by L. L. Muir
All she’d asked of him was to guide her to her property. He’d delivered on that request and since she dinna want his protection, she clearly had no more use for him.
That fearsome thought left an aching loneliness inside him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lilly yanked open the car door and grabbed her jacket from the back seat. When it caught on the door-handle, she mumbled an unladylike oath, resenting the prickly sting building behind her eyes.
Get a grip, Carver. What did you expect?
Obviously, too much. She slipped her arms into the soft burgundy fleece, grateful for some warmth and a buffer from the wind, but it fell far short of being wrapped in Rory’s embrace and his wonderfully snug plaid.
But that wouldn’t happen again. She hated admitting how much the rage on Rory’s face had not only surprised, but frightened her. The man she’d begun to know and trust had suddenly morphed into a stranger.
“Lilly, ye dinna understand.” Rory called, behind her.
She whirled to face him, giving up her fight to hook the zipper with her cold fingers, and tucked them beneath her arms to warm them. “You’re right. I don’t.” She watched him approach in long strides. “What was that all about?”
Rory stopped inches from her, but didn’t attempt to touch her. “He threatened ye.”
That’s it? Were things really that black-and-white here? She shook her head, wondering if he really didn’t get that there were other options. “He was bluffing. I could have talked him into—”
“He was no’ bluffing.” Rory’s voice was hard. “I ken ye’re angry, but ye’ve yet to see how vulnerable ye were.”
Lilly studied the chiseled lines of his face. He clearly believed that. “Exactly how far were you willing to go? And for what? A misunderstanding?” Something about Simon Kintray had touched a nerve in Rory, but what? Simon had been verbally threatening and completely obnoxious, but not physically dangerous. At least she hadn’t thought so.
“ ’Twas no’ a misunderstanding, Lilly.”
“So, you believe every heated discussion needs to be settled with brutality? You didn’t even give me a chance to explain anything to him before your hackles rose. You all but drew a line in the sand and dared Kintray to cross.”
“Ye dinna ken the danger, lass.” Rory spoke in a controlled whisper, his emerald eyes reflecting his certainty as he cautiously placed his hands on her shoulders.
Perhaps, part of her frustration was her fault. She’d prejudged Rory, categorized him and tucked him into a neat little box that fit her agenda. She’d thought him kind. Gentle. Good looking. Okay—great looking. Strong. Brave. Foolish perhaps, but brave. This was the second time he’d stepped in to protect her almost before she’d needed it. Certainly, before she’d known she needed it.
The worst part? She liked him. Something about Rory drew her to him and captivated her as effortlessly as he’d drawn her into the protective circle of his arms. To be honest, she’d felt safe. Content. She’d trusted him. She wanted to trust him now, but after what she’d witnessed, she wasn’t sure she should have any confidence in her instincts.
After all, she’d relied on her father’s judgement in dictating her future–even choosing Miles as a suitable companion, and look how that turned out. Now, Miles had joined forces with her father, thinking they had the right to control her life.
All of that had to stop.
“You’re right, Rory. I didn’t see any danger. I saw a confused man who thought we were trespassing. I could have cleared up that confusion without any confrontation. But you were too busy flexing your muscles and marking your territory to see that.”
His brow knitted and he dropped his hands from her shoulders, leaving a cold void in their place. “ ’Tis no’ my territory, Lilly. ’Tis McCallum land I stood for. But ’twas ye I would have fought for.”
She saw the sadness and hurt in his eyes and regretted her sharp words, realizing how quickly and perhaps incorrectly, she may have judged him. He wasn’t her father, and he certainly wasn’t Miles. As premature as his actions had seemed to her, he’d obviously sensed some level of danger and been willing to go to the extreme to keep her safe. Even to the point of bodily harm. No one had ever done that for her. She couldn’t think of anyone else who would.
Perhaps she’d been premature in her judgements, as well.
Closing the space between them, she rested her forehead against his chest and slid her hands across the taught muscles of his stomach. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m used to settling disputes with nothing more violent than a well-articulated dig at my opponent.
His arms came around her, absently stroking the length of her back. “I ken ye’re used to doin’ things differently, lass, but ye’re no in the safety of yer world now. Kintray willna play by yer rules.”
Maybe he was right. She didn’t know the rules here. How had everything changed so rapidly just since stepping foot on the property? Right down to the weather? What had started as a clear, bright morning on the moor, had become a darkly overcast, bitterly cold, windswept afternoon. Scotland—her Scotland now—was nothing if not full of surprises. The best of which, held her in his arms.
She sighed against his chest, wondering how far out of her element she really was. Failing was exactly what her father and Miles were hoping for. Even planning on. She couldn’t let that happen.
“I may not be able to fight Kintray physically,” she said, pulling back to fish her cell-phone from her pocket, “but I can use the law to its fullest extent.” She turned the phone on and searched for Mr. McAdams in her contacts list. “I’m confident this whole thing can be easily resolved, but I want to be sure. I don’t want to go back to New York with Simon Kintray thinking he owns any part of my land. I’m going to settle this ownership dispute once and for all.”
“And, how do ye plan to accomplish that, lass?”
She smiled, confidant in her solution. “I’ll gamble that Kintry is nothing more than a bully, used to getting his way. But Mr. McAdams will have done all the proper research on this land, long before the signing deadline. Before he ever asked me to come to Scotland.” She glanced up at Rory. “All we need is proof that a title search was done and the result cannot be disputed, and that will be the end of it. I’ll show Mr. Kintray my paperwork; the title and maps McAdams gave me this morning. That should satisfy him, but if not, Mr. McAdams can provide any further documentation needed.”
There was simply no reason to be forceful, physical, or even threatening, the way both Simon and Rory had been, even if Rory only meant to protect her.
“I pray ‘tis that simple.” Rory replied.
She looked back at him, puzzled by his lack of faith. “Of course, it is. Why wouldn’t it be?” Okay, it may not be simple, but she would win out. The law was on her side. But…what did Kintray have that made him so confidant the land was his?
She set the thought aside as she found McAdams’ office number, tapped it to connect and waited…
And waited… Nothing. “What’s wrong with this th…?” She studied the phone, grunting in frustration.
“What is it?” Rory asked, concern clouding his face.
“No service.” She glanced at the hills surrounding the glen and despite knowing how futile the gesture was, still turned a few circles, holding her phone up, hoping to catch a rogue connection.
“Urgghhh!” She tucked her phone back in her pocket. “It’ll have to wait until we get somewhere with a signal.” She grabbed the file with a copy of her grandmother’s trust disposition, the property map and her deed, from the back seat. Even though McAdams had told her it wouldn’t record for a few days yet, her paperwork should still prove ownership.
Shouldn’t it?
“Kintray is either running a very bold bluff, or is sadly confused,” she stated, tucking the file against her chest to protect it from the wind. “Despite his being such a wholly unpleasant man, I can’t help feeling a little sorry for him.”
“Och.” Rory pulled a face.
“Sorry for him?”
She shrugged, “He’s put a lot of work into a portion of my land, mistakenly or not. Once we amicably resolve our differences, I want to let him harvest his crops. If all goes well, I’d even consider leasing the cultivated areas to him until I’m ready to do something different.”
“Ye’re daft, lass.” Rory said, wrapping his plaid around her shoulders. “Ye dinna want to partner with a Kintray.”
“Why not?” She moved gratefully into his warmth. “Why are you so sure it wouldn’t work? I don’t understand what you have against him.”
Rory pulled her close, tucking her against his chest. She’d wanted to see his face, to read his expression, but not quite enough to sacrifice the warmth of his embrace.
“He said it himself, lass. He doesna make idle threats, and he admitted having a reputation for following up on them.” Rory was silent for the space of a few breaths. “ ’Twould seem Simon Kintray has no’ strayed far from his ancestor. Jascol Kintray plagued yer family with false claims on their land for years. ’Tis time to change history and settle with the Kintray’s once and for all.”
The incongruity of standing here, almost three centuries after her grandmother, embroiled, by all appearances, in a similar land dispute with a Kintray of all people – an actual descendant of her grandmother’s nemesis was unbelievable. The only difference was, Simon Kintray wasn’t just arguing over a border. He’d apparently challenged her ownership of the entire parcel of land.
But this was the twenty-first century, not the eighteenth, when disputes had more often been handled individually than in a court of law. She had far more legal recourse than her great-grandparents had.
“I have no intention of taking up the banner of an ancient grudge,” she said, comforted by Rory’s steady heartbeat. “But I fully intend to secure my birthright.” She turned in Rory’s arms so her back rested against his chest as she gazed out across her land. “The idea of my own cottage in this little valley is so alluring, I can almost feel the warmth of a smoldering peat fire. I want to sit beneath that little circle of trees, in the softness of the evening and watch the sun sink peacefully behind these hills.”
She let her emotion thicken her voice. “A McCallum will live on this land again and finally mend the long, empty void from my grandmother’s time to this.”
“Ye plan to stay then?” Rory’s question was but a whisper.
Did he want her to? Had that slight shift in his voice been hope? It was far too easy, to imagine him here, as well. She shook her head at her preposterous imagination, blew out a breath and pulled herself back to reality. “It could only be part time at first, of course. Holidays. Perhaps an extended vacation every summer. Christmas, certainly.” She looked up at the sharp line of Rory’s jaw, already shadowed with stubble. Goodness, he was beautiful!
She forced her attention back to her pretty fantasy. “I’m going to build my cottage on the very spot Grandmother Iesabail’s stood.” Hugging her papers to her chest, she knew she’d make coming here a priority. And she’d want to see Rory again. “Promise, you’ll visit me here in the future, when I return?” She’d hoped her desperation wouldn’t reveal itself in her voice, but she failed miserably. The importance of his answer left her feeling vulnerable and uncertain.
When he didn’t answer right away, she assumed that was her answer, but when she started to pull away, he tightened his arms and kept her close. “Nothing would please me more, lass,” he whispered against her neck, “but I’ve no’ the power to make that promise. Though I vow, if ’twere my choice, I’d wait for ye, here, forever.”
She wanted to ask who held the power over his choices, but the distraction of his soft lips brushing her neck stole her focus and all her attention centered on the sensation of his warm mouth on her skin.
~ ~ ~
Rory longed to continue holding her, breathing her in as he gently turned her and captured her mouth with his. He wanted to take her someplace safe and warm. And private. But while she hadn’t rejected him, she hadn’t yet encouraged him, either.
By all appearances, she’d forgiven him and for that, he was grateful. But he wanted so much more. Never, in his earlier mortality, nor even the long lonely years as a ghost, had he felt the weight of time press so heavily upon him. He would have to leave her soon and that knowledge was becoming increasingly more difficult to bear.
His day with Lilly would end, and he’d never been so conflicted. There was Soni and The 79 and his heroic deed to think about, but all he could focus on, was Lilly.
Reluctantly, he stepped back but could not bring himself to completely let her go. With his hands cradling her forearms, he studied her face, then tucked a windblown strand of hair behind her ear, the way he’d seen her do many times. The way he wanted to do, night after night—forever.
A gust of wind battered them with loose debris. “Those angry clouds are blowing together a beast of a storm, lass. ’Twill break soon and ye’ll no’ want to be in it.” He took her arm to walk her around the car and help her inside. “Let’s find ye some shelter to wait it out.”
“No.” She stopped, digging in her heels. “We’ve still got some light left. I want to show these papers to Kintray before we go. I’m going to settle this disagreement.” She held up her papers and maps. “I may not even have to involve Mr. McAdams. I’m confident, given the opportunity, I can reason with Kintray. I want this settled.”
She held Rory’s gaze. Her blue eyes, stormy with challenge. “Are you staying here, or going with me?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rory walked beside Lilly across the ragged, unkempt McCallum land, through the stretch of newly cultivated ground where Lilly’s grandfather had once pastured his sheep, and onto what had been his parent’s property; his childhood home. ’Twould have been Rory’s birthright, until uncle Jascol tried to make sure he’d no’ live long enough to claim it.
So dark and overwhelming was Rory’s sense of foreboding at stepping onto the home-place again, it stole his breath and weakened his knees. He glanced at Lilly, hoping she hadn’t seen the sweat he’d no’ be able to explain on such a cold day. If she’d noticed, she gave no indication as she strode purposefully forward with her papers clutched tightly to her chest and her ever-present determination visible on her bonny face.
“Do you think he’ll see us without a big blow-up like we had earlier?” Lilly asked, ducking her head against the loose bits of soil swirling on the wind.
“I’d no’ wager on it.” Rory’s voice was tight, even to his own ears. Coming here was a mistake, but there’d been no deterring her. She was stubborn; this lass he’d come to care so much for, in so short a time. Lilly could frustrate the hide off a mule. And, he conceded, capture the heart of a forsaken ghost.
“I fear ye’ll no’ budge the stone heart of Simon Kintray,” he added. “ ’Tis the soul of a troll, the man possesses, and there’ll be no reasonin’ wi’ him.”
“You can’t know that for sure.” Lilly frowned up at him. “In the face of our claims, he may have rechecked his own deeds and realized his mistake.”
Rory shook his head in wonder. Och, but the woman was obstinate! “Try as ye might, ye canna wish it so, lassie. ’Tis a fight ye have on yer hands, and this,” he waived his hand to indicate their intent to trespass on Kintray land, “is like pokin’ yer dirk into a fresh wound.”
But it was his own wounds that he really feared reopening. Nearly three centuries had not half-healed them.
The Kintray house soon loomed before them. When ’twas the Patterson home, though tiny and sparse in worldly goods, love had filled the stone walls almost to bursting. But that love had died along with Rory’s parents, and Jascol’s meanness drove away all hope of its return. Only bitterness and despair had remained within the walls when Rory was last there, along with Jascol’s growing family, who had resented the crumbs Rory’s extra mouth cost them.
He hardly recognized the place now. ’Twas evident some of the Kintray descenda
nts had, here and there over the years, added on or made improvements to the square stone house Rory had known. Oddly placed juts of timber and stone protruded like ruptures in the wall. The low, haphazard roof made the house appear to huddle on the ground in disgrace. Or mayhap ’twas its history that tainted and shamed it.
“How odd.” Lilly’s confused gaze bounced from house to barn, and back.
“Aye,” Rory agreed. “Odd indeed.”
Contrary to Kintray’s neat, well-tended fields, the area around the house looked sorely neglected. Weeds clogged all but three narrow, well-beaten pathways from the back door. One led to the shed and barn, another to a sagging clothesline, and the third to a lean-to covering a dusty vehicle. From the lack of a noticeable path, it didn’t appear anyone used the front door.
In contrast, the area around the shed and barn were weed-free and well-tended. The barn was new. At least to Rory. But the shed…the shed… Rory swallowed several times, desperate to hold back remembered images along with the bile rising in his throat. His vision narrowed and he could almost hear Jascol working inside.
“He must be in there.” Lilly gestured toward the shed.
“W-what did ye say?” Rory stared at her in horror. She’d heard Jascol, too? Fear, hot and irrational, clogged Rory’s throat and twisted a knot in his gut.
“I said, from the sound of it, Mr. Kintray must be working in the shed.” Lilly tilted her head, studying him. “Are you okay, Rory? You look a little nauseous.”
He leaned against the rocked-up base of the old well and swallowed several more times, searching for a steady breath and an excuse for his odd behavior. “I’m fine, lass.” He’d tried for a lighthearted tone, but it came out choked and garbled. He cleared his throat and tried again.
“ ’Tis but a nagging thirst, despite the cold day. I thought, mayhap, to find a bucket here, to drop into the well.”
“I have water bottles in the car,” Lilly offered, concern clouding her face. “Shall I get you one?”