Chapter Six #2
“You know my answer to that. We do not offer the fairy brew and we do not talk of the legend, though it is known about here. We can get a good price for Glen Kinloch brew. We have to deliver kegs and casks to the buyers we already have, but there will be some left for Lord Eldin. We may be able to move all of our store. A good thing.”
“And then we brew more. Very good.”
Lucy and Jamie walked across the yard now, and she reached out for the boy’s hand. But when she saw Dougal, her little face became determined.
Understanding her reluctance, he pointed, firmly and silently, toward the school. She frowned but relented, walking with Jamie.
Fergus chuckled. “Lucy thinks smugglers need not learn letters and math, but devote their time to distilling whisky and moving kegs through the hills. Reminds me of a lad I knew once,” he added.
“That lad was just thirteen when his Da died. Lucy is only seven. Her time should be devoted to playing with her friends, doing chores, and studying. I told her that even free traders need an education.”
“She would make a fine smuggler, that lass. No harm in it when she’s older.”
“No,” Dougal said firmly. “She will get an education and marry well, and stay safe. I promised my sister, and I will see to it. She will have naught to do with the free trade.”
“You sound like your father.”
“I never fulfilled what my father wanted me to do, and I regret it. I will see to it for my sister’s child.”
“But you had a fine education here at the glen school, and a couple of years at university before you left to come home. We could not convince you to go back. We did try.”
“We could not afford it.”
“We would have found a way.”
Dougal huffed. “Funded by smuggling?”
His uncle shrugged. “Someday I hope you will return to your studies. Such an intelligent lad. That was your father’s wish for you, not distilling and running the brew over the hills.”
“I am needed here. Fergus, I am thinking—the school session could wait a bit while we find another dominie, one who is not kin to a customs officer.” As he spoke, Dougal watched the teacher approach the school with the reverend.
“And one who will not distract the laird?” Fergus asked.
“Huh.” Dougal saw Reverend MacIan sweep a wide gesture as he spoke to Fiona MacCarran, showing her the hills surrounding the glen. She turned and her gaze caught Dougal’s. Even at a distance, he felt the tug between them.
“Hamish says we should scare her off with tales of bogles,” Fergus said.
“We will not,” Dougal said sternly.
“The last Edinburgh society teacher who came here thought we were all Highland savages. That one left quick enough. This one looks tougher. We may not frighten her off so easily.”
“True.”
“Though if she should meet a few rascals out in the hills, she might think better of staying,” Fergus said. “I can send Arthur and Mungo to visit her.”
“I would not trust those two near her.”
“Then we will all have to behave like a flock of angels, so she has no tales to carry to her brother.”
“We could try that,” Dougal mused. “I had best go welcome her, being the laird.”
“Aye. Och, I near forgot. The school roof needs work.”
“Again? We repaired it last fall when it leaked after the rains.”
Fergus shrugged. “The place is old.”
“We need new thatch and new beams,” Dougal said.
“We need a new building,” Fergus grumbled.
Dougal watched her cross the hill toward Kinloch House and the school. “We need much in this glen,” he murmured.
“She is a bonny lass, I will say,” Fergus mused as she came closer. “Perhaps we can let her enjoy our pretty glen for a bit, and then we will send her away.”
“Just do not scare her,” Dougal muttered.
*
“I am sure you will enjoy being in Glen Kinloch,” Reverend MacIan was saying as he walked beside Fiona. “We are so delighted that you came up from Edinburgh.”
“Thank you again,” she said. “Though I suspect not everyone is glad I am here.” She glanced across the hill, seeing the glen’s laird standing on the ridge, arms folded, watching the stream of people heading for the school.
“Kinloch? He has pressing matters on his mind, I imagine.”
“So I gather. Mr. MacIan, let me thank you and your grandmother again for such a nice welcome.” She lifted her face to sunshine and the cool breeze.
“It is a lovely morning, and I am looking forward to working with the students. So the school is near the castle. I did not realize. Is that Kinloch House?”
“Aye. It is an old tower house. A small castle. The schoolhouse is just there.” He pointed toward a whitewashed building with a thatched roof a little distance past the stone tower.
Both were nestled in the lee of a broad hillside, where the slope flattened out, protected at the back by a high sweep of forested hillside.
Beyond the sandstone tower, the schoolyard was filling with people.
Now the laird of Kinloch was striding toward the yard.
Earlier, she had seen him standing apart with an older man.
Even from a distance, she had sensed MacGregor’s gaze so keenly that she had stopped, transfixed, distracted.
Seeing him now, she clutched the packet of papers and books close, as if to remind herself why she was here and what she should be doing, rather than let this man’s mere presence make her heart tumble so.
“There’s Kinloch, and one of his uncles,” MacIan said.
“Another one?”
“They all live in the tower house, have done since the laird was a boy and inherited the estate after his father’s passing.
Your class is gathering. Come and meet your students.
In Glen Kinloch, the school session begins when a teacher comes to the glen, and ends the day the teacher leaves. ” He smiled.
That would be tomorrow if Kinloch had his way, Fiona thought. “I understand most Highland schools are only in session six months out of the year.”
“The students must take time off seasonally to help their families with planting and harvesting, and to help take the cattle into the hills in summer to graze. We cannot afford the yearly fee to retain a dominie permanently, so we must rely on the Highland societies to send teachers for a few months at a time.”
“The last teacher sent by the charity stayed only two weeks, I heard.”
“She changed her mind. The glen was too remote for her taste.”
“Too much smuggling?” She glanced at him.
He shrugged. “Who knows? I heard she had a terror of ghosts and fairies.”
“I am intrigued by such things and would not run from them.”
“Then this is the place for you. We are happy to have a teacher again. For a long while, the laird’s sister was our dominie.”
She blinked in surprise. “His sister?”
“She died of a fever a few years ago. A dreadful time. The laird is the guardian for his niece, and has more interest in the school now that she is of learning age.”
“His niece will be in my class?”
“Aye. Kinloch, good morning!” he called.
Fiona turned to see Dougal MacGregor coming toward them, his stride setting his kilt to swinging, and his dark hair wafting in the breeze. He scowled as he neared them and turned the glower on her. She smiled.
“Miss MacCarran. Reverend,” he said. “I see you are ready to begin this morning.”
“Despite attempts to the contrary.” She brightened her smile. His frown deepened.
“Lucky to you, then. You have several scholars for your classroom.”
“So I see.” She turned to walk between the two men. “It is a pretty day. I had a nice walk across the glen with Mr. MacIan, who was kind enough to escort me.”
“I could have sent the carriage for you,” MacGregor said.
“No need. I enjoy walking. Your glen is so lovely and peaceful. No wonder the Highlands are growing so popular. There is such beauty here in the north.”
“Aye.” His sudden, crooked, charming smile was unexpected. “Glen Kinloch is a small and remote place, but it is like the romantic Highland glens that tourists go on about. It has a wild setting, majestic views, and good, hardworking souls living in it.”
She wondered if he was teasing her for admiring the place like a tourist or warning her to remember that the outer world should leave the place in peace.
Either way, he genuinely loved his glen.
“It does have a wonderful quaint aspect,” she agreed.
“Coming here is like traveling back to an earlier time in Scotland.”
“Back to the days of cattle thieves and rogues?” MacGregor drawled.
“I was thinking of something more idyllic.”
“Ah, an idealist,” he said softly. His eyes, in sunlight, were mossy green.
“At times. Are you, Mr. MacGregor?”
“Not any longer,” he answered.
“By idyllic, I believe the lady means the Highlands as described in Sir Walter Scott’s grand poetry,’” Hugh said.
“I do mean that. Do you know his work, either of you?” She smiled at both.
“I have read his work,” MacIan said. “Some of his descriptions remind me of our glen.” He drew a breath and began to recite in a sonorous voice.
The wanderer’s eye could barely vie
The summer heaven’s delicious blue;
So wondrous wild, the whole might seem
The scenery of a fairy dream.
“Perfect!” Fiona applauded. “I am just fascinated by fairy lore.” She stopped, always wary of revealing how keen her interest was, and why.
“Kinloch knows much about local legends,” MacIan said. “Quite the expert.”
“No more than anyone else knows,” MacGregor said curtly.
“I am interested to learn more,” she said.
“He is the one to tell you,” the reverend said.
“I am inspired to read Sir Walter’s magnificent epic, ‘Lady of the Lake,’ again, since it is about Loch Katrine, so near to us.
We could discuss it, you and I.” He swept an arm wide.
“‘On this bold brow, a lordly tower; in that soft vale, a lady’s bower—’”
“Do not recite another blasted poem. The students are waiting,” Kinloch said irritably.
Fiona glanced at him. “Do you dislike Sir Walter’s poetry, sir?”
“I have read some of it. It did not enthrall me. I lacked patience for the length. Some verses did remind me of Glen Kinloch though.” He tilted his head.
“‘But hosts may in these wilds abound, such as are better missed than found; to meet with Highland plunderers here—were worse than loss of steed or deer,’” he concluded, “or something to that effect.”
MacIan smiled flatly. “We have no time for poetry, you said. Scholars are waiting.”
“That was very nice, sir.” Fiona loved the deep timbre of his voice, though he had mocked her, in the moment with his clear implication about smugglers in the hills.
As they reached the flat of the hill where the schoolhouse perched, Kinloch set a hand to her elbow to guide her up. His touch felt like gentle lightning. Even his polite, casual touch affected her. She had to avoid this man. Flustered, she held her chin high.
Near the school, the tower house loomed.
She glanced up at its turrets and thick walls, and saw a shabbiness she had not noticed at a distance.
Stone blocks crumbled in places, corners were coated in rusty ivy, stone trim was cracked, a window was broken, and the roof needed repair.
She said nothing, turning her attention to the school.
“The schoolhouse was once a weaver’s cottage,” Hugh MacIan said. “So it is not large.”
“It is old,” Kinloch said. “We have kept it up best we can.”
“It will do nicely,” Fiona said. In the morning light, the whitewashed building and greening hills were picturesque, but now she saw that the schoolhouse, too, needed repair, with peeling plaster, old thatch, a sagging door, a chipped stone step.
A goat and three sheep wandered through the yard.
The folks gathered by the door moved aside when a large ram appeared and settled heavily near the entrance.
“It will do,” she repeated rather too brightly.
“The roof leaks,” MacGregor said.
“We will fetch buckets if it rains,” she said.
“The walls are crumbling. Do not lean against the back wall during a heavy rainstorm.”
“I never lean, nor would I allow my students to do so.”
“There may be mice underfoot.”
“I will get a cat,” she said.
“I will find one for you,” he answered. “You are determined, I see.”
“I am.” She smiled. He returned a heartwarming grin suddenly, and her heart gave a little fillip. Quickly she looked away. “The students are waiting.”
“And some of their parents. Ah, there is Mrs. Beaton,” the reverend said. “I must speak to her about her daughter’s wedding service. Please excuse me.” He smiled at Fiona. “Since the laird owns the school, he should introduce you.”
“Thank you, Reverend.” She smiled as he left. “Now that I know the way here, tomorrow I will arrive earlier. I did not know they would all be here before me.”
“You would have to rise very early to be here first,” Kinloch said, “since most of your students will be up before dawn to do the milking and chores before they head to school. Come meet them.”
He touched her elbow, and again she felt that keen inner tug. She sensed the strength and calm in the man, though he was a smuggler and a scoundrel. She felt determined, as he had said—determined to let nothing, including this laird, distract her from her work.