on. I’m sick of hearing the words, “I mentioned it to the laird but nothing happened”. My father’s factor apparently left Strone Bridge not long after I did, and he did not employ another, though no one will tell me why. In fact, no one will tell me anything. They treat me like a stranger.’
‘What about Eoin?’ Ainsley asked tentatively.
‘What about him?’
‘You said he was your friend. Couldn’t you talk to him?’
‘Eoin is as bad as the rest. It doesn’t matter, it’s not your problem.’
Innes picked up another letter. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was over. It’s not your problem. Ainsley sat perfectly still. The words were a horrible echo from the past. How many times had she been rebuffed by John with exactly that phrase, until she stopped asking any questions at all?
‘Don’t say that.’
Her tone made Innes look up in surprise. ‘Don’t say what?’
Ainsley stared down at her tea. ‘It is my problem. At least it’s supposed to be. It’s what you brought me here for, to help you.’
‘This place is beyond help. I can see that for myself.’
‘So that’s it? You’ve already decided—what? To sell? To walk away and let it continue to crumble? What?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘So you haven’t decided, but you’re not going to ask me because my opinion counts for nothing.’
‘No! Ainsley, what the devil is the matter with you?’
‘What is the matter?’ She jumped to her feet, unable to keep still. ‘You brought me here to help! You have paid me a considerable sum of money, a sum I would not have dreamed of accepting if I thought all I was to do was sit about here and—and fluff cushions.’
‘You’ve done a great deal more than that. I’m sorry if I have seemed unappreciative, but—’
‘I have done nothing more than Mhairi McIntosh could have done. Oh, granted, I married you, and in doing so allowed you to claim this place, which seems to me to have been a completely pointless exercise, if all you’re going to do is say that it’s past help, and walk away.’
‘I didn’t say I was going to do that. Stop haranguing me like a fishwife.’
‘Stop treating me like a child! I have a brain. I have opinions. I know I’m a Sassenach and a commoner to boot, but I’m not a parasite. I may know nothing about farming, but neither do you! Only you’re so blooming well ashamed of the fact, though you’ve no reason to be, because why should you know anything about it when you told me yourself your father did not allow you to know anything, and—and...’
‘Ainsley!’ Innes wrested the teaspoon she was still clutching from her clenched hand and set it down on the tea tray. ‘What on earth has come over you? You’re shaking.’
‘I’m not,’ she said, doing just that. ‘Now you’ve made me lose track of what I was saying.’
‘You were saying that I’m an ignoramus not fit to own the lands.’
‘No, that’s what you think.’ She sniffed loudly. ‘If I could have got by without asking Mhairi for advice on this house, I would have, but I couldn’t, Innes.’
‘Why should you, you know nothing of the place.’
‘Exactly.’ She sniffed again, and drew him a meaningful look. Innes handed her a neatly folded handkerchief. ‘I’m not crying,’ Ainsley said.
‘No.’
She blew her nose. ‘I’ve never known a wetter July. I’ve likely got a cold.’
‘It wouldn’t surprise me.’
‘I hate women who resort to tears to get their way.’
‘I’m not sure it ever works. From what I’ve seen, what usually happens is that she cries, he runs away, and whatever it was gets swept under the carpet until the next time,’ Innes said wryly.
‘You know, for a man who has never been married before, you have an uncanny insight into the workings of matrimony.’
‘I take it I’ve struck a chord?’
It was gently said, but she couldn’t help prickling. ‘Sometimes tears are not a weapon, but merely an expression of emotion,’ Ainsley said, handing him his kerchief. ‘Such as anger.’
‘Stop glowering at me, and stop assuming that all men are tarred with the same brush as the man you married.’
The gentleness had gone from his voice. Ainsley sat, or rather slumped, feeling suddenly deflated. ‘I don’t.’
‘You do, and I’m not like him.’
‘I know. I wouldn’t be here if I thought you were. But you are shutting me out, Innes, and it’s making me feel as if I’m here under false pretences. If you won’t talk to me, why not talk to Eoin? There’s nothing shameful in asking for help.’
Her tea was cold, but she drank it anyway. The silence was uncomfortable, but she could think of no way of breaking it. She finished her tea.
‘I’m not used to consulting anyone,’ Innes said. ‘You knew that.’
‘But it was your idea to have me come along here. An objective eye.’
‘I didn’t realise things would be so bad. As I said, it’s obvious that it’s too late.’
‘So you’re giving up?’
‘No! I’m saving you the effort of getting involved in something that is next to useless.’
‘Giving up, in other words,’ Ainsley said.
His face was quite white. The handle of his teacup snapped. He stared at it, then put it carefully down. ‘I don’t give up,’ he said.
She bit her tongue.
‘I’m not accustomed to— It’s been difficult. Seeing it. Not having answers. That’s been hard.’
Ainsley nodded.
‘They are all judging me.’
She sighed in exasperation. ‘Innes, you’ve been gone a long time. They don’t know you.’
‘I don’t see how you can help.’
‘I won’t know if I can, if you don’t talk to me.’ Ainsley tried a tentative smile. ‘At the very least, I would be on your side.’
‘Aye, that would be something more than I have right now.’ Innes smiled back. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Please do. I have plenty
