Page 39 of Taming the Highland Misfits
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As soon as Isla went behind the bar with Iain, Finley made his way around the back of the building until he found the window of the office, and he listened to the entire conversation between Isla and Iain. He was lost in admiration for her acting skills; she sounded completely genuine when she described how sorry she was about running away. However, even the sound of Iain Crawford’s voice made him furious, and every word he spoke made Finley hate him more and more. He and Isla had arranged that she should play the part of his repentant fiancée, but his jealousy was making it more and more difficult by the moment.
When they stood up to leave, Finley made his way around the building again and saw them riding away. He followed them to the Black Hog and went inside, checking carefully to see if any of the bandits were there. He could see none, so he surreptitiously followed Iain and Isla around, keeping a watchful eye on them the whole time.
Iain was quite shamelessly showing Isla off to everyone in the tavern, men and women alike. The men looked envious, but the women mostly looked contemptuous, and Isla felt uncomfortable and ashamed. She played her part, however, and no one would ever have guessed that she felt nothing but contempt for the man by her side.
When they left the tavern, after an hour or so of torturous small talk, they rode back to the Lonely Shepherd, and Iain proposed that they eat supper in the tavern.
“I am havin’ my cook dae a haunch o’ venison,” Iain announced as they sat down.
“That sounds delicious,” Isla remarked with a wide smile. “I am ravenous.”
“Aye, so am I,” Iain agreed, rubbing his hands together. Isla could almost see him drooling. However, she recognised the double meaning in his words; he was not just hungry for food!
‘This is going to be disgusting,’she thought, shuddering inwardly. She was right. Iain tore great bites from the meat and chewed noisily with his mouth wide open, spitting saliva everywhere. He slugged down great mouthfuls of ale with a horrible slurping sound, and dripped grease onto his clothes as he ate.
The meal was interminable. No sooner had Iain finished his first helping than he asked for a second, then finally pronounced himself satisfied, to Isla’s enormous relief.
Finley had stationed himself out of their sight, since he did not want to be seen.
After the meal, Iain gave a great belch and patted his enormous stomach. Isla felt sick.
“My, my, ye’re no’ a big eater, are ye, Isla?” Iain observed, looking at her half empty plate.
“No,” she replied, smiling shyly. “My mother taught me it is better to eat little and often.”
“I prefer big an’ often,” he said, then laughed at his own joke. “Aye, well, whatever suits ye, hen.” Iain patted her hand with his own damp, meaty one. “When we are married, ye shall have whatever your wee heart desires. Speakin’ o’ which, I have somethin’ else tae show ye.” He stood up and led her to the top of a staircase just beside the bar. “What does your heart really desire?” His piggy eyes were gleaming.
Isla looked around carefully as if making sure no one was listening, then said in a low voice: “I have always desired gold. It is so beautiful.” She saw Finley standing just out of Iain’s line of sight, and felt more relaxed at once.
Iain’s eyes lit up. “Then ye are in luck, my Isla.” He took her hand and led her downstairs into the beer cellar, where she saw a dozen or so great barrels of ale standing like soldiers waiting to be summoned to duty.
In one corner, however, she saw four that were only a fraction of the size of the beer kegs. She pointed to them. “What is in those ones?” she asked curiously.
“Ah, those are my treasures,” Iain replied, with an unholy light in his eyes. He pointed to three of the barrels one after the other. “These three are my finest French wine that I keep for very special customers, like your Da. But this one -” He pointed to the last little barrel—“is very special.” He picked it up and shook it, and Isla heard a metallic rattling sound. “What dae ye think is in here?”
“Coins?” Isla asked doubtfully.
“Goldcoins.” Iain’s voice was sickeningly smug. “Here. Take it.” He handed her the barrel and laughed as Isla almost dropped it. It was much heavier than it looked!
“Aye, heavy stuff, gold,” Iain said with a grin of satisfaction. “Foreign coins. I think they are Spanish, but I cannae read any tongue but English so I dinnae know.”
“How much are they worth?” Isla asked, trying to sound curious rather than delighted. She was ecstatic at having found exactly what they had been looking for so soon, but would not let her delight show in her face lest Iain become suspicious.
Iain smirked. “More than most people round here can earn in twenty years, hen,” he replied smugly. “An’ it is a’ mine an’ my Da’s. You are goin’ tae be a very rich woman, sweetheart. As long as ye are married tae me.” He stepped up to her and was about to kiss her, but before their lips could touch, Isla burst into a fit of coughing, then took out a handkerchief and wiped her nose.
“I am so sorry, Iain,” she said sadly. “I think I have caught a cold and I don’t want to pass it on to you.”
He stepped back immediately, looking irritated. They ascended the stairs again, and Iain said firmly: “ye cannae go home yet, Isla. There are too many bad men out there, but there is a room in my house ye can sleep in, an’ I promise ye will come tae nae harm.”
“That is very kind of you, Iain.” She smiled at him, and for a split second she thought she detected some genuine warmth in his eyes, but it was gone so quickly Isla decided that she had imagined it.
She had no fears for her own safety; she would lock the door and leave the key in the keyhole, then place a chair in front of it. Anyway, she doubted that Iain was capable of any mischief, since he was already half drunk.
Finley had been crouched uncomfortably under the stairs that led to the upper storey, and as Isla and Iain came back upstairs, he heard the last bit of their conversation. He smiled. So far, everything was going to plan.
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