Page 168 of Claimed Highland Brides

“And yer uncle, he has been living in yer home ever since ye left?”

Barclay’s eyes slid to Gilroy. “He has been squattin’ there, aye.”

Gilroy growled deep in his throat, but to everyone’s surprise, he did not try to argue the point.

“And now ye want to throw him oot on th’ street?”

Barclay snorted. “He has a home to go to. Is his father no’ still alive? Does he no’ have property? Inchcree is my birthright!”

Aifric nodded in understanding, turning to Gilroy. “Now ye, why do ye no’ give the lad back his land?”

Gilroy frowned at her tone. “’Tis mine the noo. I have lived there for years. Where was he? Why come now?”

“There is nothing in the will that places a time limit to my rights,” Barclay said coldly.

“And ye expected the land to just lie fallow, waiting for ye?”

“When I left, there was a caretaker. In any case, ye cannae question me aboot the running o’ my own land!”

“’Tis no’ yers anymore!” Gilroy shouted.

“Aye, ’tis. And ye shall leave it forthwith. I have fulfilled the terms o’ the will. I even have a wife”—he gestured wildly at Aileen—“so ye have no more reason to be stubborn.”

Gilroy turned to Aifric. “We dinnae even ken if he is really Barclay MacFarland. We only have his word.”

“Oh, aye?” Barclay took a step toward him. “So why did yer faither offer to buy the land off me then?”

Gilroy blanched. “He didnae!”

“Oh, he did. I have the offer in writing. He acknowledges me as the rightful heir. Ye havenae anymore right to the land. I shall be taking it over within the week, so ye better leave.”

Gilroy’s mouth twisted. “Oh, ye think so? We’ll see aboot tha’.”

Aifric stepped between them. “We shall stop here lest things get too violent.” She turned to Gilroy. “It seems this man has proved his claim beyond a shadow o’ a doubt. Will ye leave the noo?”

Gilroy shook his head. “We dinnae ken if wha’ he says is true. I will have to speak to my faither first.”

“Oh, and how long will that take?”

“We can continue this meeting on the morrow,” Gilroy said.

Aifric nodded. “Vera weel.” She turned to Barclay. “Are ye agreeable to this?”

Barclay narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Aye, alrigh’.”

* * *

Diego slowly descended the stairs, the hairs at the back of his neck standing on end. The house was silent, aside from the usual night noises that assailed an occupied residence at night. Yet his instincts had never failed him, and at the moment, they were screaming that danger was imminent. He paused, listening hard, wishing he had his sword on him.

He turned, meaning to go back to his chambers and get it, when he heard a light scraping sound as if a foot had bumped into something it had not meant to. He froze, listening hard, and for a while, there was no sound. And then, there it was again—a stealthy footfall, not far from where he was.

He had been heading to the kitchens to fetch some water to quench his thirst and was unsure exactly which wing of the keep he was in. He did know that there was no call for anyone to be creeping along stealthily. The chamber doors were thick and, as far as he knew, well inured to the ordinary sounds that might disturb a household at night.

He sank into the shadows beside the stairs, trying to pinpoint the direction of the footsteps. As he crouched in the shadows, wondering what he could possibly use as a weapon, even if it were an intruder, a man came into sight. He was holding some sort of weapon in hand, and his body was shrouded in a shawl so that his shape was indistinct.

He stalked down the corridor, looking left and right as if fearing discovery. A second man appeared from the stairwell just as Diego was deciding to get up and follow the first.

Where the devil are the guards?