Page 11

The scratch of Tammus’s quill paused mid-stroke as a knock sounded at his study door.

He sighed, setting the pen aside with care.

Mid-morning light filtered through the leaded windows, casting long shadows across the cluttered desk.

The parchment beneath his hand still bore only half-finished figures.

The door opened before he could answer.

His housekeeper poked her head in, cheeks flushed, and lips pressed tight with disapproval. “My lord, a visitor’s come to see ye.”

Tammus arched a brow. “A visitor?”

“Fergus MacLeod,” she replied, her tone flat as a stone. “Says it’s urgent.”

He frowned, standing to wipe his ink-stained fingers on a cloth. He knew MacLeod by name—loud, brash, and quick to raise a tankard or his voice. Not the sort Tammus welcomed into his home lightly .

“Very well,” he said. “Show him in.”

She curtseyed and disappeared. Moments later, heavy footfalls thudded down the corridor, and the door swung open to reveal MacLeod himself.

The man was a wreck.

Bruises bloomed across both eyes, his nose sat askew on his face, and a swollen knot rose from his brow. He filled the doorway with his bulk, but the confidence he usually wore like a cloak hung tattered around him now.

Tammus blinked. “By God, man, what happened to you?”

MacLeod limped forward, pointing a crooked finger that trembled with barely restrained fury.

“Och, yer niece is what happened tae me.”

Tammus blinked, his brows drawing together. “Davina? That’s absurd. What do you mean?”

MacLeod stomped closer to the desk, shoulders hunched, his fury thinly veiled beneath his bruises.

“I mean exactly what I said. I was attacked by Lady Stewart herself—yer unruly niece. If ye dinnae believe me, take a good look at me face.” He gestured broadly, his battered features on full display, voice rising with each word.

Tammus eyed him steadily, struggling to imagine Davina capable of what MacLeod claimed. “You’re telling me Davina did this to you? Unprovoked?”

“Aye, she did!” MacLeod snapped. “I came tae Stewart Glen tae conduct business, as I always have. Yer niece’s hoosband nowhere tae be found, just like the last two visits.

But this time, yer niece decided tae toss me oot like I was nothin’!

Broke me nose, left me bleedin’ in the dirt like a mangy cur. ”

Tammus folded his arms, his tone measured. “Davina is many things, MacLeod, but cruel or reckless is neither of them. What exactly happened?”

MacLeod’s eyes flicked away, just for a second.

“She’s gone mad, I tell ye. Not fit tae run a household on her own.

She told me I wasnae welcome—despite the merchant contract her father signed with me years ago!

She’s grown too bold, thinkin’ herself above the law now that her husband’s always away.

There’s nay a man there tae temper her wild streak. ”

Tammus’s jaw ticked, but he kept his voice even. “That still doesn’t explain why she’d attack you.”

MacLeod bristled. “I asked tae stay the night, as I’ve done before.

She refused—flat out. Said I was nay welcome under her roof.

I reminded her of the contract, told her it wasnae her place tae turn me away.

” He pointed a crooked finger at his bruises.

“And what does she do? She breaks me nose and smashes a vase o’er me ‘ead! Next thing I ken, I’m wakin’ up at the inn wi’ a bleedin’ bill for the room. ”

Tammus said nothing, his silence stretching as he studied the man before him. He knew Davina’s fire, but he also knew her fairness. Something in MacLeod’s tale reeked like sour milk. Still, Fergus MacLeod was not a man to provoke lightly—especially if there was even a grain of truth in his account.

“She’s out o’ control, Tammus. I ken ‘tis nay my place tae say, but if ye ask me, she’s in sore need o’ discipline.”

Tammus’s expression darkened. “If you’ve a grievance, MacLeod, I suggest you take it up with her husband. Davina is no longer my ward.”

MacLeod scoffed. “Her hoosband? Did ye not hear me? The man’s ne’er anywhere tae be found! If he cannae be bothered tae look after his wife, then that leaves the responsibility tae you , does it not?”

Tammus’s mouth thinned. He hated the implication—but the man wasn’t entirely wrong. As the senior member of their family, responsibility did fall to him when Davina’s husband was absent.

MacLeod leaned in. “I’ll nay leave this unresolved, Tammus. She owes me compensation—fer the inn I had tae stay at, fer the humiliation, and fer this.” He jabbed a finger toward his battered face. “If ye willnae see tae it, I’ll take it tae the courts.”

Tammus’s jaw flexed. He reached into his desk and retrieved a small sack of coin, tossing it down without ceremony. “Take this. It’ll cover your expenses…and compensation.”

MacLeod snatched the bag, the weight of it bringing a glint to his eye. “Aye, this’ll do…for now. If ye doon’t get that woman under control, ye’ll be hearin’ from me again.”

He turned to go, then paused at the door. “Ye’d do well tae put yer niece in her place, Tammus. Nay spare the rod, if ye take ma meanin’.”

Tammus nodded.

When the door finally closed, he sank back into his chair, shoulders heavy. He didn’t trust MacLeod’s tale—not fully—but something had happened at Stewart Glen.

And Davina wasn’t one to raise her hand lightly.

There was more to this than MacLeod let on.

And then there was the matter of her husband. The man’s absence was becoming harder to ignore. Tammus had been willing to let Davina manage her own affairs, given her strength and capable hands, but this latest incident could not be swept aside.

If MacLeod stirred up trouble, it wouldn’t just stain Davina’s name—it would tarnish the family’s as well. And no matter how distanced he kept his business from Lilias’s late husband, scandal had a way of seeping through the cracks .

He grumbled and rang the bell on his desk.

The housekeeper appeared moments later.

“Have the steward pack me a satchel,” he said. “I’m leaving for Stewart Glen within the hour.”

“Aye, my lord.” She offered a quick curtsy and disappeared down the corridor.

Left alone, Tammus stared out the window. The autumn sky hung low and gray.

As much as he loathed to make the trip, he had to get to the bottom of whatever Davina’s husband was—or wasn’t—doing.

∞∞∞

The sun had dipped below the horizon, its fiery hues now faded into the hush of twilight as Davina arrived at the last of the shepherd’s cottages.

A faint chill clung to the air, the kind that whispered of frost-heavy mornings to come.

She adjusted the satchel slung over her shoulder, tugged her cloak tight against the breeze, and knocked on the weathered wooden door.

It opened almost at once, revealing Colin MacKinnon—broad-shouldered, stone-faced, and taller than most. His thick beard was peppered with gray, and his ice-blue eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of her.

“Milady,” he said, stepping aside to let her in. His tone held respect, but it was the kind tempered by doubt—like he was weighing whether this visit boded well or ill.

“Good evening, Colin.” Davina offered a small smile and stepped into the cottage. The savory steam rising from the hearth wrapped Davina in delicious warmth. She nodded toward the woman tending the pot over the fire. “Good evening, Becca.”

Becca glanced over her shoulder. Her nod was stiff, her mouth a tight line. “Eve’nin’, milady.”

Davina cleared her throat and reached into her satchel to pull out the heavy sack of coins. “I’ve brought payment for the wool shipment. As promised.”

Colin’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though his eyes stayed keen. “Aye, we’ve been waitin’ on this.” He took the sack and moved to the table, settling into his chair. Untying the drawstring, he began counting the coins, slow and meticulously. The clink of metal filled the small cottage.

Davina clasped her hands and stood quiet, tamping down the sting of insult. If her ‘husband’ had come with the coin, Colin wouldn’t have dared count it in front of him. But a woman? The message was clear as cut glass.

When he finished, he thumbed one coin’s edge, then gave a small nod. “’Tis all here. I thank ye for yer punctuality, milady.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Davina replied, summoning a smile. “I ken how important timely payment is, especially with winter creeping in.”

“Aye, that it is,” Colin agreed, but his gaze lingered. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Yer husband must be pleased wi’ the profits from this shipment. He’s been away a fair bit, now, has he not?”

Davina’s heart gave a rapid knock, but her voice stayed smooth. “Aye,” she said lightly, “he’s oft away on business. ’Tis the nature of his work.”

Colin raised a bushy brow. “Strange, a lord always off travelin’ when he could be sendin’ others in his stead. Most’d rather keep to their own lands, keep their thumb on things.”

Davina’s stomach clenched, but she held her pleasant expression. “I couldn’t say. He doesn’t share much about his affairs with me. But I ken it’s important to the estate.”

Colin grunted, unreadable. “Aye, I s’pose. Still, folk have been wonderin’. Ye’ve been wed a while now, and no one’s seen much o’ him. Some are startin’ tae question.”

Davina’s pulse stuttered. She caught Becca’s cutting glance from the hearth with eager ears.

Colin was treading where he shouldn’t go.

But Davina kept her composure. “Well, I suppose it’s natural for folk to gossip when they’ve naught better to do.” Aye, it was cheeky, but he deserved it. She adjusted her cloak—a clear signal she was ready to leave. “Now, if there’s nothing else—”