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Authors: Amanda Scott
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surely they upset most people.
“I know you are not so selfish,” Fiona said. “You just sometimes seem to assume responsibility when you need not and, when
things go amiss—even when they have naught to do with you—to take it as a personal failure.”
“Anyone with common sense prefers peace,” Mairi said. “The plain truth is that it frightened me witless when Father just dismissed
the sheriff’s threat to seize the estates if Father does not submit.”
“But such a threat cannot be real,” Fiona said flatly.
Mairi feared that it was, however. Her annoyance with Robert Maxwell persisted. However, just thinking about the handsome
wretch brought memories of his charming smile, his musically vibrant deep voice, and the strangely sensual air of strength
and power the dreadful man projected.
In facing him that first time in the field, she realized now that although she had dreaded crossing words with him, she had
found it easier than expected to make her point. It felt almost as if she had drawn her strength then from his.
Silently scolding herself for such foolish thoughts, she had the happy notion to remind Fiona that they would enjoy Easter
with Jenny and Sir Hugh at Thornhill. Thereafter, as they followed the river’s course southward, they chatted desultorily.
Rob was glad to be home and glad, too, that the day was turning out to be a fine one and showed Trailinghail at its best.
The stone tower stood atop one of the sheer cliffs forming the west boundary of Kirkcudbright Bay less than a mile from where
it opened into Solway Firth. The position provided panoramic views of the bay and the more turbulent Firth. On such clear
days, one could see Kirkcudbright’s kirk spire and the towering keep of Castle Mains, ancient seat of the Lords of Galloway
and guardian of the town and its harbor.
The rain had passed, and the few clouds scudding across the azure sky were white and puffy. The air was chilly and smelled
strongly of the sea. Gulls cried overhead, and Rob’s people hailed his return with sincere delight.
He had inherited the tower and its forested estate from his grandfather, Lord Kelso, at the age of one-and-twenty. Before
then, Trailinghail being one of his lordship’s distant and lesser estates, the place had received less attention than his
larger holdings and had suffered accordingly.
Lord and Lady Kelso had spent most of their time at his primary seat near Glasgow or at their house in the royal burgh of
Stirling, just as their eldest son, Rob’s uncle and the present Lord Kelso, did now. Rob was sure that his inheritance had
come at her ladyship’s instigation, if only because his grandfather had shown unexpected forethought in also leaving sufficient
funds to set the place in good trim.
As isolated as Trailinghail was, although he had visited his grandparents there as often as possible, Rob had never expected
to live there permanently. However, he realized now, rather than chafe under Alex’s thumb in Dumfries, he had taken to spending
a little longer at Trailinghail each time he visited.
The people on the estate had made it plain from the outset that they looked on him as a blessing. Their delight in his first
arrival and in his declared intent to visit several times each year had spurred him to exert himself more than he might have
otherwise. As a result, he had come to love the place as much as they did.
The job of putting things in order had taken up much of the past four years. His fields were in good trim now, the wall was
sound. And if the tower had received less attention, it was comfortable enough to welcome his grandmother if she did choose
to visit. Despite her suggestion that she would, Rob doubted he would see her before summer. The present Lord Kelso and his
family would press her to visit them, and Trailinghail lay miles away from the road to Glasgow.
Rob knew that Lord Kelso adored his blunt-spoken mother despite the
“I know you are not so selfish,” Fiona said. “You just sometimes seem to assume responsibility when you need not and, when
things go amiss—even when they have naught to do with you—to take it as a personal failure.”
“Anyone with common sense prefers peace,” Mairi said. “The plain truth is that it frightened me witless when Father just dismissed
the sheriff’s threat to seize the estates if Father does not submit.”
“But such a threat cannot be real,” Fiona said flatly.
Mairi feared that it was, however. Her annoyance with Robert Maxwell persisted. However, just thinking about the handsome
wretch brought memories of his charming smile, his musically vibrant deep voice, and the strangely sensual air of strength
and power the dreadful man projected.
In facing him that first time in the field, she realized now that although she had dreaded crossing words with him, she had
found it easier than expected to make her point. It felt almost as if she had drawn her strength then from his.
Silently scolding herself for such foolish thoughts, she had the happy notion to remind Fiona that they would enjoy Easter
with Jenny and Sir Hugh at Thornhill. Thereafter, as they followed the river’s course southward, they chatted desultorily.
Rob was glad to be home and glad, too, that the day was turning out to be a fine one and showed Trailinghail at its best.
The stone tower stood atop one of the sheer cliffs forming the west boundary of Kirkcudbright Bay less than a mile from where
it opened into Solway Firth. The position provided panoramic views of the bay and the more turbulent Firth. On such clear
days, one could see Kirkcudbright’s kirk spire and the towering keep of Castle Mains, ancient seat of the Lords of Galloway
and guardian of the town and its harbor.
The rain had passed, and the few clouds scudding across the azure sky were white and puffy. The air was chilly and smelled
strongly of the sea. Gulls cried overhead, and Rob’s people hailed his return with sincere delight.
He had inherited the tower and its forested estate from his grandfather, Lord Kelso, at the age of one-and-twenty. Before
then, Trailinghail being one of his lordship’s distant and lesser estates, the place had received less attention than his
larger holdings and had suffered accordingly.
Lord and Lady Kelso had spent most of their time at his primary seat near Glasgow or at their house in the royal burgh of
Stirling, just as their eldest son, Rob’s uncle and the present Lord Kelso, did now. Rob was sure that his inheritance had
come at her ladyship’s instigation, if only because his grandfather had shown unexpected forethought in also leaving sufficient
funds to set the place in good trim.
As isolated as Trailinghail was, although he had visited his grandparents there as often as possible, Rob had never expected
to live there permanently. However, he realized now, rather than chafe under Alex’s thumb in Dumfries, he had taken to spending
a little longer at Trailinghail each time he visited.
The people on the estate had made it plain from the outset that they looked on him as a blessing. Their delight in his first
arrival and in his declared intent to visit several times each year had spurred him to exert himself more than he might have
otherwise. As a result, he had come to love the place as much as they did.
The job of putting things in order had taken up much of the past four years. His fields were in good trim now, the wall was
sound. And if the tower had received less attention, it was comfortable enough to welcome his grandmother if she did choose
to visit. Despite her suggestion that she would, Rob doubted he would see her before summer. The present Lord Kelso and his
family would press her to visit them, and Trailinghail lay miles away from the road to Glasgow.
Rob knew that Lord Kelso adored his blunt-spoken mother despite the
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