Too short fingernails bit into my palms. “Those sound exactly the—never mind. Lock, there must be some sort of mistake. This is not Kilmarnock Abbey.”
“But it is, Yer Grace.”
“Then there is another Kilmarnock Abbey—like there are numerous Lochlans.”
“Afraid there’s only the one, Yer Grace.”
“Is there a Kilmartin? Or a Limarnock perhaps?”
“No, just Kilmarnock.”
“Which is just behind this ramshackle ruin…” I gestured at the crumbling architecture before me.
“No, Yer Grace.”
“You mean to tell me that this—” My hands flung up from my sides, gesticulating wildly toward the entirety of our surroundings, from the collapsing hut to the recalcitrant sheep. A tightness grew in my chest, leaving little room for air. “Is my inheritance.”
“No, Yer Grace.”
“What do you mean?” I was shrill. I could hear it, recognize it, but I couldn’t stop it for anything.
“The sheep doesnae come with the property. She’s just a bit stubborn. It’s best to let her do as she wishes.”
“Your Grace, if I may,” Godfrey cut in. “Perhaps the interior is not…”
“Disintegrating?”
“Precisely. And I should like to get to work on this boot right away.”
While I appreciated the sentiment—and ordinarily would have agreed—I rather thought the boot was the least of my concerns at the moment.
Warily, I stepped around the carriage—carefully searching for more gifts from Fenella. She made another sound of amusement—if sheep were capable of such a thing— as I rounded her slowly.
“Is there no staff?” I called back to Lock.
“Did ye hire a staff?”
“Most assuredly, I did. I’ve been paying a housekeeper, butler, gardener, stable boy, and several maids since I took over management.”
Lock caught us as we approached the door—shockingly still attached to the frame. It was worn, with several layers of peeling paint in shades of blue, red, and white.
“I dinnae ken who ye were paying, but no one’s worked here in a decade, perhaps longer.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Which word was confusing, Yer Grace?”
“The order of them was the concern.” I was flailing now. The shameful display of my agitation that I couldn’t have contained for anything was accompanied by a dramatic twisting of my brow. “You mean to say I’ve been fleeced? For years?”
“Seems as much.”
“And a Mr. Douglas McAllen? Can you take me to him?”
“Dinnae ken a Douglas McAllen.”
“He’s a steward—based out of Edinburgh,” I said with a desperate note in my voice.
“I can take ye to Edinburgh. But I dinnae ken a Douglas McAllen—as I said.”
