A sense of uneasiness trickled through her. She had been certain the MacDuff castle had been abandoned. She’d sent a few of her people to investigate after she’d heard the last MacDuff had died, and his daughter had left the country to marry an English nobleman.
They had reported back to her that the place was empty except for a few servants, and when he’d spoken with them, they hadn’t received any word on who the new owner was. With her proof of ownership—she was determined that it was proof—she’d decided to move her household and what was left of her clan to Fife.
Surely no one would have inherited the place. MacDuff was not known for his hospitality, and as far as she knew, there was no family, except his daughter.
Her own home had been crumbling around her ears for years, with her father taking no interest in the place since her mother had died, and the Clearances making it hard to grow enough food to feed a family on land that was slowly being taken over for sheep farming.
Despite the fluttering in her stomach, she drew herself up. “I am Mistress Katie Stirling of Stirlingshire.”
He continued to study her. “And ye claim to own MacDuff castle?”
Her unease grew, but she forged ahead. “Aye. I dinnae ken how many times I need to say it to ye. Are ye daft?”
Evan’s eyes narrowed. “Nay, mistress. Not daft, just confused.”
Katie’s mouth dried up, and her breathing increased. “Confused how?” The words barely made it past her lips.
“Confused, lass, because I am the owner of MacDuff castle.”
Chapter Two
Evan stared at the woman who claimed to own the property he’d just been forced to accept. He barely remembered old Brendan MacDuff, the man whose estate Evan had inherited. He was eternally grateful he did not inherit the old man’s daughter, Bridget MacDuff, who was a firebrand with quite a reputation among the clans.
Tales of her escapades, strong will, and stubborn ways had kept many a man from claiming her as his bride. Old MacDuff had certainly tried but failed. The last Evan heard, some poor English chap had ended up leg-shackled to her. ’Twas the only time in his life he’d felt sympathy for a Sassenach.
However, through some intricate web of family ties, Evan was the next male member of the MacDuff family. The lands and castle had come to him, whether he wanted them or not.
He did not.
But now that this lass stood here, her sweet little chin in the air, claiming the castle, something inside him rebelled. Whether he wanted the place or not, it was his—by inheritance and law—and she could not sweep in and claim ownership.
Mistress Katie Stirling was a bonnie wee thing. Light-auburn hair with curls falling over her shoulders from a topknot that had begun to unravel. Light freckles dotted her nose, right above the sweetest lips he’d encountered in a long time.
She had no problem filling out the frock she wore, even though it looked as though she hadn’t changed it in a sennight. But then, if she’d been traveling over these rough roads in the sorry-looking cart that had the cracked wheel, he’d give her credit for still standing on her feet.
“And why is it, lass, that ye think ye own MacDuff castle?” He caught the rope Alasdair tossed him from his horse and set to work fixing the cart wheel.
She bent over, watching him. “Because it belongs to my family.”
Another clump of her hair fell, this time right into his eyes. Despite her sorry state from traveling, the flowery smell from her hair teased his nose. Almost distracting him from the wheel. He shoved the lock away. “Dinnae ye just say yer name was Mistress Katie Stirling from Stirlingshire?” He grunted as he tied the rope around the wheel.
She nodded. More hair fell. “Aye.”
Evan wrapped the rope twice more around the wheel as he pondered the situation. “We are speaking of the MacDuff castle, aye?” The wheel and the entire cart were in such a sorry state, they would be lucky if they even made it to the castle.
“That is correct.”
Giving the rope one more tug to be sure it was tight enough to hold together, he bolted from the ground and loomed over her. The smart lass moved back several steps, licking her lips as she looked up at him. The top of her head hardly reached his chin. “What proof do ye have that yer family owns the MacDuff castle?”
The lass fumbled in the pocket of her worn dress and pulled out a piece of paper that looked as though it had been a new document shortly after the Great Flood. She carefully unfolded it and held it out to him. “This.”
He studied her as he took it from her hand, then looked at a faded-brown document with barely visible writing on it. “What’s this?”
She gestured toward the paper with her head. “Proof.”
“Of what?” He studied the paper, finding it hard to believe this was what had made the lass and her companions make the trip from Stirlingshire to Fife. ’Twas quite a distance with the hard winter weather upon them in a few fortnights. A foolish decision at best.
She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. A bold lass, to be sure. “That I own the MacDuff lands and castle.”
He ran his palm down his face. “Lass, the writing on this is so faded, it can’t be read. This proves nothing.”
She leaned forward, her face flushed. “My mum was Aileen MacDuff Stirling.” She nodded her head as if that confirmed her claim. More hair fell to her shoulders. He had the urge to grasp the locks, rub the soft silky strands between his fingers, and sniff.
What the devil was wrong with him? They had a serious matter to discuss. He cleared his
