to your father as the laird, I respected him. When you left, the way you left, you forced me to choose. What else was I to do?’
‘I was your friend.’
‘You were his son,’ Eoin said, nodding at the Celtic cross. ‘When Malcolm died, it broke his heart.’
‘What do you think it did to me?’ Innes struggled, eyes smarting, the sick feeling that had been lurking inside him since he’d arrived here growing, acrid, clogging his throat. He turned away, fists clenched, taking painful breaths, fighting for control, forcing back the images, the guilt, waiting desperately for the sound of Eoin’s footsteps disappearing, leaving him alone to deal with it, to make it go away.
Eoin didn’t move. When he spoke, his voice was raw, grating. ‘I could hardly look at you the other day. All these years, I’ve told myself it was the right thing to hold my peace. All these years, with the laird letting things go, letting the place wither, I’ve told myself that if that was what he wanted and— No, not just that. I’ve told myself you deserved it. If you did not care enough to look after your heritage...’
Innes had intended this as a reconciliation. It felt as though he was being tried, and found wanting, by the one person here on Strone Bridge he had thought might be on his side. The disappointment was crushing. ‘It was never meant for me,’ he roared. ‘It was never mine.’
His words echoed around the enclosed space, but still Eoin stood his ground, his face grim, his own fists clenched. ‘It is yours now. You’ve known for fourteen years that it would be yours.’
‘And by the looks of it, for fourteen years my father has done his damnedest to run the place into the ground. Don’t tell me I could have stopped him, Eoin. You of all people know he would never listen to me.’
There was silence. The two men glared at each other. Finally, as Innes was about to turn away, Eoin spoke. ‘It’s true,’ he said grudgingly. ‘I did blame you, and it was wrong of me. You’ve every bit as much right to choose your life as the next man, and it’s obvious from the look of you that the life you’ve chosen suits you well. You’re a rich man. A successful one.’
‘Much good my successes will do me here. I know nothing about sheep, and certainly not enough to go clearing my lands to bring them in.’
‘So you’ve heard that rumour, then?’
‘And I’d be happy if you’d deny it for me.’
‘I’ll be delighted to, if it’s the truth.’ Eoin kicked at the ground. ‘They do blame you, as I did. It’s not fair, but that’s how it is. Your father never got over Malcolm, and you’re right, it was as if he was deliberately letting the place go to spite you. They think you should have put Strone Bridge first. They think if you’d have come back, you could have stopped him, so the longer you stayed away, and the worse it got, the more they blamed you.’
‘Eoin, he wouldn’t have listened to me. If I’d come back while he was alive I’d have ended up murdering him. Or more likely, he’d have murdered me.’ Innes looked grimly at the cross. ‘You know what he was like. I was the second son. He wanted me to study the law in Edinburgh, for goodness’ sake! I was to be the family lackey.’
Eoin gave a bark of laughter. ‘I’ll admit, that was never on the cards.’
‘No, but you know how hard I tried to do things his way—or more precisely, how hard I tried to make him see things my way. He couldn’t care less about me. All he cared about was shaping my brother for the next laird in his own image, but he would not let me shape myself. I tried, but I was always going to leave. And when Malcolm— When it happened— How can you seriously think that would make me more likely to stay here?’
Eoin shook his head. ‘But you could have come back, at least to visit,’ he said stubbornly. ‘You would have seen how things were going. Gradual it was. I didn’t notice at first. And then— Well, like I said, I thought you deserved it. That was wrong of me. It’s why I’ve been avoiding you. You’re not the only one who feels guilty, Innes. I should have done something. I’m sorry. I should have done something, and now it’s far too late. I truly am sorry.’
He held out his hand. Hesitating only a moment, Innes gripped it. ‘I’m here now,’ he said, ‘and I need your help.’
Eoin nodded, returning the grip equally painfully. They sat together in silence on the stone bench. ‘I did write,’ Innes said eventually. ‘Only once, but I did write to my father.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ Eoin said. ‘Mhairi would surely have told me, so she can’t have known, either.’
‘Why should she?’
Eoin looked surprised. ‘She was his wife in all but name.’ He laughed. ‘You did not know?’
‘No— I— No.’ Innes shook his head in astonishment. ‘He left no provision for her in his will.’
‘Oh, he took care of that years ago. There’s an annuity, you’ll probably not have noticed it yet unless you’ve gone through the accounts, and she owns the farm over at Cairndow.’
‘Then what the devil is she doing working for me when she does not have to?’
‘Innes, for someone so far-sighted, you can be awfully blind. She’s looking out for you. She’s about the only one who is. She was ever on your side, you know, it’s the one thing she and the laird had words about, but even she thinks you should have come back. I’m not saying it’s right, I’m saying that’s how it is.’
‘I’m here now. Why can’t they see that as a step in the right direction?’
‘Maybe because they’re wondering how long it will be before you go again.’ Eoin got to his feet. ‘Think about it from their point of view, Innes. The laird obviously believed he would be the last, else he would not have been so destructive.’
‘He obviously thought I’d come back here simply to rid myself of the place. His will specifies I must remain here a year,’ Innes conceded.
‘The auld bugger obviously hoped being here would change your mind. Will you?’
Innes shook his head. ‘I haven’t a clue what I’m going to do,’ he admitted ruefully, ‘but I don’t want to sell. I’ve spent every day, since I got off that boat of yours, going round the lands, making endless lists of things that need to be done.’
Eoin laughed. ‘People think you’ve been sizing up the assets to sell.’
‘For heaven’s sake, why did no one tell me that?’
‘Why didn’t you say anything yourself, tell people your plans?’
Innes shook his head. ‘Because I don’t know what they are yet.’
‘This is not one of your projects, where you have to have your blueprints and your costs and—I don’t know—your list of materials all sorted out before you make your bid, Innes. Plans change, we all know that, but people would like to hear that they exist. They’d like to know you’re not going to sell the roof over their heads.’ Eoin got to his feet. ‘I’m glad we talked. It’s been eating away at me, the way we were when you arrived.’
This time
