Page 131 of Claimed Highland Brides

She looked across the table at the twins, dominating the conversation and finishing each other’s sentences. They might attract the wrong kind of attention, but not she.

Fiona leaned towards her. “What has ye so quiet?”

“Nothing. Just…feeling grateful.”

* * *

Barclay convinced his cousins to remain at the inn in Drumacree while he proceeded alone to Inchcree. He did not want his step-uncle to think he had arrived with a hostile force. Once he landed on the shores of Edinburgh, he had sought out the family lawyer, Euan McGregor, to notify him of his return. The lawyer had informed him that his step-uncle, Peadar MacFarland, was living on his land. Since nobody had protested his occupation, he had continued to stay there over the years, lording it over the tenants and collecting the rents for himself.

While he could not blame his uncle for taking advantage of the situation, he had now returned and was ready to claim his birthright. His father had always emphasized to him that while he carried the MacFarland name, their family had its own separate legacy. One they would build on their own.

Being the illegitimate offspring of Alistair MacFarland, Hamish faced a fair amount of hostility from Alistair’s legitimate family. His wife, Ada, pretended not to see him if he came around to the house. His stepbrothers pushed him around as much as they could. The land that Hamish inherited was as a result of payment demanded by his mother’s family as repayment for defiling and then abandoning her.

It belonged to Barclay’s father, free and clear, and he was free to do with it as he wished. No one else from the MacFarland family had any right to it. Thus Barclay was here to reclaim his birthright. He was ready to do anything to make sure his father’s legacy was not erased.

He traveled with just his manservant, hoping that he could speak in a civil manner with his uncle and notify him that as Barclay was back, he would have to leave. According to McGregor, Peadar was a stubborn man who might not take his arrival well. Barclay was determined that whether or not the man wanted it, he would have to accept Barclay’s presence.

He drew up to the huge wrought iron gates of Inchcree Hall, memories suffusing him of his childhood. He stopped for a moment, just taking it all in, noting what had changed and what had stayed the same. A man was walking towards the gate, his eyes on Barclay; the hostility in his gaze was evident.

He came to a stop on the other side of the gate. “What d’ye want?”

“My name is Barclay MacFarland, and this is my land.”

The man’s lips twisted in a sneer. “Och, aye? I spect the laird might have summat to say aboot tha’.”

“And by the laird ye mean Peadar? My uncle?”

“Uncle, ye say?”

“Aye.”

“Weel, ye can find him in the lower field, inspectin’ th’ fences.”

“Would ye kindly fetch him? I shall wait in the parlor.” Barclay spurred his horse on, as his manservant alighted his horse to push the gate open. The man tensed as if he might like to fight, but then he suddenly relaxed and turned away.

“Dinnae get too comfortable,” he murmured before walking away.

Barclay and his manservant proceeded to the house to wait for his uncle. He was curious to know if any of their old servants were still in residence, but nobody looked familiar—not the footmen they passed along the way or any of the people they saw scurrying around. The house was a mess, with evidence of neglect on every corner. As Barclay took a seat, a cloud of dust rose from the settee.

That at least looked familiar. It was the same flower-patterned set his mother had commissioned from a well-regarded carpenter at Drumacree when Barclay had been little more than a babe. His manservant ran his hand against the mantelpiece, his face twisted in disgust as he held his dust-covered finger up.

“Clearly, these people are no’ consairned wi’ cleanliness,” he mumbled.

Barclay smiled. “Aye. Weel, I promise to have the place thoroughly scoured once I’m in charge.”

“A bride would help ye wi’ tha’,” Angus pointed out.

Barclay rolled his eyes. “I’ve barely been in the country ten minutes, and ye’re badgering me aboot getting marrit. Can I get my lands back first, please?”

“O’course, sir. Whatever ye like.”

Barclay huffed a laugh. Angus had walked up to him at the inn in Edinburgh, stating that his eyes looked familiar. “Ye’re a MacFarland are ye no’? I think my ma used to work for yer parents ten years ago. Name’s Angus Fraser.” He bowed elegantly, making Barclay smile.

“What can I do for ye, Angus?”

“Weel, I see that ye need a manservant.”

Barclay’s eyebrow quirked. “I do?”