The door closed before Clive could respond. Graeme answered her. “I’ll find someone better than MacCarthy. Don’t you worry.” He paused to glare at Isabel and added in a shout, “You aren’t going to get away with this atrocity. I’m going to make sure you can’t cause trouble.”
Shoving his chair back, Graeme stood and said to Freya, “The car is several roads over. I’ll go get it and pull up to the door. Stay here until I come back inside for you.”
With the pub quiet now, Annie returned and gave Michael the bag. He opened it and used it to scoop up the bloody napkin Clive had used and tossed on the table. He sealed the bag and handed it to Sinclair.
Isabel’s attention went to Clive’s mother. Freya held a lacy handkerchief up to her eyes, dabbing the tears away. Isabel couldn’t imagine the distress she would feel watching someone she loved being handcuffed and taken away. She had an insane urge to go over to the woman and apologize, which didn’t make a lick of sense, she knew. She wasn’t going to do it, but she knew being Clive’s mother had to be hell for her. Approaching Freya would probably upset her even more. Besides, Michael would probably tackle her if she took one step in the woman’s direction.
She slid out of the booth with the intention of going to Michael, who was in a quiet discussion with Sinclair, but then she saw Freya stand and make her way over to her. They met a few feet from each other, with a round table between them. Isabel pulled out a chair and sat. Freya nodded to her and sat down across from her.
Neither one said a word for a minute while they studied each other. Freya was a surprise to Isabel. She wasn’t at all what she had pictured. Her erect posture gave her an almost regal bearing. Isabel couldn’t tell how old she was. Her dark hair was pulled back. The only hints of her true age were the few silver strands in her hair and the fine lines around her eyes. She was slender and dressed in a black sweater and slacks. Her simple attire was not matched by her accessories, though. The woman obviously had a fancy for jewelry. Large silver teardrops hung from her ears; several strands of beads circled her neck, and at least a half-dozen bangles surrounded her wrists. When she folded her manicured hands on the table, the bracelets made a clanking sound.
Freya spoke first. “Life hasn’t been fair to my son. He is trying to get better control, but he has lapses, especially when someone has wronged him. He has his father’s temper.” Then, as though stating the obvious, she said, “Compton MacKenna was Clive’s father. I was in love with him, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know.”
“It was so many years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday,” Freya began with a wistful sigh. “Compton came to Dunross to make arrangements for Glen MacKenna. I was working as a waitress.” She raised her hand to gesture around the pub. “Here at Jolly Jack’s, actually. I met Compton the first night he arrived. We took to each other right away. I guess you could say it was love at first sight. I know he loved me. He told me so many times. We were together almost every minute that he was here. He made promises to me, and then he left. He just left me.” She stopped for a second, shaking her head as though the insult was still fresh in her mind. “No warning at all. He made me look like a fool, and I was devastated by his betrayal. When I found out I was pregnant, I tried to get hold of him. I expected him to do the right thing.”
“What was the right thing?” Isabel asked.
“Marriage,” she answered. “I expected him to marry me.”
If Freya really believed that Compton would marry her, she hadn’t known him well at all, Isabel thought. He was all about titles and blue bloods. Freya was what Compton would have called common.
“Did you ever talk to him?”
“No,” Freya answered. “I must have called him fifty times. He would never talk to me. I did speak to one of his assistants, who told me to stop harassing Compton or there would be unpleasant consequences. I told the assistant that I was pregnant, but I don’t know if he ever told Compton. I guess I always expected him to return to Scotland, especially since he loved Glen Mackenna so much... but he never did. I was all alone with a child... his child.”
“That must have been very difficult for you,” Isabel said sympathetically.
“It was terrible. I didn’t know where to turn. I had to support us both. Then, when Clive was three, I met Malcolm Harcus. We married, and Clive took his name, but the marriage only lasted a couple of years, and he left us. I raised that boy on my own without any financial help. It was especially hard on Clive. Surely you can understand what it was like for him... to be abandoned twice. That would make anyone angry.
“I never lied to him. From the time he was very young, he knew who his real father was. Over the years we would hear bits and pieces about Compton, and we knew he never married or had children. Clive was sure that Glen MacKenna would be his someday. So, you can see why he would want to oversee the management of the land in the meantime. Compton had left James Gibson in charge as Glen MacKenna’s caretaker. When James died, his son Graeme took over. He’s been Clive’s right-hand man the last few years.
“I’m telling you all of this so you’ll realize that your claim to the land is groundless. Just because there’s a piece of paper that says it’s yours doesn’t make it so.” She raised her voice defiantly then. “Glen MacKenna belongs to him. What will you do with the land? Go back to America and forget all about it?”
Isabel could see how distraught the woman was, so now was not the time to tell her that her son may well be going to prison for his role in attempted murder. It was obvious she was protective of him and would be defensive. Isabel would let any accusations come from the police.
She tried to sound understanding when she said, “I’m sorry for all you’ve gone through. I truly am. But that doesn’t change the legality of Compton’s will. It’s final. I’ve signed the papers and I own Glen MacKenna now.”
“So my son is being cheated out of his inheritance,” Freya said as though the very thought were incomprehensible. She then straightened in her chair and looked straight into Isabel’s eyes. “I suppose Clive may have to take you to court, then, to get what’s rightfully his.”
“Even if that happened, he can’t ever sell it. Compton’s will is specific. And it’s obvious that Clive’s only interest in the land is the profit he would make by selling it to developers.”
“Why would you keep what doesn’t belong to you? You selfish bitch,” Freya hissed in a whisper.
“Selfish? I don’t agree,” Isabel said quietly, hoping her tone would calm the woman. “The Patterson Group, James Reid, and your son have big plans for the land. Simply put, they would destroy it. I’m making sure they can’t.”
Graeme interrupted. He called out to Freya and waited for her at the top of the steps.
Freya stood but kept her attention on Isabel. “Is it done? Have you already signed the papers?”
“Yes.”
Freya didn’t say good-bye. She put her purse over her arm and walked out of the pub with her head held high.
Isabel watched her leave. She didn’t feel guilty. She was thinking about future generations. She believed it was her duty to protect the beauty of God’s gift. The glorious Highlands belonged to the people, and whatever she could do to preserve the land she would do.
It came to her in that instant. She had her answer. She immediately turned her phone on and called Donal Gladstone to tell him what she wanted to do. He was so excited by her proposal, he promised to do everything in his power to make it happen.