Page 22 of Much Ado About a Scot

She shrugged. “I was their only living child. They passed their knowledge and their estate onto me.”

“Let’s see what we have here.” He released the ribbon holding the document sealed, and spread it out before them.

The vellum had turned a butter yellow over the past five decades. The script was still legible, as were the signatures at the bottom—Winchester Graham’s name was written in a heavy script, while her grandfather had signed with an X instead of his name because he had never learned to read or write. Beside both men’s signatures was that of Gilbert Chattan, a clerk from the courthouse in Haddingtonshire who had the king’s authority to approve the land grant.

“The deed opens as one usually does with the grantor and the grantee designations, followed by a description of the land. Gladmuir Hall and the surrounding buildings . . . thirty acres . . . water rights . . .” He looked up. “That all seems pretty standard, as does the deed information.”

“It’s the inheritance of the deed that varies from the standards of the past. It states that the first-born child, whether male or female, shall inherit the estate as long as they retain the Seaton family name, even after marriage.”

“Your husbands took your name when they married you then?”

She shook her head. “They kept their names, I kept mine.”

“Unusual, but I understand the necessity. You didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize your claim to the estate. Very wise.”

Heat rose to her cheeks. She brought her hands up to hide the flush of pleasure his words brought.

He continued to search the deed. “You pay no taxes to the Grahams or to the king. How unusual.” He leaned closer. “What is this here?” He brought his finger to rest on a section of the deed where the ink had been slightly smudged many years ago. “As a continuing tribute to the services rendered, the grantor shall . . .” He narrowed his gaze as he frowned at the paper before him. “I can’t read through the smudge, but continuing on . . . the grantee until either the Graham estate or the Seaton estate passes from either hand.”

“I never knew what that meant, and since my grandfather could not read, he did not pass along that information to my father who in turn could not pass it on to me.”

Xander looked up. “That has to be it. Whatever it says there must be the reason David Graham had the Letham boys try to steal this from you. He’s worried about this part of the contract.”

Isobel sat back in her chair. “How will we ever know what it said? No one involved in the original signing of the document is still alive.”

“We may never, but it sounds to me as though Winchester Graham had wanted his family to continue doing something for your family—for you, for Jamie.”

“Nothing will matter soon if I lose it all.” She forced the words past a lump in her throat. So many things still had to go right for her to make a profit on the grain and repay what she owed.

Xander touched her arm lightly. “After we finish the harvest, I’ll go to Haddington and check the court records. Perhaps there was a copy of the deed filed with the shire.”

“It was so many years ago, but it is worth looking into.”

He pushed the deed aside and brought his hand to her cheek. “It’s going to be all right, Isobel. I’ll find a way to help you.”

“Thank you for that. It’s more than you bargained for in this marriage agreement.” His fingers were warm against her skin, but not warm enough to erase the fear that always lingered just beneath the surface. If she lost the farm she and her small family would have nowhere to live and no way to support themselves. They would be destitute.

He drew his hand away. “I’m curious, do you remember any time in your past when your family and the Grahams came together? Things weren’t always this tenuous between your two families, were they?”

“Nay. The tensions started when David became laird and then worsened at the death of his sister.” Isobel pressed her lips together in thought, searching for some distant memory. “The only thing I recall is that we used to gather together at the end of the harvest—the Graham family and servants and ours—to celebrate another successful year. But that hasn’t happened since David inherited the estate from his father.”

Xander’s gaze narrowed. “Did that celebration occur when the cutting was done or the threshing?”

“I don’t remember. It could have been either. The threshing is a lot less work than the actual harvest.”

A smile filled with mischief came to his lips. “Then by all means we should have a harvest celebration this year. You and Freya should start planning that for the day after tomorrow.”

“There is still so much grain we have yet to harvest—”

He held up his hand, cutting her off. “You worry about the celebration. I will worry about finishing the harvest tomorrow.”

She should be offended that he was taking over and ordering her around after only two days of marriage, but for some reason, she wasn’t. After all her years of heartbreak and hard work, it was comforting to have someone else to help shoulder her burdens.

Could she trust him to follow through? Finally, Isobel nodded her agreement. She would find out soon enough.

He rose from the table and offered her his hand. “Back to bed then?” he said with suggestion in his voice.

She stood, avoiding his hand, and instead picked up the deed and returned it and all her treasures to the wooden box. When she looked up, the raw power of his need was magnetic, drawing her toward him. She took an impulsive step forward and then stopped. “Nay. We both need sleep if we are to be ready to harvest again tomorrow.”