Chapter Five #2
“We cannot risk gaugers learning that we have a supply of whisky more valuable than any cargo yet moved out of this glen. And we do not need the sister of a gauger wandering the hills breaking rocks and seeing what we do.”
“I do not want to sell that cache of whisky, Hamish,” Dougal murmured.
“You have no choice. We all agreed. Selling that whisky will help you buy back the land that might be sold out from under us.” His uncle looked hard at him. “Sell that cache once. Or you could sell fairy brew more often and earn a fortune. Some of us think you should.”
“My father honored the old ways. I will do the same.”
“Fairies do not exist, Kinloch,” Hamish said. “Your father honored old legends, and that’s fine. But he made a bad bargain that we only learned of recently. Protecting the fairy brew for tradition’s sake will not benefit the glen. Selling fairy brew will.”
“I will not sell the fairy whisky. Enough. We will find another way to save the glen.”
“What if the wee teacher knew about the risk? She has a soft heart, that one. I could tell.”
“We do not know if she can be trusted. There are too many secrets here, Hamish.”
“Sometimes a man must give up something he values to gain something even more valuable.”
“Tell that to Jean’s stubborn old husband,” Dougal said.
Hamish snorted, then whistled to the deerhounds that had bounded ahead.
Thoughtful as they returned to Kinloch House, Dougal could think of nothing important enough to convince him to give up Glen Kinloch’s long-held secrets.
Then Lucy came running out the door to greet him, curls bouncing, sweet little voice calling, and he knew he had something of value beyond all else.
*
“Good evening, Grandmother. And Miss MacCarran, how nice to see you.” Reverend Hugh MacIan entered the cottage as he spoke, then removed his black-brimmed hat and bowed a little.
“My bonny lad is here!” Mary MacIan smiled, setting plates on the table. “You are just in time for supper.”
“So I hoped,” he said, bending to kiss his grandmother’s cheek.
“Mr. MacIan, greetings,” Fiona said. He grasped her hand, dark eyes shining.
Dressed in the old-fashioned black frock coat and white neckcloth worn by Free Church Highland ministers, he was a handsome and robust young man with thick sandy hair and a boyish grin.
She smiled, enjoying his friendly attention.
Yet it was nothing like the strong, passionate pull she had felt toward Dougal MacGregor the night before.
And then she told herself to stop that, forget the laird, move on with the day.
“Did you ride far over the glen today, Hugh?” Mary asked.
“I did,” he answered, “and visited the good folk to let them know that the school would begin again tomorrow. I rode here from Drumcairn to share supper with you.” He turned to Fiona.
“Miss MacCarran, I hold the living at the manse near Kinloch House, on this side of the glen. Garloch and Drumcairn are villages situated at either end of the glen, with Kinloch House closer to the middle, near the manse and the school. My father, Rob MacIan, keeps the Knockandoo Inn by Drumcairn Bridge. He would much enjoy it if you would visit his inn for a good meal at his blessing.”
“I would love that,” she said. “And I would love to see the whole of the glen. It is very beautiful, no doubt with a fascinating local history and legends.”
“Aye. We do have some interesting legends, and we are proud of them. I wanted to take you about today to show you our glen and introduce you, but I got caught up in my visits, which took longer than I expected.”
“Hugh is beloved here,” Mary MacIan said proudly. “Miss MacCarran had an adventure last night,” she went on. “Out walking the hills in the mist, she met Kinloch.”
“Aye so? I am sure you came to no harm out in the hills, Miss MacCarran,” the reverend said. “Though the laird is quite the fellow to meet of an evening. That must have been a shock.”
She wondered why he would say so. “He was—courteous. I was not in danger.”
He laughed. “Of course not. We have a brave lass in our glen teacher, Grandmother,” he said with a wink.
Dougal MacGregor had been constantly in her thoughts. Certainly she understood that the smuggler might be dangerous—he had all but kidnapped her, and then kissed her to distraction before she knew anything of him.
“I was collecting rock specimens up in the hills,” Fiona said.
“Mr. MacGregor, er, Kinloch, took me back in a cart when we met his kinsmen driving by, for it was foggy and getting dark. When I learned he was laird in this glen, naturally I felt safe.” Though she knew he was a threat to her heart, this laird with his unexpected kisses in the dark, kisses she had dearly wanted. She glanced away.
“When Kinloch MacGregors are out and about in the hills, it is best not to know too much about their business,” Mrs. MacIan said.
“We will not accuse anyone,” the minister said carefully, “but Miss MacCarran, it is true these hills are not safe at night. Revenue officers and smugglers are sometimes about. A bit of free-trading traffic goes through here, which is common enough in the Highlands, and nothing to be concerned about. But do not go out alone at night.”
“I appreciate the warning.” Fiona turned away to stir another scoop of butter into the mashed turnips she and Mrs. MacIan had prepared for supper.
The MacIans knew Patrick was an excise officer at the other end of the loch.
Now the MacGregors knew too. She would need to say little about that now, and be wary for Patrick’s sake.
“Good, since she will stay with us for a little while,” Mrs. MacIan said.
The reverend looked puzzled. “She will be teaching at the school until summer.”
“Kinloch sent Hamish with that wreck of a carriage this morning to take her back to Auchnashee, where her kinsmen could send her back to Edinburgh.”
“Miss MacCarran, have you changed your mind?” MacIan asked.
“The Laird of Kinloch seems to think a teacher is not needed in the glen. We told Hamish MacGregor it was a misunderstanding,” Fiona replied.
The reverend frowned. “I shall speak to Kinloch.”
“It is already resolved,” she said, as she moved dishes to the table.
“Will you share supper with us?” Mary asked her grandson. “There are mashed turnips and mutton stew, very tender. Fiona prepared it herself, and it is quite good.”
He nodded and drew out the chairs for the women.
When they were seated, they bowed their heads for the grace that Hugh MacIan murmured in a gentle voice that seemed more suited to sentimental love poems than insistent Biblical sermons.
Fiona served the turnips and stew, and as they ate, she glanced at her new friends.
She felt content in the cozy atmosphere, content to stay.
Mary’s front room combined parlor, dining room, and a narrow kitchen, and a wide hearth wall, furnished simply with cupboards, a wooden table, and a few comfortable chairs.
At the back of the small house, two snug bedrooms curtained off from the larger room held a box bed in each. A side door led out to a small garden.
The walls were whitewashed and smoke stained, the old, dark rafter beams overhead were hung with dried herbs that added a light, clean fragrance, which combined with the sweet, musty smell of the peat fire made the modest house seem very cozy.
The table was set with very fine things—crisp bleached linens, blue-and-white porcelain, good silver pieces.
The few furnishings were of excellent quality with polished wood and velvet cushions, the lanterns were of very good metalwork, and the window curtains were Belgian lace.
Aware of the history of smugglers in the area, Fiona wondered if they had brought Mary such nice things—and if her late husband had engaged in transporting goods himself.
Hugh smiled. “Miss MacCarran, I am glad to know you cleared the, ah, misunderstanding with the laird. You will surely see him at the glen school.”
“Oh? Will he be in class?” That puzzled her, as she had the impression Kinloch was an educated man. “You mentioned in your letter to the Ladies Society that there might be adult students in the school.”
“There could be, since some here do not have much English.” He smiled. “But Dougal MacGregor is hardly one of those. The schoolhouse is on his estate, and his young kinfolk will be in your class.”
“I see. He did not mention that.”
“He keeps to himself and says little. May I have more turnips? They are delicious.”
Fiona passed the dish to him, not surprised that Kinloch had not said much about the school. He had been too determined for her to leave and abandon her obligation to the school and its students.
Later that night, as she drifted to sleep curled up in the box bed, which was deep and snug, quaint and comfortable, she could not forget the feeling of Kinloch’s arms around her, and the sweet melding of their lips beneath the old plaid in the pony cart.
She knew why she had not protested when he kissed her, though he gave her the chance. She had been kissed before by suitors. But she had never known kisses could feel so tender, so loving, so perfect, so compelling. Swept away, she had wanted more.
Best forget that, she told herself. She must think only of her responsibilities. With her lessons prepared, she was ready to begin class. What she needed now was a good night’s sleep. But her thoughts raced. Punching the pillow, she settled again.
If she met the Laird of Kinloch at the glen school, she would have to be cautious. He knew too much about her. And she was far too eager to see him again.