The Journey Home

The Journey Home
Fiona Hood-Stewart

They met in the wilds of Scotland, as a winter storm approached. Complete strangers, they were uncannily drawn to one another.India Moncrieff, grief stricken over her mother's sudden death, a woman desperate to hold on to Dunbar House, the majestic family estate. And Jack Buchanan, the American tycoon enchanted by the land, who sees the house as a business opportunity.Business and passion soon unite them. But shocking revelations will alienate the two lovers in their desperate battle over a legacy neither will surrender. Family secrets and a murder spanning 200 years have left too many souls lost and alone. Now it's up to the heart to illuminate the way home.

India moved to the window and looked through the frosty panes at the fresh snow covering the lawn and at the Dunbar oak, standing regal and alone.

William, the first Dunbar to settle here, had planted the tree in 1280, and had made the pledge that had been handed down from generation to generation: While this oak tree stands, a Dunbar will always walk the land. India drew her eyes away sadly. If the property were sold, William’s vow would be broken.

As she was about to leave, India caught sight of the small writing desk her mother had used for her private correspondence. An uncapped fountain pen lay on a sheet of half-written writing paper. She crossed the room and picked up what appeared to be an unfinished letter, realizing with a start that it was addressed to her.

My dearest India,

I am sending this off to you today, for I am most distressed. I am suffering from a dreadful dilemma and need to speak to you urgently. Please come to Dunbar as quickly as you can. I’d call, but I’m afraid I will be overheard. You need to be aware—

The letter was cut short, as though Lady Elspeth had been interrupted. India frowned, glancing at the date. The letter had been written on the day of her mother’s death.

“MIRA means star. This is a writer definitely shining.”

—New York Times Bestselling Author

Heather Graham

The Journey Home

Fiona Hood-Stewart

www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)

To

my darling boys,

Sergio and Diego,

and

in loving memory of Mummy,

my Lady Elspeth.

For all she was, and always will be to us all.

The Tears of Scotland

Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn

Thy banished peace, thy laurels torn.

Thy sons, for valor long renowned,

Lie slaughtered on their native ground;

Thy hospitable roofs no more

Invite the stranger to the door;

In smoky ruins sunk they lie,

The monuments of cruelty.

The wretched owner sees, afar,

His all become the prey of war;

Bethinks him of his babes and wife,

Then smites his breast, and curses life.

Thy swains are famished on the rocks,

Where once they fed their wanton flocks:

Thy ravished virgins shriek in vain;

Thy infants perish on the plain.

What boots it, then, in every clime,

Through the wide spreading waste of time,

Thy martial glory, crowned with praise,

Still shone with undiminished blaze?

Thy towering spirit now is broke,

Thy neck is bended to the yoke:

What foreign arms could never quell,

By civil rage and rancor fell.

The rural pipe and merry lay

No more shall cheer the happy day:

No social scenes of gay delight

Beguile the dreary winter night: