Finlay’s Duty: The Victorian Highlanders Book 2

by St. Clair, Ellie

  They heard a noise from the great hall, and just as Duncan began to rise to see what it was about, Kyla was shocked to see Rory standing in the entrance of the dining room.

  “Forgive me for the interruption,” he said, still breathing somewhat hard from what had apparently been a quick ride over. “But we’ve a situation we were hoping you could help with—family and all that we are now.”

  “Come sit,” Duncan said, waving him in. “Fill yourself a plate and tell us what the trouble is.”

  Rory nodded as he took a seat at the extra setting that was hastily laid out for him. Kyla saw the delight on Peggy’s face that it was next to her.

  Rory said he hadn’t eaten before heading out to the McDougalls, and shoveled his supper in quickly, speaking between bites.

  “Our crofters aren’t paying the rents,” he said without any further lead in. “We go to collect and they turn us away. Their numbers are large and we are having issues with enforcing the payment. They’re beginning a resistance against us.”

  Duncan sighed and looked around the table at his sons.

  “What’s their reasoning?”

  “That we’ve moved them from their land so they should not have to pay the same for what we have moved them to.”

  “Sounds reasonable to me,” Finlay finally chimed in.

  “Finlay!” said Kyla, defending her brother, as she had for most of her life.

  “Really, Kyla, would you pay the same for goods that are of less value? I think not,” he said, his face pinched.

  Kyla was torn. She knew he was right, but also didn’t want to betray her family. Instead, she tried to think of a solution without actually sharing an opinion in any way.

  “Have you talked to them, Rory?” she asked. “Tried to reason with them? Perhaps they would provide you with a partial payment to, at the very least, cover what they feel is reasonable.”

  “I have not talked to them, myself,” he said, somewhat uncomfortably. “Father’s men went.”

  “Rory, you have to go yourself sometimes,” Kyla said, attempting patience. “People respect you more that way, to see you in person.”

  Finlay snorted and Kyla gave him a look. She knew what he was thinking. His father, and now Finlay in turn, spent most of their days working with the people of their clan. Rory, he had maintained, was a “lazy ass,” and while Kyla could see where he was coming from, she had felt compelled to defend her brother.

  “What do you want of us? Why come here?” Finlay asked.

  “I would like your help and advice, for one. Your people have always paid,” Rory said.

  “We’ve never moved them,” replied Finlay, with a pointed look at Kyla.

  “There’s something else, though,” Rory said slowly. “Some of our crofters have been talking to your people, trying to encourage them to do the same as ours. They feel if they band together, they should have a greater chance of getting what they want from all of us.”

  “What?” Finlay banged his fist on the table as he stood and leaned toward Rory. “Your lazy, backwards ways are now affecting us? For the love of all that is holy, Rory, keep your dirty workings to your own land.”

  “Dirty? Who do you think you are, Finlay McDougall?” Rory was standing himself now, the two nose-to-nose as they leaned over the table toward one another.

  “That’s enough!” Kyla said, standing, as Duncan did the same. He was about to speak, but she did first, wanting to prevent any further conflict.

  “Rory, you and I will go tomorrow and speak to the MacTavish clan. And you will leave the McDougalls out of this. They can solve things on their side.”

  “We,” Peggy said quietly.

  “Pardon, Peg?

  “We can solve things on our side, Kyla. You are a McDougall now, just as much as a MacTavish.”

  Kyla’s cheeks burned as she looked around the table. Peggy was right. She was married now and she was an equal part of this clan. She still hadn’t quite become accustomed to the change.

  “I would be happy to speak to the McDougalls as well.”

  “There is no need to speak to them; the MacTavishes have done enough,” Finlay said gruffly.

  Kyla said nothing, but took her chair once again, which led the others to follow suit, at the very least.

  Her stomach rolled uncomfortably as they finished the meal in near silence.

  * * *

  Kyla rose early the next morning, riding out to meet Rory at their pre-arranged place just outside the MacTavish village.

  She showed up right on time but not early, knowing Rory would be late, as he always was. An hour later, though, she was becoming impatient, and rode to Darfield to find him. She found the keep empty save for a couple of house servants and a groom. Rory, they told her, had apparently left this morning to Glasgow, while her father was out hunting.

  “Damn it, Rory,” she muttered, turning her horse out of the courtyard. She should have known he wouldn’t follow through. She supposed she would have to go speak to the uprisers herself.

  She found her father’s manager, Hamid, who gave her the names of the men who had been stirring up trouble and resisting payments. She wasn’t surprised to find Leith Stewart’s name on the top of the list. He had been a troublemaker since they were children.

  “I’ll accompany you, Kyla,” Hamid offered, but she shook her head.

  “From the looks of things, you’ve enough to do around here,” she said, looking at the pile of paper stretching high on the desk in front of him. “Where is my father?”

  “He’s in Glasgow himself,” Hamid said, looking at her with some surprise. “You didn’t know?”

  “I didn’t,” she said, shaking her head grimly. Apparently when she had wed, she had lost the privilege to be notified of her father and brother’s travel plans.

  “All right,” he said, seemingly both relieved and hesitant in allowing her to go alone. “But if there is any sign of trouble, return immediately, will you?”

  “Understood, Hamish,” she said, with a smile for the man who had looked after her as much as her father had for quite some time.

  When she rode to the small village of the crofters’ homes, however, the men she was looking for were nowhere to be found.

  “They’ve headed to your husband’s land, lass,” said one of the women. “They left not long ago. If you ride fast enough, which we know ye will, you should catch them.”

  Kyla nodded her thanks. At this rate, Cadarn would be spent by the time they returned to Galbury.

  Four MacTavish clansmen were approaching the first McDougall croft when she caught them. As she rode up, they were joined by a group of McDougall men—the same men, she realized with a sinking heart, that she had run into that day weeks ago.

  “Leith Stewart!” she called, and the burly man, dressed in MacTavish clan colors, turned.

  “Why, Kyla MacTavish, the princess herself,” he said in mock greeting as she rode up.

  “Leith, I’m no princess. You’ve known me since I was a girl, and you call me that?”

  “I know that yer greedy father and brother are demanding more than they have any right to deserve,” he said, puffing out his chest arrogantly. “It’s time we showed the landlords in these parts that they can’t push us around any longer. Now that you’ve gone and joined yourself up with the McDougalls, I figured we should do the same and join with the people. If none of us pay our rents, whatever would you do then?”

  “Leith, I understand your thoughts,” she said diplomatically, swinging down off of Cadarn and holding the reins in her hand. “Perhaps you could work out an arrangement with my brother to lessen your rents to what you feel they are worth.”

  “Have you seen my lands? They are worth nothing!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands out in front of him. “I canna grow a potato and there is nothing to speak of for my animals to eat. Where is that worthless brother of yours anyway? Sent his sister to speak for him?”

  “Rory is otherwise occupied. Perhaps we can work
something out. Why do we not return to your home together and we’ll sit down and sort it out. How is your Sarah, anyway?”

  “Agreed. Take this back to your own lands,” the McDougall man who had insulted her on their previous encounter chimed in. “We don’t want Rory nor any other MacTavish around here. And you, lassie, dinna go puttin’ ideas into the mind of Finlay McDougall now, you hear me? We like things just the way they are.”

  “Perhaps ye should hold out on the rents as well, Lyle,” Leith told him. “Is it not time they shared some of the wealth?”

  “There is no wealth,” Kyla insisted, looking from one to the other, desperation beginning to fill her as she sensed she was beginning to lose any semblance of control of this entire encounter.

  “I dinna care any longer whether you are a MacTavish wench or a McDougall whore—or both—but you leave here or I’ll show you exactly what we do with the likes of you,” said the McDougall clansman, advancing toward her. Kyla stepped closer to Cadarn, her eyes flinging toward Leith, hoping that he would still feel enough loyalty to ensure she came to no danger. If he didn’t? Well, as much as she was proud of her ability to protect herself, she wasn’t sure what she would do against the lot of them. Surely they wouldn’t take out their frustrations on a woman?

  “I’ll go,” she said, holding her hands out in front of her in an attempt to show surrender. “Let’s all calm down, shall we?”

  Lyle looked as though he was going to continue to make trouble, but suddenly he stopped, stiffening. What had silenced him so? As she studied him, she noted his eyes gazing somewhere beyond her shoulder.

  She whirled around, both relieved and chagrined to find Finlay behind her, looking strong and imposing on the intimidating Hurley.

  “Lyle Young,” Finlay said, his eyes shooting daggers at the man. “Step away from my wife.” He dismounted and strode toward him. “I don’t care who you are or what lands you hold and farm, you will never, ever again speak a word toward or against her. Do you understand me?”

  He towered over the man, and as he did so, Kyla saw his brothers ride up behind him. They stayed seated on their horses, but together made quite an imposing trio.

  Lyle nodded his head, looking down to the ground. “My apologies, Finlay,” he muttered.

  “Do not apologize to me. Apologize to her.” Finlay pointed toward Kyla.

  Lyle shot her a look of annoyance.

  “Apologize,” Finlay repeated.

  “I… I’m sorry,” said Lyle, though it was clear there was no intention behind the words.

  Finlay turned to leave when Lyle said in a burst of bravery, “Why did ye marry the MacTavish wench, Finlay? To what purpose?”

  Finlay turned, made a fist, and hit Lyle as hard as he could.

  “I told you not to speak of my wife like that,” he said. “She is a McDougall now, Lyle. Treat her as yer own.”

  As the man shook his head and spit out a tooth, Finlay turned his back to him, put an arm around Kyla, and steered her toward Cadarn.

  Kyla sensed now was not the time to say anything, and simply mounted her horse and followed the McDougall brothers.

  They rode back to Galbury together, Adam and Roderick trailing Finlay and Kyla. Finlay finally turned to her and asked with some exasperation, “What were you thinking, Kyla? I thought you were leaving the McDougalls to us and Rory was to speak to the MacTavishes.”

  “Rory went to Glasgow this morning, apparently,” she said, sighing. She knew what Finlay thought of her brother and in this case, there was nothing to argue with him about. He was right about Rory, as much as she wished it were otherwise. “And I followed the MacTavish men to your lands. They are trying to raise ire among your people. I’m sorry Finlay, I don’t think what happened today will help anything, but rather, make the situation worse entirely.”

  Finlay nodded his head in understanding, though said nothing to further chastise her. She appreciated the fact that he didn’t say anything about her brother, finally realizing that she already knew his thoughts.

  “Are you all right?” he asked quietly, turning to look at her, his eyes dark with concern.

  “Aye,” she said, touched that he seemed to truly care. She wasn’t sure if his bluster with Lyle had been concern for her because she was “his,” or if he actually felt protective of her because he cared.

  From his gaze, however, it seemed to be the latter.

  And Kyla had no idea how she felt about it.

  12

  Kyla had just donned her nightgown when there was a soft knock on the door adjoining her chamber to Finlay’s. She hesitated as she looked at it, her heart beating expectantly in her breast…though whether from excitement or trepidation, she wasn’t entirely sure. She took a deep breath before reminding herself that Kyla MacTavish— that was, McDougall—was scared of no one, and crossed the room before pulling the door open.

  There stood Finlay in his kilt—and only his kilt—one hand braced against the doorjamb as he looked up at her from beneath his shock of dark hair. Kyla swallowed hard.

  “Finlay,” she said, allowing the smallest of smiles to cross her face as she opened the door wider, “would you like to come in?”

  He dropped his arm and strode through the doorway, stopping in the middle of her bedroom as she shut the door behind him. He seemed unsure of what to do with himself as he looked about, likely taking in the small changes she had made to the room, the little touches to make it hers. On the bed was a quilt in MacTavish colors she had brought with her, while new flowing curtains covered the window, and her brush set was laid out on the vanity.

  Finlay crossed to the window, muttering something about the smell of a fresh summer breeze that confused her—was he attempting to make conversation?—but she decided to let it go.

  Instead, Kyla sat down on the stool in front of the mirror and picked up her brush as she waited for him to say whatever it was he had come to say. She thought she already knew his intention. He would tell her she has been foolish for riding out alone today, that she should take more care, that she should leave the McDougall clan alone. She had heard it all before and had no desire to hear it again. She had already explained himself to him once today and he was going to have to be satisfied with that. She braced herself, already forming a rebuttal in her mind.

  He finally stopped pacing and turned, his eyes upon her reflection in the mirror.

  “I came in to make sure you were well following your encounter today,” he said, surprising her to such an extent that she nearly dropped her brush. As it was, his words stilled her actions. “Despite what those men said, you are a McDougall now, as well as a MacTavish. We married to join the clans, and therefore we will fight these battles together. As I told him, he must never threaten you again.”

  Kyla looked up at him, blinking at the ferocity in his tone as well as his words. She hadn’t thought much would surprise her anymore about Finlay McDougall, but he continued to show her aspects of himself that she never would have guessed were lurking behind the façade he placed in front of him for most to encounter.

  She knew he was loyal—that much had always been clear. What she hadn’t realized was just how protective, how considerate he could be. Especially when it came to her. She didn’t know where this man had been hiding, but she wanted more of this side of him. Maybe then, just maybe, they could make this work after all.

  “I appreciate that, Fin,” she finally managed, catching his eye in the mirror, the dark mahogany and the emerald green locking onto each other. He looked away as though the intensity pained him. “I’m sorry—Finlay,” she amended, inclining her head toward him.

  “I…it’s fine, I dinna mind you calling me Fin,” he said, looking everywhere around the room but at her. “In fact, I actually wish you would. I was wrong before, to ask you not to.”

  She set her brush down, turning her stool to face him.

  “Oh, Finlay,” she said, standing, crossing to him, imploring him to look at her. For a moment she wa
s nearly overwhelmed by his presence, his body so close to hers. Sometimes she forgot just how strong, how powerful he really was, but it was nearly impossible to do so when he stood with his torso bare in front of her. “Why must we continue like this?”

  “Like what?” he muttered thickly, his eyes unreadable, though there was clearly emotion lurking beneath the surface.

  “As though we are strangers, when we have known one another our entire lives. I know you didn’t ask for this, Finlay, didn’t ask for me, but here we are. Perhaps… perhaps we set aside our differences of the past and move forward? But we must do so together, Finlay. I cannot do it alone.”

  He said nothing, the set of his jaw as harsh and unyielding as ever, and for a moment Kyla wondered if he was going to rebuke her peace offering and retreat to his chamber as though he had never entered to look after her wellbeing.

  But then he further surprised her. He picked up her hand in his. She followed his gaze to where they joined, her own hand looking so small and pale in comparison to his large, strong fingers. Then he swallowed her hand within his, and the heat of his touch coursed through her unexpectedly. They looked up at the same time, their breath intermingling. She smiled ever so slightly, and he raised his other hand to rub her lip with his thumb. Kyla caught her breath at the intensity of the slight touch, and they stared at one another for a long moment as the tension mounted in the air between them.

  Had Kyla been asked, she never could have said who moved first, and she would venture that Finlay would never know either. But it didn’t much matter, for suddenly they were locked together, lips moving over one another in a dance as old as time itself.

  One of his strong hands held her head as the other wrapped itself around her waist. She pressed herself against him, loving the feeling of his hard, muscular body against hers. His lips crushed hers, his tongue teasing them open to allow him in. Kyla had been kissed a time or two before, but never anything like this. Not with this wild abandon, this possessiveness that she never thought she would accept, but now craved more than anything else.