“And what?”
Evan was amazed that she looked genuinely surprised at his questions. “What does that have to do with this paper and yer claim to own the MacDuff castle?” He dinnae ken whether to laugh or merely dismiss the lass and be on his way.
She was not giving up, however. “Years ago, the MacDuff clan should have passed down the title of Laird to one of my female ancestors. Instead, they bypassed her in favor of a male cousin.”
Evan shrugged. “That happens.”
Mistress Stirling shook her head vigorously. “No. Scotland allows for a woman to inherit if there is no direct male progeny.”
Ah, ’twas time for a history lesson. No wonder the lass was confused. “Not always. Some titles were created to only pass down to males. This might be one of them.”
She waved her finger at the document. “This is not one of them. And if that was so, ye would not be standing here now since ye said yer name is MacNeil, not MacDuff.”
He tried very hard to hide his smile at her insistence. She was so wee, and he was so large, yet she stood up to him like a warrior, gaining his admiration. She reminded him of one of the kittens from the barn, hissing at the dogs. “How do ye know this paper proves anything?”
She pointed to the paper. “Because it says so right there.”
Evan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “’Tis not possible to read what’s on the paper, lass.”
“I was told from the time I was a bairn that the MacDuff lands belonged to my mum—that they should have been passed down to her. The reason it dinnae was because a cousin a few generations back stole it.”
“Evan.”
He turned as Alasdair called to him. “Can we not all travel to the castle and speak about this there? It looks to me like a storm is building.” Alasdair pointed to the gathering clouds. “We’re about to be drenched.”
“Aye.” Evan pointed to the cart. “Get yer cart moving, and we will settle this at the castle.” With that, he turned on his heel, grabbed his horse’s saddle, and swung himself up on his horse. “I suggest you dinnae try to ride in that cart.”
“Evan, ye can’t ask the lasses to walk to the castle.”
Why the bloody hell was Alasdair so worried about these usurpers? The blasted woman claimed to own land that wasn’t hers, and now he was stuck with them all arriving at the castle at the same time.
“They can ride with their mon.” He waved at the two lackwits who’d been sitting on their horses as Evan had fixed their cart.
“We cannot ride with Angus and Colum. Their horses are already overburdened with my brother and the supplies that dinnae fit in the cart.” Mistress Stirling glared at him. “Meggie and I shall walk.”
“Oh, miss!” the young girl whom Evan had not even noticed until that very moment wailed.
“’Tis no trouble, Meggie. We can do it.” The snappish lass pulled her shawl tighter against her and began the trek to the castle.
Alasdair glared at Evan. “We cannot let the lasses walk while four men ride on horses! Mum would be disgraced.”
Evan growled and trotted his horse next to Mistress Stirling, scooped her up from the ground, and placed her, none too gently, on his lap.
“What do ye think yer doing, ye big oaf?” She elbowed him in his middle, catching him by surprise.
“My brother seems to think my mum will curse me for all eternity if I let ye walk to the castle.”
With a loud chuckle, Alasdair rode toward the one Mistress Stirling had called Meggie, and scooped her up as well. That woman did not protest, and in fact, batted her eyelashes at his brother, which brought a shout of laughter from Evan. “Serves ye right,” he bellowed as he kicked the sides of his horse and headed to the castle.
They’d barely gone about a quarter mile when Evan groused, “Quit moving around, or ye’ll end up tossing yerself to the ground.” He placed his hand on the lass’s shoulder to still her. Her lovely bottom was pressed up against his cock, and if she kept moving like she’d done since they left the others behind, it would be impossible for him to walk from the horse with any dignity.
“I’m not comfortable.” She tried to move, but he clamped his hand on her shoulder again.
“No matter. We will be at the castle—my castle—in a matter of minutes.”
The castle was a mere mile or so away when the skies opened up and rain poured down on them in torrents. No mild rainfall, but a deluge. Since they were so close, there was no reason for him to untie his tartan and cover them with it. They would just have to brave it out.
With the rain coming right at them, Mistress Stirling turned her face and rested her forehead against his chest. ’Twas better than her shifting around, but now the lovely scent of her hair was right below his nose.
They reached the stables, and Evan rode directly into the structure. An older man stepped out from behind one of the stalls. “Good day to ye, sir. Are ye Laird MacNeil?”
“Aye. I take it you received my message?”
The man bowed. “Yes. We were finally happy to hear from the new owner. I believe Mrs. Brody has the castle ready for ye and yer brother.” Douglas MacDuff had been the stable master for years at the MacDuff estate, Evan had been told by Mr. Manning, the old MacDuff’s solicitor. Manning had passed along that information, along with the copy of the will. He noted that a few of the servants had remained with the castle after Bridget MacDuff had departed.
Mrs. Brody had continued on as housekeeper, MacDuff the stable master, and two or three chambermaids, as well as the cook, had stayed. At least it would be comfortable for them in what he hoped would be
