The Laird's Forbidden Lady (25 page)

‘Well, Tearny?’ Ian said without expression. Strange how both Scotland and Ireland spoke Gaelic, yet neither could understand the other in their native languages. It meant they had to resort to English.

‘Caught young McKinly poaching, Laird,’ Tearny said, his Irish lilt unmistakable.

McKinly. Selina stifled a gasp and pressed
a hand to her chest. This must be the older boy she had not met. That was why she thought she had recognised him. He had the look of Marie Flora.

The land agent pushed the rabbits with his foot. ‘He didn’t deny it.’

‘On whose land did you catch him?’ Ian asked.

What did it matter whose land? No one cared about a few rabbits.

‘He was on your land, Laird, when I caught him. But he could have caught them Carrick side. He won’t tell me.’

Carrick’s land abutted theirs to the south.

Ian frowned at the McKinly boy. ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’

‘My wee brother Tommy has been sick with the ague. Grannie McDonald said he needed a broth to make him well.’ He glowered at Tearny. ‘I only took what we needed for a stew.’

‘Who hit you?’ Selina asked, then winced as all eyes turned on her. She held her ground as Ian gazed at her with lowered brows.

He gestured to a stool beside his chair. ‘Lady wife, you are welcome to watch the proceedings, but please do not interrupt.’

She flushed, but, shoulders straight, she climbed the steps up on to the dais and perched on the stool.

‘Who hit you?’ Ian said gently to the boy.

‘I did,’ Tearny said before the lad had a chance to reply. ‘He kicked me in the shins, trying to escape. He knew he was in the wrong.’

‘You hit me before I kicked you,’ the boy muttered.

Ian looked at the rabbits. ‘If they were discovered on my land,’ he said, looking at Tearny, ‘then we must assume they are my rabbits. Unless you have evidence to the contrary?’

The Irishman shook his head. ‘Doesn’t matter whose land. He stole them. If he wants rabbits, he should go to the common land and hunt them there.’

‘The common land no has a rabbit to be seen,’ the boy said.

Tearny glared at him, then turned to Ian. ‘There’s gratitude for ye. I told you it would do no good to give them free land for grazing their beasts. They just want more.’

Ian’s eyes narrowed. ‘Poaching is a serious crime, young man.’

Selina couldn’t repress her gasp at the severity in his tone. ‘It is only a few rabbits,’ she said.

Ian glared at her.

‘Well, it is,’ she said. ‘We could do with a few less of them, too. They make holes everywhere.’

‘It seems my wife has no fondness for rabbit holes, Tearny.’ His voice held a touch of wryness.

Selina frowned. Was he referring to the time
she’d twisted her ankle in one of their burrows? The first time he kissed her. She flushed red. If not for that rabbit hole, it was unlikely they would ever have spoken at all.

She glared at him. He raised a brow in response, then turned back to the matter at hand.

The bruise on the boy’s face was turning purple. It wasn’t right for a man Tearny’s size to strike a boy.

‘Ye need to make an example of him, Laird,’ Tearny said heavily. ‘They’ll be clearing the land of game birds next.’

Anger, hot and wild, rose up inside her. She shot to her feet. ‘What are you suggesting? That he be hanged? Or transported?’ She turned on Ian. ‘He’s only a child. He needed meat for his brother. You can’t do such a wicked thing.’

The young lad’s mouth dropped open. Tearny looked shocked, then looked at Ian with a sneer on his lips.

Ian’s face darkened to thunderous. ‘Be silent, woman.’

She rose to her feet. ‘I’ll not sit here and listen to such … such inhumanity.’

‘You will sit and listen to my judgement,’ Ian said quietly, and there was more danger in that quiet tone than there was in all of Tearny’s bluster.

But she didn’t care. What he was doing was wrong. Blindly she leapt down from the dais and
hurried out of the chamber into the courtyard and the driving rain. She didn’t care what kind of sentence Ian imposed, she was going to find a way to send the boy back to his father, before anything bad happened to him.

Ian half-rose in his seat, then realised he’d have to let her go. Tearny thought him weak enough already with the concessions he’d given to the clan, without him chasing after his wife, a woman who had just flayed him with her tongue. He could almost imagine a strip of skin a yard wide ripped off his back.

So much for wifely respect. Somehow he would have to make her understand that it was important that they present a united front to the world. In private, they could argue. The clan would turn against her completely if they thought she was trying to rule the roost. It was the way they were. She needed to give them time to become used to her, to see her as the wife of the Laird, not an outsider, before she handed out her opinions.

It was a discussion they would have later, behind closed doors. Right now he had a more important matter on his mind. One that would set the tone with the clansmen for the future.

‘Well, lad,’ Ian said sternly, ‘what do you have to say for yourself?’

‘We are not like thieving Irish,’ the boy blurted out.

Ian focused in on the boy. ‘Say what you mean.’

The boy darted a glance at Tearny’s dark frown and shook his head.

Ian switched to Gaelic. ‘I am your Laird. You must answer the question. Be a man. If you have right on your side, no harm will come to you.’

The boy straightened his spine. ‘Everyone knows Tearny—’

‘In English, lad,’ Ian said.

The boy took a deep breath, glanced at Tearny, then started to speak. ‘Everyone knows Tearny sells grouse and snipe to a butcher in Wick and pockets the money.’

‘Is this true?’ Ian asked.

The Irishman shuffled his feet. ‘‘Tis one of the perks. Lord Albright gave me permission. As does the Carrick. It has no bearing on him stealing rabbits.’

‘I am Laird here now and I did not give you permission,’ he said quietly. ‘The estate requires the income from all the birds it raises.’

‘As you wish. But I’m not the one on trial here. The boy is.’

Ian turned his gaze back to the boy, who shrank a little.

Stone-faced, Ian leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, regarding the man and boy before him. He had to make the right decision here, prove he was the Laird in truth, not just in name.

The boy squirmed a little, but held his gaze.
Tearny, on the other hand, looked anywhere but his face. For some odd reason he had the feeling the man was out to make trouble.

‘I suppose the boy should count himself fortunate you didn’t shoot him first and ask questions afterwards.’ He kept his voice neutral.

Tearny grinned. ‘Aye, but question him, Laird. You’ll find the father knew what he was up to. Encouraged him. He’s the one who should be standing before ye.’

‘No!’ the boy yelled. ‘Pa didn’t …’ He looked at Ian, then flushed bright red. He pressed his lips together.

‘But you did hit the boy?’ Ian asked mildly.

‘Gave me some lip, kicked me, then tried to run off.’

Ian nodded. ‘Mr Tearny, I do not approve of grown men striking boys.’

Tearny’s fists clenched. ‘Very well, Laird. I’ll remember that in future.’

‘In fact, I don’t approve of any of your methods. I think it is time Dunross dispensed with your services. You will attend me in my office in one hour when we will settle matters between us. You may go.’

Tearny’s face turned brick red. His jaw worked as if he would argue, but he must have thought better of it because he gave a jerk of his head. ‘As you wish.’ He glared at the boy. ‘Be assured Lord Carrick will not welcome your trespass,
boy. So make sure you do not stray onto his land.’ He spun on his heel and stomped out of the hall.

The McKinly boy grinned and made a rude gesture at Tearny’s departing back.

‘Enough,’ Ian said grimly. ‘Why have you no been attending the school at the tythe barn?’

The boy shrugged. ‘I’m too old for school.’

‘No man is too old to learn something new,’ Ian said. ‘As your punishment for not asking permission to trap rabbits on my land, you will attend every afternoon after you have finished your chores for your father. Now get those rabbits home.’

The boy ducked his head, obviously relieved. ‘Yes, Laird.’ He picked up the carcases and ran for the door.

‘Oh, McKinly,’ Ian said. The boy stopped and turned, anxiety written all over his face.

‘No more than a brace every two weeks, do you ken? And that goes for everyone else or they’ll be no rabbits left this side of Edinburgh.’

His face brightened. He shot out of the door and was gone.

Ian let go a long sigh. Now he had to deal with his angry wife. It made him feel a little sick to know that she thought so badly of him that she thought he would harm the boy.

He went out into the courtyard. Rain splattered his face as he glanced around.

Angus, talking to one of the grooms, gestured with his chin towards the stables. With a heaviness in his chest he hated, he ducked into the barn. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, then he saw her in the stall with her gelding, rhythmically stroking his glossy coat with a brush. What would he give for that kind of attention from his wife?

He strode towards her and she turned at the sound of his footfall. A frown appeared and she turned away to continue her brushing.

‘Planning on going somewhere?’ he asked and was aware that there was an edge of anger in his voice, despite his attempt to sound pleasant.

‘I thought I might go for a ride.’

‘And when were you intending to come and ask me to go with you?’

She kept on brushing. ‘I was going to ask Angus.’

Another nice hit to his pride. Of course she’d sooner go with his steward.

‘And where were you planning on going? McKinly’s croft, by any chance?’ This time he made no effort to keep the bitterness from his voice.

‘Perhaps.’

‘To what purpose?’

‘To tell him that his son is here. That he should come and … and … speak for him. Rescue
him. Something. Couldn’t you see the boy was terrified out of his wits?’

‘You ran off before I was done with him.’ The insult to his integrity rankled.

‘I thought I should go to his father, at once.’

‘Then why are you still here?’

She swung around and glared at him. ‘Because Angus wouldn’t let me leave without your permission. It seems I’m a prisoner.’

Tears welled in her eyes, and he felt like a tyrant. ‘It is for your own safety. I told you that.’ He let out an impatient sigh. He had intended to let her believe the worst, let her think he was hard-hearted as she seemed to think, and let her find out on her own that he wasn’t. But that would put her in a very embarrassing position. And he could not do it.

‘I let the boy go with a warning,’ he said.

She flattened herself against the stall, as if she didn’t trust her legs to hold her up.

‘I turned Tearny off,’ he continued. ‘He’s too harsh. I’ve no truck with men who hit boys. You should have known that, Selina. You should have given me the benefit of the doubt. I’m not your father. These are my people.’

Her face paled. She looked down at the brush in her hand and back up at his face. ‘I … I am sorry.’

He gave her a grim smile. ‘I am sorry I could not explain my intentions, but I do expect you
to support me, at least in public, if you want the clan’s acceptance.’

‘I see.’

He wished he was sure she did see. There was still a stubborn set to her jaw. ‘We can talk about this later. Right now I have Tearny waiting in my office.’

Selina stood looking after him long after the door closed. Feeling deflated. Empty. Very much in the wrong. Because he was right. She should have known he wouldn’t do anything to hurt McKinly’s boy. She’d just wanted to believe the worst because it fed into her determination not to trust him. If she trusted him, then other softer emotions would creep under her guard and take her unawares. She could not allow it. It would become too easy to give in, to easy to give him her heart and let him trample it.

She stroked Topaz’s nose. ‘I don’t think we’ll be going riding today.’ She sighed. ‘But I will swallow my pride and ask him to go with us tomorrow.’ After all, she couldn’t live in a state of war with him. He didn’t deserve it.

Chapter Nineteen

T
he next two weeks passed quickly. Too quickly for Selina’s peace of mind. Each morning they sat in the solar taking breakfast, reading their letters, planning the day’s activities. Like a happily married couple.

The time was coming when she would leave and she was wishing she had given him the three months he had asked for. Not because she wouldn’t leave—she would not go back on her word—but because she was learning so much about the Highlands and its people.

She and Ian rode out together on the days he wasn’t busy at the mill, riding through the village and around the estate, visiting outlying crofts. The welcomes she received were rarely effusive, but the clansmen were polite in Ian’s presence.

She couldn’t help feeling that he would have been much better off marrying one of the local women. Some of them were quite lovely. And they all spoke Gaelic. Although she had learned a few more words, she could not follow any of the rapid conversations Ian had with his tenants so she always had to ask him what was said as they rode away. She had the feeling he only told her the parts that wouldn’t upset her.

She certainly hadn’t made any friends, unless you counted Marie Flora McKinly. So without their nights of passion, she might have gone mad with no one to talk to but the cook, who came in from the village every day and with whom she decided the menus, and her occasional conversations with Angus about the supplies she needed for the household.

She glanced at her husband on the other side of the breakfast table. So handsome. The longer she stayed the more affection she felt for him. He was a kind and just Laird. And she could only admire him.

Right now he was frowning at a letter he had received that morning. He’d seemed more abstracted than usual the past couple of days. More remote.