Page 43 of The Iron Earl
Evalyn looked up to Domnall and then back to Lachlan. “Then why are you marrying her?”
“His grandfather, the marquess, deemed it so.” Domnall spoke up before Lachlan could answer. “And don’t listen to Lach on this one. Karta is a bonny lass from MacDougall lands. Fine Scottish bloodlines in her. And we need the union so we can expand our sheep stock.”
An odd smile breached her lips. “So you are to marry for sheep?”
Lachlan sighed, rubbing his hand across his eyes. He flung one more death glare at Domnall before looking to Evalyn. “Much of the lands surrounding ours have been cleared away for grazing, and herders have been brought in from England to tend to the sheep flocks. It is where the funds to support the lands and the people currently are. Tenant farming is not enough to suffice any longer.”
Her look shifted to Domnall. “These are the clearings you were telling me about?”
“You told her about the Swallowford lands?” Lachlan’s words cut through the air.
Domnall met his look and then shrugged.
Lachlan’s look shifted to Evalyn. “Yes. The clearings. Some lands, like the ones north of ours, have been bought up by Englishmen and the farmers have been removed from their homes—entire glens hacked to barren wastelands.”
Her gold-green eyes softened. “Domnall said it has been harsh.”
“Yes. Cruel in some instances.” The muscles along his neck, across his jaw tightened into hard spasms. He had to take a breath to relax enough to continue. “But on Vinehill lands, we’re bringing the sheep and retraining our farmers into the trade so they can stay in place. We’re building factories for the processing of the wool. New roads for trade.”
Evalyn nodded. “So you need her family’s sheep?”
“We do. They have the finest sheep—Cheviot—in the land. If we can cross breed with their herds, improving our stock, the value of our flocks grows considerably. And the roads we are building lead to theirs and they can cut us off from the closest ports if they choose to. They also have investment funds for shared mills. A new one was to be built in the new year.”
“I understand.” A bright smile flashed across her face, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “That does make proper sense. It sounds like it will be a fruitful partnership for both families.”
“That is the thought behind it,” Lachlan said, unable to stifle the sigh that had welled in his chest. “Believe me, I’ve heard my grandfather laud the many ways it will behoove us.”
“But you are not happy with the match?”
He shrugged, looking ahead. “It was never supposed to be my responsibility to marry her.”
“No?” Her head tilted to the side. “Who—oh, your brother.”
His look snapped to her. “What do you know of my brother?”
“I…I…” Her eyes flickered to Domnall. Quick—so quick he almost missed it.
But he saw it.
“Bugger it, Domnall, can’t you keep your yapping trap shut, for devil’s sake?”
“It’s no secret, Lach, what happened to yer brother.” Domnall flicked his hand in the air. “The lass was due to find out soon enough.”
Lachlan’s lip sneered, his head shaking as he set his heels into his horse’s flanks. It sent him several strides in front of Domnall and Evalyn.
Exactly where he wanted to be.
Exactly where he needed to be.
{ Chapter 11 }
“You didn’t need to tell her every blasted last thing about me, Domnall.”
Lachlan shifted the reins in his hands as his horse stepped in place, but he didn’t bother to glance to his left where Domnall had sidled up to him, alone on his steed. He must have left Evalyn in camp.
The air clear and unusually cloudless, Lachlan kept his eyes forward, looking out from the ridge they were perched on to the rolling land unfurling before them for as far as the eye could see. Another day and they’d be past the Scottish border.
Domnall set his sights on the same vista, shifting his body on his saddle as he settled his left hand on his thigh. “We all lost Jacob, Lach. His death isn’t yers to own the suffering.”