Chapter Seventeen #2
As they moved along the glenside with the game, she had found moments to explore the foothills, searching for rock samples, the children eager to help.
The afternoon was sunny and warm and she had removed her straw bonnet, enjoying the fresh Highland breezes.
Jamie had collected rocks and scouted for fossils, while the girls had gathered flowers.
Lucy had a surprising knowledge of flowers useful in the whisky-making process—Fiona, impressed, realized the wee girl was learning from her uncles.
Annabel, whose mother was known for her fine ale, had good knowledge too.
Shy Annabel had walked with them, singing a little in her sweet, beautiful voice. Fiona had smiled to herself, listening.
She realized that she truly loved Glen Kinloch—the place, the people. The laird.
In one spot, she discovered an outcrop of limestone containing some rare fossil remains, including fat swirled ammonites that she showed the children.
She had brought her knapsack and tools, and broke away some of the stone with a small hammer.
Lucy took rubbings of the tiny shell impressions, and Jamie had been thrilled to find traces of a beastie—a fat little trilobite petrified in stone.
Fiona had split away that chunk of stone so the boy could keep his treasure in a pocket.
While walking the hills, Fiona and the children stopped now and then to watch the game as the men edged closer to the lochside goal.
“The Southies will win,” Jamie predicted. “They have more players. And the gaugers are watching and will not pay heed to what the laird is doing.”
Fiona lifted a brow. “What else is Kinloch doing but playing at the ball today?”
“Smuggling,” Lucy said blithely.
“What?” Fiona asked.
The child held out a little posy of flowers to her. “Here. I heard the uncles say they would go trading tonight when it was all dark. They will meet a great ship from France, I think they said. It is coming up the loch to take the whisky and will pay good coin. We will be rich!”
“A cutter, not a ship,” Jamie said. “Only fast boats make the whisky runs.”
“Is it so?” Fiona asked mildly. “Only fast boats on the loch?”
“Aye, they sail up the loch and then down, and then they move the whisky to a bigger ship and go all the way down the River Clyde to the sea,” Jamie said. “My grandfather took me to see a cutter coming up the loch once and told me how the whisky runs go over the water.”
Fiona had seen a cutter as well, she remembered, when she had first come to the glen.
Frowning, she glanced toward the ongoing game.
A great clog of men gathered in the meadow, while spectators stood watching.
The tenacity of the glen players was remarkable, she thought—Mary MacIan had said these sorts of games could go on for days, even as much as a week.
Men came and went in shifts, taking a little time to eat and rest before joining the ruckus again.
Women, being sensible creatures, so Mary had said, watched for a while and then returned to their work and their homes and children. Now and then a woman might dive into the throng too, welcome to play and giving as good as she got.
“Not me,” Mary laughed, “but I have seen some do so over the years of this mad glen game. I expect when Lucy grows up,” she had said, “she might join the fray.”
Laughing at the thought, Fiona felt a fleeting temptation to join the fun herself. But the urge quickly turned practical as she watched the rough game continue. Looking around, she noticed something far off in the glen, away from the commotion in the center.
A few men walked across the moorland away from the great cluster of players and spectators.
One of the men captured her attention. She knew the set of those shoulders, that rhythmic walk, the dark-sheened hair.
Her heart thumped quick and fast. Had Dougal seen her on the slope with the children—was he coming up to meet them?
But he was heading away from the game, away from the meadow toward the loch. And he was with two of his uncles. She could see that now.
Smuggling, Lucy had said. The raucous game provided a perfect distraction, Fiona realized. Dougal had arranged the game today, which was being held earlier than usual. Did he intend the distraction to cover a night of smuggling and a rush to meet a boat?
Hearing a shout and Lucy’s quick answer, she saw Hugh MacIan climbing the hill toward them.
The reverend waved, smiled, and as the children ran toward him, he stooped to admire their collections of stones and flowers.
Then he joined Fiona on the slope, standing beside her as they watched the riotous game down in the glen.
“The Southies look to win,” he said. “They are pushing the game toward the loch and have the advantage just now. Shall we walk that way with the wee ones?”
Crowing with delight, Jamie and the children began to race along the shoulder of the hill, while Fiona called after them to slow down and come closer. Gathering up her bag with the little hammer and tools, she walked beside Hugh MacIan.
“Will the game end soon, then?” she asked. “It is coming on twilight.”
“Some light will linger this time of year. And they will play regardless of the time until there is resolution. I see we have attracted some outsiders.” He gestured toward the road.
“Customs officers!” She noticed the men on horseback, and a few on foot, and saw the weapons they carried.
“Aye, your brother included. I had the chance to speak with them before I came over to you. He promised to meet us down by the loch. Lord Eldin is here too. He heard about the game. Dougal MacGregor best be careful,” he added low.
Fiona sent him a quick, concerned glance. “What do you mean?”
“The cutter,” Hugh said. “He arranged to meet a boat on the loch tonight. Did he not tell you? I rather thought he might have confided in you, since he seems keen to court you.”
“Does he?” she asked casually, though her heart took up a tripping beat.
“It seems so. In fact, I was sent to find you and bring you to the laird and your brother. I thought you might welcome that news.”
“Kinloch asked you to find me?” She frowned. “Has he been hurt in the game?” She could not think of any other reason that Dougal might send Hugh to fetch her, but his uncles were clearly busy. She felt a little frisson of hope that Dougal had thought of her even in the midst of the fray.
“He is fine. He just wants to see you, I think, and Lucy as well. He is too tired and too involved to come up here for you himself. I offered to take you down to meet him.”
“Of course.”
“But do be warned,” Hugh said, “he may have a dangerous thing planned. I am worried, I will tell you.”
Danger? She felt a chill run down her spine. She had only hoped that Dougal sent for her to be near him, perhaps to talk to her when he had the chance, just as she longed to talk to him, explain as honestly as she could and convince him to listen.
But perhaps he sent for them to protect them if smuggling was going forward tonight. She felt a small twist in her gut, a warning knell. Risk, danger. Fear.
“Miss Fiona, forgive me if I am being familiar,” Hugh said, “but I hope we are friends. And as the kirk minister, I am concerned for every soul here in the glen. The night of the fire, when you stayed over at Kinloch House, I hope all was well between you and the laird. If I may ask—”
“There were unusual circumstances that night, but there is no need for concern, I assure you,” she said.
“Then I trust you were safe and it was not—an awkward situation for you.”
She frowned. “The laird was very respectful, Reverend. Do not fret on my account.”
“Good. Maisie said she found whisky glasses about, and broken glass, and a bit of a mess. She is not a gossip, I promise. We two are fond of one another, if I may say, and so she often confides in me.”
The whisky glasses, Fiona thought, stomach sinking. She had forgotten to go back to the library and clean it completely, so Maisie had seen them the next day. “I was coughing from the smoke and took a whisky remedy for it. I dropped the glass, and it broke.”
“Was it fairy whisky?” He glanced at her.
“Maisie said that bottle was open, which puzzled her. The laird does not normally drink that sort, nor does he take much whisky at all, though he makes the best around. Forgive my curiosity, but did you sample it? It is legendary stuff, and they say it can have an odd effect if too much is taken.”
Startled, she shrugged. “I did taste it. A very nice whisky. The laird came home, and we visited briefly. It was a lovely evening. I was tired and went to bed early.” She turned her head to look up the slope and hide her deepening blush.
They walked downward in near silence, approaching the road that cut through the glen, and so walked among the crowd.
The chaotic center of the game hurtled and rumbled along, approaching the standing stones at the base of one of the slopes.
Fiona remembered hiding behind one of those very stones one night, encountering the smugglers—and their laird.
She called to the children to come closer, anxious to keep them away from the crowd and the rough game. Hugh called too, then took Fiona’s arm.
“This way,” he said, drawing her away from the horde. “Dougal will be waiting nearby. He left the game a little while ago. Lucy, Jamie, Annabel! Come along!”
“Aye, sir,” Jamie said, running toward them, making sure the girls came too.
Feeling the pressure of the reverend’s grip, Fiona frowned. He was deeply concerned, which increased her fear for Dougal and his uncles if they were indeed planning a risky venture that night.