by Aileen Adams
“I do,” Beitris replied. “Ye went somewhere near the ocean.”
Iona found Beitris a lovely, if disconcerting woman, and knew immediately that she was blind, yet still was unsettled by the sightless eyes looking at her so closely, as if she could—
A throat clearing distracted Iona’s train of thought.
“Very pleased to meet you, Beitris,” Iona said, but then realized she might have made an error. “I’m sorry, may I call you Beitris?” Once again, Iona had to remind yourself that she was in the land of the Scots, in a land where, at the moment, the English were not particularly welcome.
Beitris laughed softly. “Please do, Iona.” She turned to the sheriff, who stood staring off into the distance, appearing distinctly uncomfortable. “I’d best get to the reason for a visit as I can tell Sheriff Ramsey is growing impatient.”
Iona frowned, gazing from Beitris to the sheriff and back to Elspeth, who simply nodded.
Elspeth gave a smile. “Beitris has the unique talent of sensing the slightest movements, and at times, even attitudes and emotions. Don’t let her startle you. And she’s right. The sheriff is growing restless.”
Beitris spoke. “The reason for the visit is because Elspeth and I have some pieces of furniture that are no longer in use. My father’s household has been left empty since I wed Alasdair months ago, and as Elspeth has come to live with me, her small cottage is also uninhabited.”
Iona nodded, then realized belatedly that Beitris couldn’t see her nod, yet Beitris continued as if she had.
“We don’t need any more furniture at my new home, where I live with Alasdair, Elspeth, and soon with our child,” she said, gently rubbing her belly.
Iona waited.
Elspeth spoke up. “What she’s trying to say, Iona, is that we have no further need of this furniture. When we learned ye were coming and Sheriff Ramsey informed us of the state of the house, we both realized that it would be an excellent opportunity to not only put the furniture to good use, but to—”
“We were hoping that… to put it quite bluntly, Iona, that ye would be so kind as to take the furniture off our hands?” Beitris said with a nod.
Iona stiffened her back, prepared to politely refuse the furniture, feeling that both Beitris and Elspeth were taking the long way around to offering her charity.
“Now don’t think of this as charity,” Beitris said, glancing toward Elspeth. “To be quite honest, we have both tried to get the furniture to other households, but nobody wants it. It’s not new by any means and is a little the worse for wear, but it’s still good and sturdy even if a little rough-looking. Alas, no one seems to want it.” She paused, glanced at Elspeth, then back at Iona. “If ye don’t want it, I must ask Alasdair to put it all into a big pile and burn it.”
Iona wasn’t sure whether she could believe either of the women, but they had put it in such a way that she sensed their kindness and they were offering her a helping hand. Not charity, but as she gazed at the pile of furniture in the wagon, she felt she could hardly refuse without injuring their feelings.
She glanced at Sheriff Ramsey, saw him watching her with a contemplative expression, and felt the heat of a blush rise in her cheeks. She turned to Elspeth. “I would be happy to take this furniture off your hands,” she said. “But in gratitude, as soon as I am settled and have adequate supplies, I will bake you a half-dozen loaves of bread and some sweet berry pies and tarts, if I can find berries growing close by, that is.”
“Och, the woods are full of berry bushes,” Colin Ramsey said, frowning again. “But the woods are also full of bears and wolves, and more than an outlaw or two. I wouldn’t recommend going berry hunting without some company.”
“Ye could accompany her,” Beitris said, turning her sightless eyes toward Colin and giving him a knowing smile.
Colin’s face displayed his shock, mouth dropping open, eyebrows lifted as he looked down at Beitris. “I am the sheriff of this county, Beitris, not a bodyguard, nor a berry picker.”
The ladies laughed softly, and Iona did as well, and then quickly sobered. “Lest you feel my manners are lacking, I must warn you that I have nothing to offer you gracious ladies in way of a beverage or to eat at the moment. I will make up for it though as well, I promise you.”
“Och, nothing to worry about,” Elspeth said, looking at her, and then up at the sheriff. “We can remain out here and talk, get caught up, while the sheriff unloads the wagon and puts the furniture in your house.”
Iona turned toward the sheriff, commiserating. “You don’t have to take it all into the house, Sheriff,” she said. “If you simply unload from the wagon, I can take care of the rest later.”
The sheriff gazed down at her, his expression none too happy. “I can put it in the house. Then ye can arrange it however ye like.”
Iona had nodded, embarrassed, yet somewhat amused. She could just imagine how he felt, fairly trapped to do the bidding of three women, two of whom had taken complete control of the situation regardless of his own preferences.
The rearranging of the furniture had taken her most of the afternoon yesterday, but it was pleasant work, and she was pleased with the results. She now had a small wood table and two short benches for the kitchen, two chairs and a longer table for the main sitting room. A small armoire, a bed frame, and another small table for one of the upstairs bedrooms. In addition to the furniture, she also was now in possession of a number of cooking utensils, very serviceable, including a cast iron pot that she could hang over the fireplace, several wooden bowls, and a number of wooden spoons, as well as several old knives.
It had been very kind of Beitris and Elspeth to provide her with items to make her new home more comfortable, and as soon as she was able, she would make good on her promise. She enjoyed baking and cooking and had done much of it in her former home on the Isle of Skye.
Satisfied with her efforts, she stepped outside to enjoy the coolness of the early morning, listening to the sounds as the sun slowly rose over the eastern horizon. Birds were awake and chattering already, perhaps looking for worms to break their fast. A squirrel hesitantly clamored down the tree trunk not far from the house, eyeing her warily, tail flicking.
She gazed toward the edges of the forest to the left of the house, wondering if she dared explore their depths a little this afternoon, looking for berries. Had the sheriff just been trying to scare her? Or was there—
She thought she saw movement over near the edge of the trees not far from the house. She froze, stared at the spot a moment, then blinked. It was a man, standing at the edge of the forest, dressed in tartan plaid, hands down at his sides, just watching. She frowned as her heart leapt into her throat before brusquely returning to the house for a stout stick that she had kept by her bedside that night. She emerged back outside, thinking that surely he would be gone now that she had seen him, but he still stood at the edge of the woods, staring at her.
Her heart pounding, her mouth dry, Iona barely worked up enough spit to swallow. Were there more of them hiding there in the woods? It didn’t take long for news or gossip to travel in rural areas, and she had no doubt that everyone in the region now knew who she was, where she came from, and where she lived. In a moment of weakness and fear, she wished that the sheriff was nearby, but then she drew herself straight, back stiff, jaw thrust forward, brandishing the stick.
“Who are you and what do you want?” she shouted at the man.
No response.
She took a few steps forward, repeated her movement, holding the stick over her left shoulder, ready to swing. “What do you want?”
Again, no response. No movement, just that disconcerting stare. She took a few steps closer, saw the man stood nearly two heads taller than she, his tartan wrapped around his waist, falling to his knees, another strip of cloth draped over his shoulder. He wore soft leather boots, the handle of a knife protruding from the top of one, while over his shoulder hung a quiver of arrows and a bow. His countenance startled her a
nd triggered a surge of fear and yet at the same time, curiosity.
Black, somewhat wavy hair hung down past his shoulders, the front bangs cut short, as was typical of this region. His face tanned by years in the sun, the lack of expression on his face gave him the appearance of a statue. Lines at the corners of his eyes belied his serious mien, and she knew that at some time in his past, he must’ve laughed often. Then again, those lines could have come from years of squinting into the sunlight. Massive shoulders, a broad chest, and huge, muscled arms hung loosely by his side. While he posed no threat, at least in regard to brandishing a weapon, his very stature and stillness were imposing and not a little intimidating.
Iona raised the stick a little more and yet the man did not move. She took a few steps closer, narrowing her eyes, her gaze casting to the left and right but she saw no other movement in the tree line. She realized she must look ridiculous to this man, who based on his style of dress must certainly be a Highlander, but then she’d never seen one up close. She’d heard about them though. Violent brutes who did what they wanted, took what they wanted, and defied English laws.
“I’ll ask you again,” she said, inwardly cringing at the slight tremble in her voice as she tried to bluster her way to show him that she would not be easy pickings. “Tell me who you are and what you want, or—”
“Or what, lass?”
The deep sound of his voice surprised her, rumbling upward from that broad chest. Or what, indeed? She swallowed, cast her gaze about again and then looked at him, her grip tightening on the stick. She might get in one good blow, but then it was likely that he would pluck the stick from her hands quite easily and bash her head in with it. Would he? Or worse?
“Ye are nae safe here.”
Her heart leapt into her throat as she stared.
He gestured toward her house. “Ye dinna belong here alone.”
She scowled. “And who made you my keeper?” she snapped. “Who are you and what do you want? Are you here to hurt me?”
He shrugged, offered a rakish grin, and then, adjusting his stance, feet a bit wider apart, he crossed his arms across his chest. Muscles bulged in revolt. He was big, but could she possibly outrun him? But run where? All the way back to the village? And who would help her there?
“Nay, lass, I’m nae here to hurt ye,” he said. “I came here to warn ye that ye weren’t safe here.”
She eyed him for several moments, trying to calm her raging myriad of emotions. “And why not?”
“You’re an Englishwoman.”
Indeed, word had gotten around. “So?”
He shook his head slowly from side to side. “Are ye daft, woman? Surely, you’re aware of the tensions between the Scots and the English. Ye’d have to have lived in a cave your entire life not know that. Ye ken?”
Her grip loosened slightly on the stick, but she remained wary, ready to swing at the earliest provocation from him. “Of course, I know that but this is my home now, and this is where I’m going to stay. I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but that’s the way it is.”
Now his expression changed. He scowled, but then just as suddenly, he offered a chortle of laughter.
She swallowed thickly, but he didn’t move and didn’t take one step toward her. Who was this man, and what was he about? She asked again, “Who are you?”
“The name is Dougal. Dougal Craig. Ye might say I’m one of your reluctant neighbors.”
Neighbor? This man was her neighbor?
“Ye are nae safe here,” he said again, and then abruptly huffed, turned around, and headed into the woods.
Iona stood at the same spot for several moments, watching him disappear into the darkness of the woods, her heart still pounding, her palms slick with sweat as they continued to clutch at the stick. She gazed along the tree line, but saw no more movement, no sign that anyone lurked there. The birds began to chatter, and she knew he was gone. She lowered the stick and returned to the house, frowning.
Should she tell the sheriff about Dougal’s visit when she went into town for supplies the following day? She shook her head, muttering to herself. “And just what do you expect him to do about it? You’re the outsider here. You should’ve known it was going to be this way.”
7
Colin stood in the doorway of the small jailhouse, leaning casually against a doorjamb, watching the movement of villagers, smiling at the scampering, shouting children playing tag in the grassy field between Rory’s stables and the apothecary’s shop. He frowned as he noticed several villagers donning their tartans and glancing his way, as if daring him to do something about it. He’d already posted several announcements throughout the village, stating the penalties for wearing the tartans after the new law took effect.
He scowled and muttered to himself. Did no one realize the difficulty of his job? Balancing the will of the crown with the best interests of his people? Of his fellow Scotsmen? He often felt caught in the middle. There was no doubt that he felt torn between his support for Highlander identity and maintaining law and order. He didn’t agree with the law banning such identity, but he didn’t create these laws. Of course, he could always quit his post as sheriff, but then who would take care of these villagers, make sure that outlaws didn’t run rampant in the region, causing grief and heartache for everyone? Not only that, but a new sheriff might even make things worse. He’d known of a few who forced villagers to pay them in goods or coin to ensure their safety. He’d known of one who took advantage of his position to coerce women to—no, Colin wouldn’t quit. He’d look out for his people the best he could. Like he had Alasdair. The crown didn’t have to know everything.
He glanced toward the opposite end of the village and along the road heading eastward, surprised when he saw movement. He stared a moment, then bit back a groan. He recognized that gown, the white linen and dark blue of her skirt. A simple gown, but one that attracted him to the woman wearing it. Iona Douglas, walking into town, carrying two empty handbaskets.
Her approach also garnered the attention of several villagers. The children stopped playing and turned to watch her. Iona, also noticing the looks, hesitated slightly, but then her back straightened, her head lifted, and he imagined he even saw a slight lift of her chin. He’d never met a woman like her, and he admitted to himself that she left him off-kilter. He had thought Beitris and Elspeth were a handful, but this one? He felt sorry for the man who would eventually end up marrying the Englishwoman. Then again, maybe no Englishman would want her. Perhaps that was the very reason she wasn’t married yet.
As she entered the village, receiving a mixture of curious and resentful glances, she spied Colin standing in his doorway. She turned toward him. He couldn’t decide whether he felt annoyed or pleased. She offered him a nod of greeting and slightly lifted her baskets.
“Good morning, Sheriff,” she said. “I’ve come for a few supplies. Can you tell me where I can purchase some flour, salt, and other food necessities?”
He pushed himself off the doorjamb and nodded, gesturing toward a two-story wooden structure with an actual wood shingle roof a short distance away. “That would be the mill.” He pointed. “The owner’s name is Duilach Monroe. He can be a bit feisty. I’ll introduce you.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me that he won’t sell any of his goods to me unless you come along?”
“It’s a strong possibility,” he admitted. “Don’t forget you’re a stranger around here, and an English one at that—”
“How could I forget? Everyone seems to mention it the moment I turn around.”
He frowned. “What do ye mean?”
“I met my neighbor yesterday morning, a tall, rugged-looking, tartan-clad brute of a man by the name of—”
“Dougal Craig,” Colin muttered.
She nodded. “He informed me that I wasn’t safe out there, living by myself.”
Colin thought about that. While Dougal had some questionable dealings in his past, and he was known as a bit of a
ruffian, and perhaps—if one paid mind to gossip—a sometime outlaw, he was never known to be particularly violent, not toward women anyway. “Did he threaten you?”
“No, not exactly,” she said. “He just stood at the tree line for a while, watching me, and then when I confronted him—”
“Ye confronted him?” he asked in disbelief. Did the lass have no sense? “Why?”
“Because I wanted to know what he wanted! I know I’m an outsider around here, but the sooner everyone knows I’m here to stay, the better—”
“Ye think that will help? The people will leave ye alone?” He shook his head. “Miss Douglas, I think ye should know that Dougal might be right.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he lifted his hand to stop her. “It isn’t proper for a woman to be living alone as ye are. I know ye mentioned ye have a companion arriving soon, but until then, ye are more vulnerable. Even with a lady companion, you’ll still be vulnerable.” He couldn’t help but think of Beitris and Elspeth and what had happened to them. “I can’t be everywhere at once.”
She frowned. “Who asked you to be? I can take care of myself.”
He eyed her. “Ye have weapons there?”
She turned to gaze down the street, idly watching the children, still staring at them before turning back to him. “Not… no.”
He didn’t even want to know. He shook his head, sighed in resignation, and gestured toward the mill. “Let’s go get your supplies and then I can hitch up the wagon to take ye home—”
She looked up at him, arms akimbo, baskets dangling from her hands. “I don’t need you to drive me home, Sheriff. I can walk home all by myself, thank you very much.”
He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. He wasn’t going to waste his time arguing with such a difficult, opinionated, and apparently reckless woman. If she didn’t want to accept a ride home, that was up to her. He began to walk toward the mill, the bubbling of the stream beside it working to rid himself of some of his annoyance and chagrin that caused his pulse to accelerate. He just wasn’t sure whether that acceleration was due to attraction or pure annoyance. Perhaps a little of both.