He’d need two notices: one for Daleroch’s estate, and one to post with Iain McCloude who acted as the constabulary, lawyer, and judge of the little town. If desperate, he might need one more document to be sent to Edinburgh or Glasgow to make it official that the estate was to be avoided at all cost.
The hours dragged by in the quiet domicile. The only interruption in Eoin’s fervent scrawling was Fearchar’s exclamation of snow when large wet flakes began to blanket the rocky outcropping. He had asked if Fearchar needed to go after Seonaid. Fearchar waived him off, reassuring him that if she was caught out in a blizzard, she had enough friends in the village that would be willing to put her up for the evening. Eoin shook his head and shrugged, marveled by the man’s relationship with his wife.
Almost complete with the second sheet, stomping feet at the doorstone interrupted Eoin’s attention. He hurriedly stowed the one dry sheet and set an inverted box over the second one. He pulled out a list of ingredients and wiped the nib of his pen off before pushing a cork into his ink bottle.
Fearchar took his time getting up from the hearth and making his way to the door. The handle turned. Fearchar looked up to the crack in the door. Seonaid, bundled heavily in her wool shawl, burst in, a flurry of white flakes trying to follow behind her. She shoved the door closed, her cheeks pink from the cold. Her eyes glimmered. Eoin stayed his hand from his cleaning. Something was off with the young woman.
She glanced away from Eoin to Fearchar and back to Eoin. She bit her lip and pulled Fearchar to her. She buried her head into his shoulder and began weeping quietly. He wrapped her in his warm arms. “Wha’s the matter, love?” he whispered to her. Eoin made himself busy, not sure if he was supposed to be privy to the conversation.
“I went in to town to fetch oats for the house. I’d run out. I ran into Agnus while I was down at the baker’s.