Page 70 of Hero in the Highlands
“That sounds like a load of shite to me!”
Fiona jabbed her finger at the light-haired man who’d yelled. “I see ye there, Cuthbert Dinwoddie. And I saw ye sleeping when a dozen head of sheep went missing.Oursheep. Ye’ve nae right to insult His Grace if ye cannae tell the difference between watching sheep awake and counting them in yer dreams.”
Cuthbert went red-faced as the villagers laughed. “And why are ye defending a Sassenach, Fiona?” he countered. “Is it because ye’ve had him beneath yer skirt, ye whore?”
Gabriel stepped forward before he’d even realized he’d done so. “You,” he said, indicating the shepherd. “Cuthbert. Come here.”
“Gabriel,” Fiona hissed behind him.
He kept moving forward, the crowd parting to let him through, until Cuthbert Dinwoddie had to choose between running away and facing him straight on. The man lifted his chin, his fists curled. “I’m ready fer ye, English,” he growled.
“Good. Then listen,” Gabriel snapped back, the clarity of his anger surprising him. “Say whatever you like about me. Respect is earned, and I haven’t earned it yet. But if you insult that woman again after all she’s done here for you and your family and your neighbors and your fellow clansmen, I will drop you where you stand.”
Cuthbert’s gaze darted here and there as he no doubt searched for an ally—or an escape. “Aye, ye’re a big man, ye are, making threats in front of all these people.”
“Look at me,” Gabriel instructed.
The shepherd hemmed and hawed for another bit, then finally met his gaze. “What?”
“Do you think I’m jesting?” He paused. With no answer forthcoming, he advanced another step. “Do you think I would hesitate for a damned second?” Another pause, silence meeting him again. “Remember that.” Gabriel took a breath. “When I arrived here, I did so with the idea of leaving again as soon as I could hire a proper steward. It took less than a day for me to realize what a mistake that would be. Fiona Blackstock literally devotes every waking minute to you and to this land. And as compelling and… inspiring as she is, I can do no less.”
Fiona had watched Gabriel stride down the steps and make directly for Cuthbert Dinwoddie, and for a long space of heartbeats she thought he actually meant to hit the shepherd. Instead, and with a few succinct words, he won over everyone in the meadow—with the possible exception of Cuthbert.
As much as she wanted to sit beside Gabriel, they’d already decided that splitting up would benefit them more. And so she sat between Ailios and William MacDorry, while the duke’s table had filled with what looked like every unmarried lass in the county.
“He seems to have a head on his shoulders, at least,” Tormod the blacksmith commented. “And Cuthbert’s a bloody idiot, which we all knew, but now it’s fer certain.”
“Ye ken ye’ll have fights, if the duke decides to repair one lad’s fence before another man’s,” William noted.
“Aye. What do ye think of a drawing, of sorts?” Fiona asked. “We’ll have to see to the major repairs first, like the irrigation gates, but then we’ll put all the houses with roofs that need patching on papers and draw them from a hat. They’ll all be done, but nae one person will decide the order.”
“I reckon I could live with that,” one of the fishermen farther down the table said, nodding. “It’d be fair, at least.”
“What aboot the curse, though?” came from one of the picnic blankets to her right. “It’s all grand plans, but we’ve seen it before. Mr. Kieran managed to get the mill working again, and then Brocair burned three nights later. And a week after that, Mr. Kieran rode into the bogs and only his horse came back.”
Fiona wanted to pretend not to hear that, because she had no idea how to answer it. Facts and plans were well and good, but folk had blamed every bad bit of luck on that curse for the past hundred years.
“They say only an Englishman turned Highlander can break the curse,” another voice took up. “We have an Englishman now, at least.”
“Nae Sassenach can ever be a Highlander, and ye know it,” a third villager contributed. “It’s a curse that cannae be broken. If we fight against it, then we’ll only be putting ourselves in harm’s way. ‘His allies shall perish.’ That’s what MacKittrick said.”
“What, are ye a witch now, Letitia Garretson?” someone else countered. “Does that mean ye’ll nae ask to have yer window replaced or yer pig fence mended when the time comes fer it?”
She’d expected the pessimism and doubt, but the number of hopeful voices pleased Fiona greatly. They had a chance, she and Gabriel. They truly had a chance to make things right here. And the villagers were past ready for that, as well, or there would have been a great many more of them fretting about Dunncraigh threatening to turn his back on them. They’d realized—or some of them had, anyway—that he’d already done so.
A high-pitched scream pierced through the cacophony of conversation. Fiona looked up, alarmed. “Where did that come from?” she asked, and Ailios put a hand over her heart.
The sound repeated, a young girl’s scream, and a trio of young ones ran into view from the middle of the village. “The well!” the youngest of the Dinwoddie boys yelled. “She’s in the well!”
Dear God. Fiona shot to her feet, ice slicing through her. Gabriel had already launched himself across the top of his table, charging for the well with dozens of men and women on his heels.Not this,she prayed silently, hiking her skirt to her knees and sprinting to catch up.Not this, please.
***
Gabriel ran, barking orders for someone to fetch rope, ladders, anything they could use to reach the bottom of the well. He couldn’t remember even setting eyes on the damned thing, and now—
Christ.The thought of a child drowning while he dined on sandwiches both sickened and horrified him. He’d seen dead children, and they still haunted his dreams. This, though, was one of his. His responsibility, his care, his duty. He could be sick later, horrified when lives didn’t depend on his actions. If nothing else, being a soldier had taught him that. Act first, feel later—if at all.
A half-dozen more children stood leaning over the three-foot stone circle to look down the dark hole in the middle. “Get back,” he snapped, jumping up onto the foot-wide lip and squatting to look down. He was ready to jump, but he wasn’t going to risk landing on a struggling child’s head. He needed to see, first.
