“But ye dunnae think it was one.”
“No, I do not.” He sat forward. As much as he wanted to know what she thought of his declaration, they had several more pressing worries. “Nor do I think Brian’s cow was an accident. And for both of them to have happened within a day? I don’t know what those odds are, but I wouldn’t take them.”
“Nor would I.”
“I have to blame the Duke of Dunncraigh, Fiona. This began after I refused to sell Lattimer to him.”
She shook her head, her expression grim. “Nae. It didnae begin then.” Fiona turned around the paper on which she’d been working, pushing it in front of him. “The sheep, the irrigation system, the flooded fields, the rotted seed—Lattimer’s bad luck has been going on fer years.”
He looked down at the list. Beside each incident she’d noted the approximate loss of income and the repair cost. With the mill added at the bottom, the amounts were staggering. “No wonder Lattimer hasn’t been making a profit.”
“Aye. Part of that’s my fault, fer hiring so many staff here. If ye hadnae come, and after what happened last night, I would have had to let some of them go.”
And he was very glad, for more than one reason, that he’d arrived here when he had. But his current ability to replenish Lattimer’s coffers couldn’t continue indefinitely. And if the number with which she’d provided him equated to only four years’ worth of misfortune, they were even closer to the edge than he’d realized.
“These circumstances,” he said slowly, not wanting to see more pain in her lovely black eyes, “aren’t sustainable. Which, I imagine, is the idea. If it is Dunncraigh, and I have no reason to think otherwise, he’s making this place as undesirable as possible. Just looking at the figures without knowing the tales behind them, no one in his right mind would want to own it.”
“Gabriel.”
Holding her gaze, he smiled. “I’m not in my right mind. I haven’t been since I set eyes on you.”
That at least earned him a smile in return. “Ye dunnae need to use flattery to win me over. Ye’ve already had me.”
He took her fingers in his. “I’d jest with you if I wasn’t so tired, my lass, but at the moment I’m being perfectly sincere.”
“The first time ye set eyes on me, ye grabbed me aboot the chest and nearly drowned me.”
“You’re the first woman I’ve ever met who didn’t want or need to be rescued.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and he cursed to himself. Making her cry had not been part of the equation. Why was it easier to charge into battle than to tell a woman how much she’d come to mean to him?
“That was supposed to be a compliment,” he offered.
Fiona stood up and leaned across the table to kiss him. “I think I did need to be rescued, Gabriel,” she said. “If ye hadnae come up here, I’d slowly have drowned beneath the weight of all this, and I’d have thought it was all my fault.”
“It is definitely not your fault,” he returned emphatically, lifting her over the desk to sit across his thighs. “It is Dunncraigh’s fault. He might have thought he was doing nothing more than turning Lattimer into a money sinkhole, but he forgot that this place is more than just land.”
Resting her forehead against his, she slid her arms around his shoulders. “And here ye are, a man accustomed to fighting over land and territory and politics, and ye’ve nae forgotten fer a moment aboot the people here.” She kissed him again, long and slow. “Ye told me someaught this morning, Gabriel Forrester. I’d like to say it back to ye. I dunnae ken what’ll come of it, but I love ye.”
She loved him. He’d felt it in his bones, but hearing her say it aloud meant… more. It gave him a connection to this place, to this life, that he couldn’t otherwise have hoped to find. And he would do anything to keep it from slipping through his fingers. “Considering how we did meet,” he murmured, stroking his hand through the long, loose tail of her dark hair, “I mean to have revenge on whoever killed Brian Maxwell’s cow.”
“Do ye think Dunncraigh intends to bankrupt ye, then? Ye refused his offer, so he’ll cost ye so much money to keep Lattimer that ye end up having to sell it to him, after all?”
“That’s entirely possible. He said that he petitioned the Crown for the property after my uncle died. The old duke wouldn’t sell to him, so that was his next option. And now I won’t sell it, so he’s decided to be less subtle.”
“It’s still subtle enough,” she muttered, her muscles tightening. “We cannae prove anything. And even if we could, ye ken half of clan Maxwell will think we’re lying. Neglecting the people here is one thing. Doing someaught to hurt them, that’s something else entirely.”
All he needed was another round of “blame the Sassenach” to begin if he did find proof of Dunncraigh’s misdeeds and decided to bring charges. On the other hand… “I can’t do nothing, Fiona. That’s not in my nature. And Iwilleventually run out of the blunt to keep this place.”
She held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “Then we’d best make certain he cannae wriggle oot from under the blame.” Closing her eyes, she leaned against his shoulder. “I’d be inclined to accuse my uncle fer yesterday and last night, but Hamish couldnae walk into Strouth unnoticed with a great cow slung over his shoulder, even in the middle of the night. And he’s nae inclined to dirty his hands, anyway.”
That made sense. Hamish Paulk was a spiteful sycophant, but as Fiona had noted, hauling dead cows about didn’t suit him. And if he had set the fire at the mill, Gabriel doubted he would have bothered with trying to wake anyone to warn them. “Most of the things on your list happened at night, didn’t they?” he asked, freeing a hand to lean over and pick the paper up again.
“Aye. Which means it could be nearly anyone.” Fiona grimaced. “I dunnae like having to suspect my own.”
“No one does. ButIhave no difficulty with suspectingyourown.”
“At this point, Gabriel, I’m grateful fer that.”
