ONE
Miles’ End Farm
Dumfriesshire, Scotland
1811
“I’ll kill her!”
The front door slammed, thrusting an exclamation point on the threat.
Iona rolled her eyes as she wiped her sticky hands on her apron. “What did Shona do this time?”
Her husband lumbered into the kitchen and wedged his hatchet into the wooden table.
“It’s no’ what she did. It’s what she has no’ done. I ordered her to bring in the flock from the field before midday. Farragut will be here any minute to take the lambs to be butchered. She’s disappeared and taken the damned sheep with her!”
Iona’s loose bun wobbled as she turned back to the task of stuffing the chicken with the oniony skirlie. “Well, what did ye expect? Ye know how she gets. As soon as ye mentioned the word ‘slaughter,’ she was bound to rescue the lambs. I told ye to send her off to market today. Getting those lambs away from Shona will be like tryin’ to pry the cubs from a she-bear.”
Hume jerked the worn tam off his head, revealing a shiny white scalp. Though his face was bristling with
thick ginger hair, there was not a single strand above his bushy eyebrows. “Every blessed spring we go through this.”
Iona hoisted the pan heavy with two stuffed chickens and hung it from the hook inside the fireplace. Her back screamed as she righted her rounded frame. “After near ten years workin’ for ye, ye should know the lass well enough by now.”
“If I had only put my foot down in the first place. I knew she’d be trouble from the moment I laid eyes on her. I told ye so, didn’t I? I told ye we should ha’ only taken in the fair one. Every time I listen to ye, I end up having to eat ma own liver.” He stuffed a hunk of bread into his mouth.
“Och, Hume. Ye know perfectly well we couldna take one sister and no’ take the other.”
“Aye, we could ha’!” Crumbs of bread flew out of his mouth. “’Twas required we take only one parish apprentice, no’ two. And
slaighteurs,
no less! Two mouths to feed, two backs to clothe—”
“And two pairs of hands to do all the work that ye’re too old to do, so shut yer pie-hole.”
Hume grumbled. “Why can’t Shona be more like her sister? I don’t understand it. They eat the same food, sleep in the same bed, wear the same clothes. We grew them alike. Why is the one so obedient and docile, and the other so full of her own mind?”
Iona’s thoughts turned to the gentle Willow. The twin sisters could not be more dissimilar. Not just in looks, but in disposition. The murder of their parents must have affected them in entirely different ways. The fair-haired Willow was a beauty, but terrified of her own shadow. She was not docile; she was dominated.
Shona, on the other hand, had grown fangs and claws. Since the night she had witnessed the brutal slaying of
her parents and older brothers, Shona had grown into an untamable wildcat, and it was not to Hume’s liking. Oh, they got along well enough, whenever they shared funny stories in the evening or when they were of one mind on an issue. But if Shona Slayter had to stand up to him, stand up she did, and woe betide him if he tried to put her in her place. Yet there was a chink in her armor, and Hume knew what it was. She had a weakness for all things defenseless, especially her twin sister. And, of course, lambs destined for slaughter.
“If she doesna bring back those sheep before Farragut arrives, I’ll … I’ll—”
Iona ignored him, and began to slice the carrots. Hume never could finish that sentence.
The sound of carriage wheels crushing the gravel outside made Hume groan. “Och! Farragut has arrived! Damn that lass! So help me, Iona, I’ll make that girl obey me if it’s the last thing I do!” He wedged the cap back on his head and stormed off as fast as his bowed legs would carry him.
There would be the devil to pay for this. And Shona Slayter was about to become the chosen currency.