idea was both foreign and intoxicating. To have actually found the woman who made him want to have a life beyond daily fights to the death … He couldn’t even put it into words.
Hero in the Highlands Page 28
