Ismay finds herself alone without money to pay the taxes on her home. Scotland is a hard taskmaster in the early 1800's leaving Ismay with few choices in her efforts to survive. Crossing paths with Ian MacAllen, a wealthy landowner in the town of Crieff, is not in her plans, but neither is indentured servitude. Though he gives her little choice in the matter, and her home is all she has. Paying her debt is necessary to keeping her family's heritage alive.
Comrie, Scotland
Comrie is Ismay's home and land. She'll do anything to hold onto it as she's lost her parents, and it is all she holds dear.
Ian MacAllen
Will Ismay ever gain Ian's trust as she serves him in her home to pay back the debt she owes? Will he see that she is faithful to him and learn of her true feelings?
Excerpt from book...
Ismay withdrew her foot from a puddle she’d stepped in which had pooled on the edge of Crieff’s cobblestone streets. “Hech ay!” She whispered under her breath. “I’m quite sure a kelpie’s been causing mischief the day long!” She crossed herself at the thought of one of those wickit water demons afoot.
Och! It was 1810, and she was twenty now, another year older. And here she was still afeart of tricks cast upon her, brought on by all those auld Celtic tales she’d haird so often around the fires at night as a wee bairn. “No, it couldn’t be kelpies, but maybe something else.”
Though her rain-soaked, buckled shoe irked her sorely, she supposed it was no worse than what had happened moments afore. The homespun gray skirt and blue plaid scarf, she’d so carefully chosen on this particular day, were ruined from a muddy onslaught of a carriage wheel.
She reached up and shoved a wet strand of hair away from her face. She wiped the smudges from her mud-spattered face with her hand. She supposed she’d smeared the grit on her cheeks rather than wiped it clean.
She shook her hands. This ill-kindit day was turning out tae be the ruin of iverything!
She was a muddy mess. Now how would she convince some vendor or shop owner tae take her seriously, as clarty as she was, not fit for seeing? Efter this, any auld Scot would turn a blind eye tae her and consider her a scunner.
She breathed a sigh. Not that she’d had any luck earlier that day wi’ the townfolk here. But, surely there would be one person in Crieff who might offer her wark. She couldn’t imagine there not being one wee job for her tae take on during Michaelmas, the largest cattle sale of the year.
She shivered as she tightened her scarf securely around her shoulders.
If she did not get the money soon, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. She’d seen the look of the tairible tax man who’d visited only last week wi’ his hatesome speech and his hand stretched out. If only her faither’s cattle were still in her possession! Her cheeks fired with heat. Trying tae steal her heirship from her is what that ill-kindit man was attempting tae do, but she wasn’t without a watherful fight and wouldn’t let go of her rightful holdings that easily. She was speeritie and not without vigor. That scoonrel, as ill-kindit as he was, would have the ridiculous coins she owed him. The hatesome man should have given her a wee bit more time tae come up wi’ the burdenous amount, at least a month or two tae grieve her losses.
A tear settled in her eye, but she straightened and held it back. She’d no time for crying about what might have been. She turned suddenly when the bold, bonnie sound of a highlander’s pipes in the distance plucked at her heart. Its melody ran through her blood at the sound of it growing steadily louder. Oh! They were comin’ ‘round the corner, the Crieff musicians wi’ the red and green plaid!
The music brought back memories of her childhood.
She recalled making her way down this very same path on cattle days wi’ a skip and a beat while chasing the comforting, hearty sound. She’d been proud tae be a Scot through and through and shed a tear when they’d passed her. Naught had changed since then as she still couldn’t keep these tears from stealing onto her cheeks.
She stepped back onto the street without regard to her surroundings magnetized by the bagpipe’s strong melody. Her heart fluttered.
“Whoa, Lass! Do you wish tae be run over!”
Ismay put out her hand to hold back the horses which were on a path headed for her. Her frilled bonnet fell to the ground into the mud.
Indeed! What more swickerie could that auld kelpie be up tae? That water demon should go back tae his loch. Ismay crossed herself again.
She took a firm hold of the bridle of one of the horses. It had been bearing down on her, and she held it still. “Oo aye! There’s a braw mare. You must not be anxious sweetie.” She cooed softly to the large animal though it was nearly three times her size.
“Indeed!” A woman’s shrill voice rang out from a seat next to the man. “A clarty gypsy, and a muddy mess she is.” The woman stared down her nose at Ismay with a look of disdain. “You take your hands from the horse, tinker! I’ll not have ye touching what doesn’t belong tae you.”
She turned to the man with a haughty air. “They’ll pilk off wi’ your last shullin if ye daena watch them.”
Ismay picked up her hat. She let out a sound as she eyed the unwelcome pair. Pilk off wi’? Clarty gypsy? The woman was rude tae say such wickit things about the tinkers. Her foggy childhood memories of the traveling wagon people were pleasant enough. They were certainly not as the woman had made them out tae be.
Ismay straightened as she held her bonnet in her hand. She looked the woman in the eye. “I’m an heiress, and I’ve a parcel of land in Comrie and a heartsome home of dark whinstone tae prove it!”
Dark strands of damp hair fell loosely over her shoulder. She pushed them back. She brushed at the mud on her skirt and cheek.
The man in the wagon seat had been studying Ismay beneath dark brows that were tilted inward. His jaw had been set firmly in place until Ismay spoke, then his mouth suddenly curved up on one side. An amused grin spread over his face. “An heiress you say?”
Ismay’s large blue eyes widened as she stared back at him. “Tis true! I do have land. You might not believe it, but it’s as right as the good book of oor Lord and Savior.”
She backed away from the horse.
The man smiled but didn’t answer her.
“She’s a clarty tinker. Look at that mud and filth.” The woman reached up and tucked a strand of sleek, coppery hair behind her ear. Her large, pouty lips opened slightly, and her dark brown eyes narrowed as they roved over Ismay’s clothing. “Heiress! Indeed!”
“And you’re not a lady but a low-born wutch, instead!” Ismay stared at the woman and wagged a finger at her. “Indeed!” The woman got up.
“Grizel.” The man turned to the woman and tugged on her sleeve. “This blether of tongue is not mannerly. The lass’ dreich situation is not of her own doing. There’s no need tae dispute the matter.”
“Dreich?” Ismay stepped to higher ground and lifted her chin as she spoke. “I told ye that I’m an heiress, and I’m not in any ill-aft position.”
The man held firmly to the horse’s reins. A look of interest spread over his face, but he said nothing.
“You daena believe me, sir, but I tell ye the truth.”
The horse shook its head and let out a snort.
The red-haired woman stared at Ismay darkly. “Ian, I believe you’re right. This wee tinker isn’t worth oor time. Let’s not sit here in the way and listen tae the waif rander on as she does. Oor business is on the other side of toun.”
Ismay gave the woman an annoyed look.
The man sighed. He turned and spoke quietly. “Move aside, love. My horse is itching tae go on. Another blaud might be comin’ again shortly, and you’ll need tae find your way back tae your family afore your caught in it.” He smiled and tipped his head.