Chapter Four
The MacIan cottage appeared through the fog, and ghostly mist drifted across the loch beyond the house. Walking toward it, Fiona glanced over her shoulder.
“I do not need an escort, Mr. MacGregor.”
“Rogues about,” he said, shifting the cask on his shoulder. “And the path to the cottage is uneven. You could slip and fall, carrying those rocks.”
“You are carrying something too, and could stumble.”
“Eh, I am fine. This is a gift for Mrs. MacIan and her grandson, Reverend MacIan.” He caught up to her with long, sure strides.
“Was the cart full of illicit whisky, then?”
“I do not know. It was not my cart.”
She sent him a sour glance. “I suppose you bribe people with whisky so they will look away from what you and your kinsmen do in the glen.”
“Miss MacCarran, I am offended. It is tradition for the laird to give whisky to the manse. I share freely from the distillery on my estate.”
“Free traders or sharing freely? But I will not say a word. It is your business.”
“My business,” he said curtly, “is a licensed distillery with my kinsmen. This cask holds legal brew. I bring some to the MacIans with each new batch.”
“So the cart only held whisky that you share with others?”
“What else would it hold? Why would we smuggle it, with gaugers traipsing all about these hills?” He sounded amused.
She stopped. “Mr. MacGregor, let me suggest a bargain. I promise not to speak of what I have seen if you promise to never—”
“What? Never kiss you again?” He stopped too.
“That—should not happen again.” She could not let him see how much his kisses had flustered her, weakened her resolve. “I apologize. It is not in my character to behave so. I cannot think what happened.”
“Nor in my character. But I know what happened. The lovesickness.” He grinned.
She wished he were not so devilishly attractive—that smile was everything in the moment, charm and humor, temptation and risk. She felt heat in her cheeks. “Your uncle said the lovesickness has plagued you before.”
“Och, lassie, dinna believe Ranald MacGregor,” he said with an exaggerated lilt.
“It could be true, since you stole a kiss from a woman you hardly know.”
“I know her better than she thinks.” MacGregor leaned forward, so close she could feel his nearness rush through her. “I was not the only one stealing the kisses.”
She caught her breath. Something irresistible and magical had happened in that cart. Though she felt embarrassed now, part of her wanted to cherish it. MacGregor hovered near enough to kiss her again. Feeling her cheeks grow hot, she stepped away.
“About this bargain, Miss MacCarran. If you will keep the adventure in the cart to yourself, I will consider never kissing you again. Is that agreeable?”
“Oh,” she said, flustered anew. That might be the poor end of the bargain, she thought; what if no one ever kissed her like that again?
Blushing furiously, glad of the mist and lowering daylight, she turned toward the cottage.
The door opened, golden light silhouetting a woman standing there. “Mrs. MacIan is waiting.”
“And gone again,” he said, as the door closed once more.
“No need to go farther, Mr. MacGregor. I can take the cask. It is not so big.”
“Not large, but heavy.”
“I am stronger than you think.”
“I see that, for you are carrying that great sack of rocks of yours. Mary MacIan would have my head if I sent you there loaded like a packhorse. And if she knew the rest that happened,” he added softly, “she would have my head for that, too. May it be a comfort to you.”
“It is.” She lifted her chin. “I will think about the agreement.”
“So will I,” he said, a little smile playing at his lips.
“Watch your step, the fog is that thick.” He held out a hand, which Fiona ignored as she walked past him.
Two strides and he was ahead of her. Seeing his wide shoulders and the rhythmic swing of his plaid kilt above strong calves, she remembered those wanton kisses and the fervor she had felt—and felt her face, her body, grow hot with embarrassment and more.
She had allowed those kisses, encouraged and shared them, but she could not it happen again.
But her heartbeat quickened at the very thought.
“Mr. MacGregor,” she called.
“Kinloch, if you please. Dougal, if it pleases you more.”
“Kinloch,” she said firmly. “Let us agree to forget what happened this evening.”
“Every bit of it?” He turned and walked backward, the keg casually propped on his shoulder. “I will remember some of it always, Miss MacCarran.”
So would she. “It was of no consequence. Just the moment, and the fear, I suppose. Sir, will you please stop?”
He did. “I may not forget it, but trust I will never say a word of it to another.”
Relief went through her. “Let us keep our secret about—everything. And I promise not to tell the MacIans.”
He shrugged his free shoulder. “Tell them or not, as you like. They are kin.”
“Reverend MacIan would go to the authorities.”
“You could try to convince him otherwise,” he said.
“Is he involved in—what goes on in this glen?”
“He is a kinsman. That is enough.”
“He is a man of God.”
“Surely your brother, the important excise officer, told you that the free trade is common all through the Highlands. It occurs in Glen Kinloch now and then as well. Those who run it keep silent, and everyone else wisely looks away.”
“So everyone in Glen Kinloch is either a smuggler or knows a smuggler?”
“We are hardly a nest of criminals, Miss. The people of this glen are fine, honest folk who do what they must to survive.”
“Are you warning me to look away as well?”
He stepped closer, his gaze compelling in the gathering dark. “Take it as a warning if you like,” he murmured. “Your brother sides with the law. That does not sit well here.”
“One of my brothers is involved with revenue collection, true. But I do not know if he is assigned to this glen. He may be sent elsewhere.”
“How many brothers do you have?”
“Three. A revenue officer, a physician in Edinburgh, and a professor who has an estate in this region. A cousin is nearby too. So I am less a stranger here than you might think. My twin is Viscount Struan. His estate is southeast of here.”
“Struan! I know the name. I heard a Lowlander inherited it.” He paused. “I heard he married the granddaughter of the weaver of Kilcrennan.”
“Elspeth MacArthur of Kilcrennan, aye. Do you know her?”
“Her father is a distant cousin.” He narrowed his eyes. “Twin brother, is it? You will be close, then. No doubt Struan will visit you here and you will tell him all.”
“He is often in Edinburgh for months at a time. He is a lecturing professor there. And we do not tell each other everything.” That was not quite true, but she could hold a secret well, though she was not sure yet what a bargain with Kinloch would mean.
“What of the cousin?”
“The Earl of Eldin. We are not close.”
“Ah. Eldin purchased Auchnashee to make it into a hotel for tourists, I hear.” He frowned. “You have lofty company among your kin.”
“Not really. But I do have ties to the Highlands. I am not just a Lowlander.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “The gentleman with you on the hill today. Who was he?”
“Patrick. The excise officer. I did not know you saw us earlier.”
“I watch over my mountain and my glen. When Reverend MacIan invited you here to teach, did he know your brother was a revenue officer?”
“I did not know it then. Patrick was appointed to the post after I agreed to come here. But his jurisdiction is south of the loch, so he may not come here except to visit me and make sure I am safe.” She wanted to make that clear.
“As the laird, I will guarantee your safety.”
The Laird. Did he mean laird of the glen—or the smuggling laird Patrick mentioned? A yearning swirled in her, a hunger for adventure, excitement. She squared her shoulders against the feeling. “You may be the one in danger. The king’s men are looking for the one called the Laird.”
“I have heard that. They know where to find Kinloch if they want to talk to him. They suspect me, but I am innocent of all—except kissing a bonny lass in a moment of weakness. And for that, I apologize.”
“No need,” she murmured.
“As for what you saw tonight, the excise men are often after me. I am laird of a glen where free traders roam. It is not uncommon, and the laird is often to blame if the actual offenders cannot be found.”
“What of the smuggler called the Laird? Is that you?”
“She is bold. I am laird of this glen,” he said, jaw set, brows lowered.
“But you hid from the excise officers and your kinsmen lied. Why?”
“For your protection. Some revenue officers are worse scoundrels than the men they chase.” He took her arm.
“My kin and tenants will not harm you, I promise. But there are other rascals in these hills, so be wary. If word gets out that you are sister to an excise man, it could go badly for you and your brother. It is not in your best interest to speak of it here. And I must question whether you should be in this glen at all.”
“I just arrived today, and I have been hauled about rudely, threatened with pistols, and—”
“And kissed. I know.”
“—and my brother wanted me to leave—”
“You should have listened.”
“—and now the laird of the glen wants me to leave too? I came here to do good work for the Edinburgh Ladies Society for the Education and Betterment of the Gaels. I agreed to teach here.”
“The what?”
She repeated the name. “It is not amusing,” she said as he chuckled. “I promised to teach until summer. School begins soon. There are children waiting. I will not leave.”
He cupped a hand on her shoulder. Fiona felt some indefinable magic flow from him into her. The same feeling had overtaken her earlier and quite melted all reason and resistance. He bent his head toward her. For a moment she thought he might kiss her again. Her head tipped back, her body waited.