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Chapter 1 - Arriving Home

AN: I have written many stories for fanfiction, and am now trying my hand at some original characters. This is a story that I have completely written, so chapters should come pretty quickly as I edit them. Please let me know what you think, feedback is incredibly valuable to authors. There will be period-appropriate discipline in this story, so please don't bother flaming me about it. I've developed a thick skin writing fanfiction. Thanks for reading!

Heather rode in the carriage with a decidedly unhappy look on her face. Her clothes, the proper mourning black, proclaimed a sadness that she did not feel. It was not for her father's or brother's death that she was unhappy, rather it was for the carriage beneath her. Had it only been a week? She asked herself. Only a week since that missive came, summoning to her home that she had not seen since she was a small girl. The missive that said that her brother had died, and she was to return.

Heather shook out her lap robe, cursing the Scottish climate that made her feel both dusty and moldy at the same time. She thought of her brother, but could only bring up a distant memory of a tall, laughing youth with a halo of strawberry blondish hair. He had been laughing, she remembered, because she had fallen in the horse trough. She now shuddered, thinking about the wild and free life she had lived as a girl. She hadn't thought of it for years, her life had become about refinement classes and deportment.

And now her brother was dead. He lay in the small cemetery on their property that had seen her father buried there only a year before. And now her future didn't lay in meeting her prince at a ball and having him apply to her distant family for permission. Did they even have balls in this godforsaken place? She wondered.

She noticed how much rougher the carriage was traveling, knowing that meant they got closer and closer to her now unbidden destiny. The driver had told her that they should reach her house by nightfall, but she looked out at the dreary grayness and wondered whether or not she could even tell the time in this drizzly country.

Then, with heart-stopping certainty, she knew that they pulled up to Broch Dun, her new home. The sounds of chickens and cows could be heard as the rattle of the carriage stilled, and she felt almost overcome with a very strange type of nostalgia. She felt at home, but didn't really feel that it was a place that was she was at home any more.

"'er here," The driver yelled to her roughly.

Breathing deeply, Heather picked up her bag and readied to descend from the coach. Once her feet were on the dusty ground, she looked around with distain at the chickens scattering and a young boy running up to her to see what excitement the carriage might be bringing.

"Here ye are, miss," the driver called in to her as he pulled the step down and opened the door. "Broch Dun."

Gathering her courage, Heather accepted his hand as an aid, and lightly stepped down from the coach. Brushing her dress off despite its futility against the road dust, she looked around. What would a heroine in a book do? She asked herself. Then, her eyes falling on the young boy, she straightened.

"Young boy," she crisply announced. "Please find your mistress and announce that she has a visitor."

"Ain't a boy," the youngster grinned up at her. "An' nae mistress."

"Isn't Mistress Cummins currently in residence?"

"Aye, she's here. Why did ye nae say so in the first place?"

The youngster ran off into the house, Heather tried to remain calm and impassive as the driver started unloading her trunks from the coach.

"Heather, is it really you?" she heard a woman call out. Turning towards the voice, Heather saw her mother who instantly looked so much smaller than she had remembered.

"Yes, it's me," she answered firmly.

In a most unladylike way her mother ran across the small yard separating them, wrapping her arms around Heather. Heather, feeling a little shocked by this outpouring of emotion as well as such intimate physical touch, could hardly react.

"This is me sister?" she heard the child she had met earlier ask.

"Aye," her mother answered, releasing Heather and wiping her eyes with her apron. "This is our Heather at last."

"Are you Molly?" Heather asked the child, hardly believing this could be the babe her mother had written to her about.

"Aye," the girl answered.

"Well, let's not stand out here gawking, let's go into the kitchen," her mother directed. "I suspect Molly is a shock to ye, so big. And a fool could mistake her fer a lad today."

Heather let herself be led into the kitchen, and her nose crinkling at the smoky peat fire and the rustic furniture. She could hardly believe that this was where she spent the first seven years of her life, so different was her normal life compared to it. With a slight swallow, she realized that this was now her normal life. Gone were the kind teachers and army of servants to see to her comfort, probably forever.

"Did you have supper yet?" she heard her mother asking.

"I'm not hungry," Heather answered.

"You hae a funny name," her young sister told her, squinting up at her. "And are ye a schoolmarm?"

"Hush, Molly, give her some time to adjust to us," her mom shushed her. "Yer father and I chose that name. Heather, since it is late, would ye like to have some tea and go to bed?"

Heather nodded dumbly, and then accepted the cup her mother handed her. Unconsciously, her fingers curled around the rough pottery of the cup as she smelled the fragrant drink. Hmm, at least this was familiar.

"Let me show ye up to your chamber," her mother directed. "Ye'll have the bed to yer own, Molly has taken to sleeping in a hammock since we took her to port last summer and she saw the sailors doing that."

Heather nodded numbly, and followed her mother up the dark stairs. Once in the room, she looked around dejectedly. The maids had nicer rooms than this at her school, and they didn't have to share them with an eight year old.

"Have a good night, my darling," her mother told her, choking a bit. "We'll talk more on the morrow, aye?"

Heather nodded, and then sat down on her bed. She sipped the tea absently, wondering suddenly where her trunk had gotten to. She saw that her mother had carried up her small carpet bag which had her nightdress, and she sighed as she began to unbutton her dress.

"Heather lass, I'm coming in with your trunk," she heard a rough voice announce, and then her door swung open.

Heather gasped, whirling to face the intruder. She began to sputter, and then sharply rapped out, "How dare you enter my chamber, sir!"

"You're welcome for your trunk," he wryly replied.

"It is not proper to thank servants," she sniffed. "Place it over there."

The man laughed as he placed the trunk. "Do ye no recognize me then? It's me, Ian Mackenzie."

"I see you have come down in the world," she icily told him. "But as fifth son, I could see how tempting a servant's position would be."

"I did no realize they made ye an idiot at that school of yers," he replied, putting his hands on his kilted hips. "I am the steward, and now the man of the family in place of yer brother."

"And you will remember your place or you will be dismissed," she told him curtly. It was good to establish their relationship now; she was not going to back down to the boy who pulled her braids as a child.

"If it weren't for yer mother and sister I would be tempted to take you up on that," he chuckled. "But be warned, legally I stand in the place of your father, and ye would be well advised to remember that."

Her eyes narrowed. "You do not scare me, Ian Mackenzie," she told him firmly.

"Well, there's no accounting for intelligence," he replied, turning to leave the room.

Heather fumed as she watched him go. The letter had said that her brother had asked his best friend to stand in his stead until she could inherit the estate, but she didn't realize that he would be her guardian as well. Well, seventeen was much too old for a guardian, and she would not submit herself to his authority. Let him father Molly if he was so excited about it.

She finished her tea, now cold, and dressed for bed. Though usually such an interaction would have her stewing for hours, the exhaustion of the trip carried her off to sleep almost as soon as her head touched the homespun pillow. Chapter 2 - Servants and Tea

"Are ye awake?" Heather heard through the fog of sleep. As she opened her eyes she wondered where she was, but after getting an eyeful of the fuzzy-haired child trying to wake her, it all came back to her.

"No," she replied, pulling the blanket over her head.

"Ye've been sleeping fer hours," she replied, bouncing on the bed. "Mam said we can no eat until ye come down."

Realizing she wasn't going to be able to go to sleep, she reluctantly sat up. "I'll be down after my toilette," she told the girl.

"Yeah! Food!" Molly yelled happily. "What's a toilette?"

"A lady does not raise her voice above a civilized tone," Heather reproached her.

"Who would want tae be a lady?" she replied. "I want tae be a cattle reiver when I grow up, living rough off the land."

Heather blanched a bit, completely at a loss for a reply, and watched her scramble off. Now that she knew that she was a girl it was obvious, but at casual glance anybody could think she was simply a wild-haired young boy. Heather realized that that could have been her if it hadn't been for the civilizing influence of the school. Maybe she should see what she could do to share some of her good fortune with her unfortunate younger sister.

After the barest minimum of face washing and hair brushing, she pulled on her plainest dress, a charcoal one with black piping. Feeling plain but hoping she would fit in better in this dress, she followed the smell of baking bannocks to the kitchen. Her stomach growled, but she was hoping that breakfast was not going to consist of something as unladylike as parrich.

"Good morrow," her mother greeted as she entered the kitchen.

"Ye did no sleep that long," she heard Ian's mocking voice. "It is no Sunday yet."

"Your dress is lovely, dear," her mother interrupted. "But why don't ye put on an apron to protect it? I was going to send ye this at school, but when I realized you were coming here I finished it . . ." her voice trailed off with a slight sob.

"We are all glad to have ye home, Heather," Ian told her, suddenly serious. "Though we all hope it had been under better circumstances."

Heather took the apron her mother offered as she surreptitiously wiped her eyes. The apron was out of soft white fabric, with several hours worth of embroidery on the hem. She could see that her mother had put a lot of work into it. "Thank you," she told her mother softly as she tied it around her waist. "The embroidery is beautiful."

"I know ye have so many pretty things at school," her mother told her. "I thought ye might want an apron that was pretty too."

"Yes," she answered, though she could not think of an occasion that would have called for her to wear an apron at school. "It is very nice."

"I'll just pull the bannocks out of the oven," she sniffed, and turned back to the oven.

"Already done, ma'am," a small woman Heather had not noticed yet told her. "Ye should sit and have yer tea."

"Thank ye, Mary," her mom answered, sitting. "I am a bit fashed."

Heather sat too, and to her relief there was enough other things that she did not have to eat the dreaded parrich. Her tea was in a pottery mug instead of a delicate china cup, but at least the milk for it was fresh and good. The fresh bannocks and other smells of the large kitchen suddenly made her feel a bit nostalgic, she could remember sitting at this very table. She remembered her mother braiding her hair as her brother teased her, and their father pouring her a cup of tea that was mostly milk. The memory had come, unbidden, and she felt a strange conflict as she remembered it. She had spent so long repressing her Scottish history, even her accent, so she could fit into the school as well as she could. But the memory was sweet and warm, something that she didn't even realize that she yearned for.

"So, how do ye like yer new sister, little bird?" Ian was asking Molly.

"I wanted one that was no so much like a schoolmarm," she answered him flippantly. "I'll bet she does no even ken how tae fish."

"From what I hear ye have no been spending enough time with the schoolmarm," Ian told her firmly.

"Who told ye? Was it Rabbie?" she demanded defensively.

"Nay, but I would have a word with him on why it was no him."

"Well, it wa' so busy with Heather comin', I did no want tae miss anything."

"You will no miss again, is that clear little bird?" he intoned solemnly. "I will have ye over my knee if ye miss again like this."

"Aye," Molly answered, reluctantly agreeing.

"And today ye will stay inside and catch up," he told her.

"But I . . ."

"Ye will stay in and be happy that yer consequence is only that."

"Aye," Molly sighed, deciding not to push it.

Suddenly the door burst open, revealing a burly, large man in a dark kilt. Heather gasped, and the bear of a man rushed to beside Ian.

"Where is he?" the man thundered. "I will kill the lad this time . . ."
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"Good morrow, brother," Ian pleasantly interrupted. "May I have the pleasure of introducing Miss Cummins, returned from school?"

"Miss Cummins?" he asked blankly, and then noticed Heather. He promptly checked himself, pulling himself upright, and then executing a bow that made his kilt swing out gracefully. "A pleasure, ma'am," he told her.

"This is my eldest living brother, William, who is also the Laird Mackenzie," Ian properly introduced.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Laird," Heather said formally. "Would you join us to break your fast? Or perhaps some ale?"

"No thank ye, miss," he politely refused. "I am here to find a disobedient servant."

"Which one?" Ian asked pleasantly.

"Ye ken I mean Hamish," the Laird replied with a slight growl in his voice. "He ran off again, and this is where he usually runs."

"I havena seen the lad," Ian replied pleasantly. "But I'll send him to home if I do."

"Ye know he's in yer barn!" the Laird thundered.

"Yer scarin' the wee lassie," Ian reproved. Heather smiled a bit, as if something as small as this gigantic Laird could actually scare Molly.

"I'm sorry, lassie," he nodded toward Molly. "I'm just worrit fer the laddie."

"I'm sure he's fine," Heather assured him. "We'll have a look for him after breakfast."
"I appreciate that, miss," he told her. "I will see ye at church on the morrow?"

"Yes, I believe so," she told him.

"Farewell," he told the room in general, then left.

For a second after his departure, the room felt strangely empty and quiet. Ian sighed, then turned to Molly. "Hop out to the barn, little bird, and tell the fugitive he might as well break his fast before I take him back."

Molly skipped out the door, and then Ian turned to Heather. "Hamish is a much younger brother," he explained. "Born on the wrong side of the sheets by a mistress my father took for a little after the death of me Mam and before his death a bit later. At first Hamish was treated as a son, though a bastard one, until his Mam slipped into harlotry. Then William suspected her of harlotry all along, and had her arrested. She died o' fever awaiting trial, and Hamish was then turned to be a servant. The Laird is harsh with him, and sometimes when he can no stand it, he runs and comes here for a bit. He'll pay the piper when he gets back, though."

"Poor boy," Heather sympathized.

"Aye," Ian answered.

Molly then returned with the boy, and Heather's sympathy heightened seeing his rough, dirty clothing and unkempt appearance. Surely even a servant should be better cared for? She could see his collarbones jutting out, emphasizing his lack of proper food.

"I thought we'd agreed that this needed to stop," Ian sternly told the boy.
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"Aye," the boy hung his head. "But Ian, he was sae mean tae me . . ."

"I ken he is no the kindest master," Ian interrupted. "But he is yer master and can treat ye how he chooses. Ye need to obey him, for both our sakes."

"Aye," he grumbled. "Cain't I stay with ye? He does nae like me, he would forget about me . . .

"Ye know ye can't," Ian sighed. "I'd let ye if ye could. But ye belong tae the Laird, and I have nae been able to change that yet. Ye need to figure out how to survive there, how to stay out of his sight as much as ye can. Now sit and fill yer belly before I take ye back."

Hamish sat and unabashedly started filling his plate. Heather watched with a mixture of awe and worry when she saw how much food the young boy could eat, and how quickly he did it. Ian smothered smile, and finished the rest of his tea.

"He should be better looked after," Heather heard her mother wistfully tell Ian. "Could we give him a wee scrub before he returns?"

"Nay, mistress," Ian gently told her. "The Laird would take it as a slight on his care. Ye are right, but I do no want to be offending him farther right before he rightfully punishes the lad. At least a full stomach is something we can give that can no be taken from the lad."

Her mother fussed over the boy, encouraging him to have a bit more milk, and then another bannock. Heather thought the boy should be close to bursting when he finally stopped and declared himself full.

"Well then, lad, 'tis time for ye to face yer fate," Ian told him. "But let's invite Miss Cummins along with us and see if that tempers our brother's wrath a bit."

Heather flushed a bit, but not at her ability to temper the man's wrath but at seeing the Laird again so quickly. She couldn't help but think that this hulk of a man would be the perfect romantic hero in one of her books, and he should fall madly in love with her.

And so the three set out, Hamish riding behind Ian on his horse, and Heather choosing a mare that had belonged to her brother. The distance to the Laird's house was a short one, being the neighboring estate. Soon enough, they arrived to the large manor house, and waited as servants announced that they had come.

"So ye brought me my servant," the Laird boomed, surveying his yard. Ian saw him eye Heather, and hoped that boded well for the lad. Usually if the Laird could be distracted for a bit, his wrath would quickly dissolve.

"Aye," Ian answered, helping the boy swing off the horse. "It's been a rough night on the lad, and I scolded him quite severely. I think he's learned his lesson."

"Have ye?" the Laird asked, his voice stern. "Come here, lad, and tell me what ye've learned."

"I'm sorry I ran," the boy confessed, close to sobbing. "I will no do it again."

"Ye said that last time," the Laird growled. "I think ye need a wee reminder." With that, he struck the boy on one ear, hard enough to make him stagger, and then brought him up straight by striking the other one.

Heather gasped loudly, hardly believing the violence done against the small boy. The Laird turned to her, and seemed to lose interest in the boy. "Go tae yer chores, lad," he told him, and Hamish scurried off. He then turned to Heather. "I am sorry ye had to witness the lad's correction," he told her smoothly. "But I worry with him disobeying me in this, I fear for his safety."

"It must be hard to check a boy like that," Heather answered, feeling conflicted. Was he the romantic hero or the abuser of small boys?

"Aye, it is," he answered. "But enough about the lad. I would like tae have ye and yer mother for supper tomorrow night."

"I must protest," Ian interrupted. "Heather has only yesterday arrived, and I would be remiss in my duties as a guardian if I let her overtire herself."

"Your brother takes prodigious care of me," she replied sweetly, though secretly she would rather be railing at Ian for interfering. But, she realized that she did not want to appear a shrew, so she smiled and instead said, "But I think by Wednesday he could have no objections to my visiting then."

"Wednesday it is," the Laird agreed. "And of course ye are welcome, brother, as her chaperone."

"Of course," he answered. "I would no let her go without me." 24 Chapter 3 - The Truce

As they rode away, Heather found herself deep in thought about the Laird. What sort of man was he really? By the size of his house he would be a good provider, would he be gentle with her as a wife?

"Thank ye, miss," Ian told her as they rode. "Were it not for ye there Hamish would have been punished far worse."

"I am glad to help," she answered. "I suppose the Laird is just trying to do his best by the boy."

"Nay, those blows he did receive were for my benefit, not Hamish's. And if ye hadn't been there, the Laird would no have been concerned about looking overly harsh. So thank ye."

Heather wondered if perhaps Ian was prejudiced against his brother for some childhood wrong, but did not want to speculate aloud on that subject. Instead, she followed as Ian took another path home.

He rode to a small cemetery, and then dismounted. Heather followed suit, and saw that he was looking at a small stone marker, freshly laid.

"Yer brother was my best friend," Ian told her softly.

"How did he die?" Heather asked, a nagging lump forming in her throat.

"A raid," he answered simply. "But that is rare, for someone tae get killed. Usually they are more for fun. It was very sad."

"I hardly remember him," Heather admitted, though the urge to cry was becoming stronger as she pictured the boy she knew now cold in the ground. "I was sent away so young."

"Jamie was a bonny man," Ian replied, looking away as if remembering. "He always did the right thing, even when it got him in trouble. He used to say that there was no difference between lying and not telling the truth. Got me into trouble."

"What happened?"

"Oh, we skipped out on a few hours of harvest tae go swimming. It was a devilish hot day, and the water felt better than anything else. But, when we got home, he told his father. We were both punished for it."

"That seems unfair."

"Oh, it was fair all right. And the worst thing was that my father was disappointed that it had been Jamie and not me that told the truth."

"I wish I had known him."

"Ye were sent away tae protect ye," Ian told her. "Ye were sent away so ye could be the heir if something happened tae yer father and Jamie."

"But what could happen?"

"The English were increasing their patrols, and some people had been arrested. But if ye were a wee girl, and a girl educated by the English, ye could save the estate and they would no dare to confiscate the lands. Yer parents spent money they didn't have and pulled in a favor from an old friend on the board of that school to get you there."

"Father died of a fever," Heather bitterly answered. "And Jamie in a raid. Sending me away was unnecessary."

"Aye," Ian answered. "But ye should know why it was done."

They waited together for a few minutes, looking at the stone. Then Ian cleared his throat, "I brought ye here to show ye how seriously I take the job yer brother gave me, of being yours and Molly's guardian."

"I see," Heather answered, feeling like she wasn't going to like where this was going.

"And as yer guardian, especially given yer age, one of my important jobs will be tae guide ye tae a proper husband."

"Yes?" Heather responded, as if he were a child explaining a drawing.

"And as such, I should tell ye now that I do no approve of Laird Mackenzie as a match for ye."

"Well, I do not believe that I will heed your advice, thank you, Ian," she replied tartly. "I am capable of making these decisions without you."

"Ye need me to approve of any marriage," he firmly told her. "And I thought it fair tae warn ye off my brother. But if ye need tae test me and see if I really have this authority, that's what ye have tae do."

Somehow, his words made Heather feel like a recalcitrant toddler and him the long suffering parent. She didn't reply and acknowledge his command, but simply ignored him.

"But I would have a favor of ye, Heather. I need a truce for the next hour as I deal with Molly."

"What?"

"Molly has been following us all along, in direct disobedience to my orders, and now I have to deal with her. Truce?"

Heather nodded, and Ian called out, "I've seen ye, Little bird, ye can show yerself."

"How far back did ye see me?" she asked. "Is my tracking getting better?"

"Ye disobeyed me," Ian sternly told her.

"If you go home now and start studying, I will help you," Heather interrupted, not liking how firm Ian was being. "You didn't mean to be naughty, did you?"

"Too nice o' day," Molly impudently replied. "And I wanted tae see if Hamish would be fine."

"Since ye will no obey yer sister," Ian growled. "Ye will wait for me in your chamber. I made a promise this morning that now I intend tae make good."

"But that was for skipping school!" she protested, suddenly worried. "I did nae do that!"

"Ye did, since this were to make up," Ian replied. "And ye directly disobeyed me, at any rate. Now go home and wait for me."

Molly did obey this time, and Ian looked at Heather, suddenly not so stern. "I need ye tae take yer Mam for a walk," he told her.

"Why?" Heather asked.

"Because it upsets her when Molly gets tawsed," he told her.

"Do you do this all that often?"

"Nay, this will be the first," he told her, his voice slightly shaking. "She has been testing me for a long time, it is time for me to step up and do it."

"Molly is the daughter of a gentleman, it is hardly suitable for her to be spanked by the steward."

"Aye, but I must be like a father to her," Ian explained. "'Tis what yer brother wanted. And if I don't check her, there is nobody else."

Heather saw his point, though she disagreed. "I will take my mother for a walk to spare her," she agreed. "But I suggest you do not make a habit of this."

"I barely know how I'm going to do it once," Ian admitted, and they remounted. "I love the girl, aye?"

Heather realized how he cared for the girl, and managed to feel a bit of sympathy for Ian. Though his methods barbaric, she could see a certain logic behind making the young hellion that was her sister obey authority, even the authority of a man who was just the steward.

When they returned, Heather coaxed her mother out on a walk. Her mother agreed, leaving Mary with the morning's baking, and they strolled around the courtyard in silence.

"So Ian is finally giving Molly her comeuppance," she observed, shocking Heather. "I was beginning to think she would lose all respect for him if he did no do it soon."

"I thought you didn't know!" Heather exclaimed.

"Aye, I knew," she sighed. "Yer father would always send me out on an errand or for a walk when any of ye children needed correction."

Heather didn't reply, and began to think she may have misjudged her mother as softer and weaker than she really was.

"It must be so strange to ye," she told Heather softly. "Tae be home, but to find us strangers. I know I can no ask ye tae love me again so soon, but maybe ye can think about forgiving me? For not being able to stop the wheels that turned tae take ye from my arms all those years ago?"

Heather, not knowing how to respond, began to wonder if her mother had a bit of the second sight.

When they returned home, Ian was rushing out with a disturbed look on his face. Heather climbed the steps to the bedroom to find her sister curled up on the bed.

"Are you all right?" she asked her softly.

"Aye," Molly sniffed. "He was no too harsh. It's just that it seems real now, that Da and Jamie are gone."

Heather sat beside the girl and patted her back. Surprisingly, the girl turned and laid across her lap, wrapping her arms around her waist. She felt more for her father's loss through this young girl than she had ever felt before. She was beginning to see the hole left by him.

Molly then sat up, and looked at Heather through teary eyes. "Could ye tell Ian that I'm all right?" she asked.

"Yes," she answered.

"He'll be in the woodshed, chopping," Molly told her. "That's what he does when he's upset."

Heather found her way to the woodshed, and sure enough Ian was there chopping. Heather had not seen him with his shirt off before, and she was momentarily stunned by the sight of so much naked flesh. Though he was much smaller and more compact than the Laird, she saw now that his muscles were powerful too.

"Is the lass all right?" he asked her, wiping sweat off his forehead.

"Yes," Heather answered. "She said she cried because she misses her Dad and Jamie."

"Aye, I miss them too," he replied. "This fatherhood thing is very hard. I did no expect tae be one so quickly. And I will never make that threat lightly, for I am loathe to keep it."

"I don't think Molly was too happy, either."

"So ye know that I mean it and I am serious when I say that if ye do anything to encourage the suit of Laird Mackenzie, I will have ye over my knee for it."

"You have no right," she told him lightly.

"I do," he replied. "But if ye must test me like Molly, that is what ye need to do. It is yer backside. I just thought it fair to warn ye of the consequences."

Heather stomped off, not answering him. How dare he! An eight year old was one thing, but she was a woman grown! Clearly, the truce was over. Chapter 4 - Dinner with the Laird

Molly came down for lunch, and her eyes immediately locked with Ian. They looked at each other for a second, then Ian smiled a bit.

"Are ye all right, little bird?" he asked her softly.

"Aye," she answered solemnly. "Do ye hate me now?"

Instead of answering, he walked over and gathered the young girl in his arms. She clung to him, and he stroked her hair gently. "I love ye," he told her gently. "I always will. I spanked ye because ye need tae learn to obey me, not because I don't like ye."

He put her down, and then winked a bit. "Ye can borrow that cushion in my chamber if ye need it," he told her. "But ye need tae spend the afternoon working tae catch up yer lessons."

"Aye," she agreed.

"Good. Harvest is starting, so I'll need tae be in the fields this afternoon. Heather, have ye much experience in the kitchen?"

"Why?" she asked.

"If ye could help in the kitchen, then Mary might be spared tae help in the fields. During harvest we need every hand we can get."

"I suppose," she answered unenthusiastically. "But not on Wednesday, I need time to create a proper toilette for dinner with Laird Mackenzie."

"Oh, has the Laird invited us for supper?" her mother asked. "How kind of him. This must be a compliment to ye, Heather, he has not asked for my company in many a year."

"I think the Laird is overly complimentary," Ian growled a bit.

"Shame on ye, Ian," her mother frowned. "He is our neighbor and yer brother. We should not slander him."

"I'm sorry, mistress," he replied, chagrined. "Ye are right, we should be more charitable."

"There should be nothing amiss with a simple supper with a respectable gentleman," Heather told him. "And you shall be there for all of it anyway, Ian. It will all be fine and we shall have a delightful evening."

The time that passed until Wednesday went by slowly. Heather found that helping her mother in the kitchen was not such easy work. Since she had only a very rudimentary knowledge of cooking, she was given the tedious and boring parts while her mother did the more intricate work of cookery. And she was amazed at how many dirty dishes they made. Even a simple thing like making bread dirtied countless bowls, spoons, and counters. She began to worry that her smooth hands would callous and harden before she was able to attract a good husband.

Those working in the fields had it much harder. They were harvesting from the crack of dawn to dusk, trying to get the oats and straw in before the rain came. Heather brought out their food and water several times during the day, bringing a welcome break to the laborers. Even boys as young as Rabbie, the head stable lad helped, though he usually went to school during the day. Molly still went to school, as Ian insisted, though she of course would much rather be helping in the field.

But Wednesday did come, and Heather and her mother put up food for everyone else to eat while they were gone, and then began to prepare for the evening. Heather knew she would have to wear a black dress, due to the fact that she should still be in mourning for her brother. But, she reasoned, her black dress was very fashionable and she could do her hair in a very becoming manner as well. She should look properly demur and bowing to the dictates of society, as well as pretty and appealing. She even dusted her nose with a light dusting of rice powder and put the slightest of fragrance behind her ears and on her wrists. She wished she could wear one of her beautiful ball gowns, but knew it would not only be inappropriate for mourning, but also for a simple supper in the country.

When she descended the stairs, she surely felt more like herself than she had in a long time. Her mother was also dressed very nicely, though much less extravagantly than Heather.

"Ye look fine, Heather," she heard Ian tell her.

She turned, and saw Ian in full highland dress, with his dress kilt, a white ruffled shirt and a tight black jacket. She smiled a bit, not realizing that he could look so well all cleaned up.

"If you had trouble getting away from the fields, I'm sure my mother would make a proper chaperone," she told him tartly.

"It will be my pleasure to escort ye, my lady," he told her, not rising to her bait. "Rarely have I had the pleasure of escorting two such lovely ladies."

Heather did soften a bit, it was hard not to when he was trying so hard to be charming. Pulling the wrap around her shoulders, she took his arm as he led her to the awaiting carriage. She winced a bit at the shabbiness of the carriage, but she was certain that this would be the best night she'd had in a long time.

When she entered the Laird's manor, she realized how much she had gotten used to the squalor at Broch Dun. The entryway was clean, well-decorated, and they were greeted by a manservant and shown into the dining room. Heather performed every move and inflection perfectly as she had been trained. She savored the food delicately, never eating more than half of what was on her plate. She sipped the wine reservedly, knowing better than drinking more than one to two full glasses, just in case it would lower her guard.

"How are you finding our little neck of the woods?" the Laird asked her.

"Very well," she answered. "Though a bit different than school."

"I imagine so," he chuckled.

"How is young Hamish, sir?" she asked coyly.

"Settling down to work," he replied. "I think a little discipline is just what the lad needed."

"It must be hard to have such a young lad on your staff."

"Aye," he answered. "But that's the responsibilities of being a Laird."

Ian snorted, and then pretended to be very interested in his food. Seeking inspiration, Heather then asked, "Tell me, what was Ian like as a boy?"

"Ian?" the Laird chuckled. "The baby of the family, aye? He was always in trouble, but our parents had a soft spot for him."

"I think ye were a bit lacking on the discipline," Ian replied. "After all, it was no me that got kicked out of school."

"Aye, but ye should have been more often," the Laird replied.

"You two make me wish I'd known my brother better," Heather interrupted. "It must have been fun to grow up together."

They both snorted a bit, and Heather wished that she knew the source of the animosity between these two men.

"If ye are so curious as to what Ian was like as a youngster, would you care to see a painting done of us as children?"

"That would be lovely," she replied, wiping her mouth. "I would like to very much."

"It is, unfortunately, on the top floor and your mother may not be strong enough for the climb."

"That's all right, Ian will keep her company."

"I hardly think its appropriate for ye to be going off alone with a man," Ian objected.

"You silly goose," Heather giggled. "Unless you are impugning my honor or your brother's, you don't have a good reason not to let us go look at a painting."

Ian realized that Heather had trapped him, there was now no way for him to prevent it without either calling her loose or his brother a seducer. So he acquiesced, and waited down below wondering what they were doing.

"Here it is," the Laird pointed. "Mother had this done when she was sure Ian was the last of the lot."

"I see you had an older brother," she observed, looking at the portrait.

"Discussing my family is not why I invited you up here," he softly told her.

"Really, and why did you?"

"To steal a kiss from a very beautiful woman. May I?"

Heather scarcely breathed her consent when his lips captured hers, and held them in a gentle embrace. Her lungs felt like they were ready to burst all at once, and her knees shook.

"Heather, we'll be going now," she heard Ian intone sternly.

"You should knock," she told him lightly.

"Ye should not need me to," he answered curtly. "Yer mother is tired, we need to be going."

"All right, I'll get my wrap," she answered, still on a cloud.

She completely missed the black glare that Ian shot at her, and followed her mother out the door. Chapter 5 - Comeuppance

On the way home, Heather's head was so full of romance and kissing that she barely noticed either Ian's black anger or the absence of conversation. That had been her first kiss, and she saw why the books made such a fuss over it. And now he would ask Ian for her hand . . .

"Mistress, I think maybe ye should visit that Mary McKinnon down the road before bed. She was just telling me today that she was missing her mother with the new babe and all. Maybe you could take her some of that brose to help bring on her milk. I'll send Molly with ye tae help."

"That sounds like a good idea," she answered thoughtfully. "I'm glad we have you to look after the people."

A note of worry crossed Heather's mind at her mother being sent on an errand. But she pushed that away, surely nothing could spoil her night now.

"I'll just go up to bed, then," Heather told Ian as her mother was leaving.

"Nay, ye will remain," he told her. "We need to have a discussion first."

"About what?"

"Ye ken about whit. I ordered ye tae dae nothing tae encourage the Laird's suit, and I find ye kissing him!"

"Because you're being silly! He is an eligible match, and for whatever childish reason you disagree!"

"Never mind that your people are depending on ye tae make a good choice tae protect their lives! Never mind that me brother would have half o' them on the street within the week of yer marriage! All ye care about is yer stupid storybook idea of romance and acting like a trollop!"

"I am not a trollop, and you have no right to order me," she replied coldly. "I am the heir, and I make decisions pertaining to my life."

"I do and ye will feel my right," he growled. "Now go upstairs to your chamber to wait for me there. Make sure ye have a modest shift on."

"Why?"

"Because I intend to make good on my promise and I dinnae think ye would feel it through all those skirts."

"You cannot be serious!" she yelled, her voice becoming shrill. "You are deluded if you think you have this kind of authority over me!"

"Ye will obey me and go upstairs now or I will bend ye over the kitchen table and tae hell with cooling off me temper first!"

"I will not!" she yelled back at him.

Ian knew in his head that he could not administer her punishment while he was so angry, so he grabbed her arms as gently as he could manage and began to push her up the stairs.

"Perhaps we can talk more when your temper has cooled," she told him, trying to save face against the obvious necessity of her going upstairs. "But I'm tired now, so I'll go upstairs."

Heather went upstairs, but did not start to change. Whatever happened that night, and if he would come up to argue with her more, she would face it with her clothes on. Ian's reference to her shift made her squirm a bit uncomfortably, but surely that reference was just to scare her.

After several minutes, she heard Ian's footsteps ascending the stairs, and her stomach flipped a bit. He opened his door, and his appearance scared her more than anything had before that. His face was set and hard with determination. He had taken off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and he was carrying his second-best belt in his hand. She shivered when she realized just how hard and strong his body looked. He closed the door, and then sat down on the bed. Looking at her sternly, he said, "Bend over me lap and lift yer skirts, lass. Leave your shift down for modesty."

"I will not!" she answered, trying not to make her lips quiver.

"Ye will. Either ye will cooperate and yer debt will be paid at six strokes, or the account doubles. Your choice."

For the first time, Heather entertained the idea that he might actually use that wicked-looking belt on her posterior. She looked at the knee she was supposed to bend over and found her stomach sinking. The right and wrong of the situation seemed less important, she kicked into survival mode. She was always good at sweet-talking her teachers at school, so she licked her lips and smiled sweetly.

"Surely you have kissed a lass in your day."

"We are talking about ye, no me."

"It was just a fanciful moment, nothing to it. I will submit to your authority from now on."

"I might believe ye if I didnae suspect ye of trying to save yer backside. Now, ye will not be able to talk yer way oot of this, ma gal."

Heather then felt her panic rising, and gauged the distance to the door. Ian saw her do it, and easily caught her around the waist as she began her sprint. He easily turned her over his lap and held her in place with his arm, and let her kick ineffectually against his muscular leg. She squirmed and fought, but she could have been hitting a brick wall for all its effect. Her hands pounded against his thighs covered with his kilt as he lifted her skirts.

"This is not right! Not proper!" she screeched.

"Aye, but it will happen," he replied. "Now what is it, twelve?"

"You bastard!" she spat. "I'll scream."

"Aye, ye've got a good set of lungs. Scream away."

With that, the doubled belt began to fall. After the first few blows, Heather fought fiercely, then eventually she submitted and sobbed.

After it was done, Ian picked her up and placed her on the bed. He had been so angry at her that he had felt she deserved what she got, but now she looked just so small and pitiful. He sat beside her bed, listening to her cries slow and then she hiccupped.

"Why are you still here?" she asked him. "You did it."

"Poor lass," he softly told her. "Everything must be so new tae ye. This is just a harsh lesson that ye are in a different world, and ye must obey me. But it must be so, for all of us tae survive."
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"You did not have to beat me half to death to prove that point."

"Obviously I did not do a thorough enough job if ye are still saucy," he told her with a smile. "Do ye want me tae tell yer Mam, so she can care for ye?"

"Nay," Heather answered. "I don't want to talk about it. But is this what ye did to Molly?"

"Not quite. For one thing, she cooperated. And I used my hand, a strap is too harsh for a wee lassie. Ye'll feel better tomorrow, but won't be easy until the next day."

"Do you beat people all that often?"

"Nay," he answered. "But I've been on the receiving end countless times. William was right when he said I liked mischief as a child."

Heather felt strangely comforted by this man who had inflicted her suffering in the first place, was confused on how to feel. Ian left her there, and she lay there stewing about what had happened. Well, she would just have to be more careful. This was never happening to her again. She gingerly changed into her sleeping garments, and carefully laid down again, careful of her sore backside.

After some time, Molly came into the room softly. She came over to Heather, who had decided to pretend like she was asleep to avoid conversation.

"Ye urnae asleep, yer breathing is all wrang," Molly informed her. "Sae was it that bad, then?"

"Yes," Heather answered, resigned.

"How many did he give ye?"

"Twelve," Heather sighed.

"Strap?" she asked clinically.

Heather nodded miserably.

Molly whistled lowly, and climbed up into bed with her sister. Heather curled around her, careful to not lay on her backside. For some reason this strange girl that was her sister comforted her more with those few words than she would have thought possible.

"I didnae think he would do that, ye being a lady," Molly sleepily told her as she cuddled up a bit more. "But he is a good man, aye? He's trying to do the best by us."

Heather thought about that as she held the girl drifting off to sleep. Was she a lady? What did that even mean anymore? And was Ian actually trying to take this guardianship thing seriously or was he just sick and twisted and trying to have authority over them? Was he a bully or trying his best to be a father? Heather thought about that as she held the girl drifting off to sleep. Was she a lady? What did that even mean anymore? And was Ian actually trying to take this guardianship thing seriously or was he just sick and twisted and trying to have authority over them? Was he a bully or trying his best to be a father?
Well, she didn't need a father, she decided. Besides, he was only a few years older than her. She would find a way to circumvent his authority, but of course Heather thought about that as she held the girl drifting off to sleep. Was she a lady? What did that even mean anymore? And was Ian actually trying to take this guardianship thing seriously or was he just sick and twisted and trying to have authority over them? Was he a bully or trying his best to be a father?
Well, she didn't need a father, she decided. Besides, he was only a few years older than her. She would find a way to circumvent his authority, but of course never be in this position again.