Chapter Twenty
“Look at that, a grand Highlander in full flourish.” Strolling the long carpeted corridor between the library, parlor, and dining room, Lord Wetherstone paused to examine a portrait of a Highland chieftain. “One of your ancestors, Kildonan?”
“An early laird of Kildonan, aye. Seventeenth century,” Evan replied.
Catriona paused too, walking beside him, to gaze up at the painting.
As Evan stopped beside her, she felt fluttery excitement.
Supper was about to be served—casual that evening, which suited this group—and after everyone had finally retired, she would decide if she would go to Evan that night.
For now, she was just enjoying his company as he took his guests on a brief tour to see some of the portraits and treasures in the castle.
This portrait showed a Highland man in a wrapped plaid, furs, and a blousy shirt, with long dark curls and a confident, almost mocking expression. He held a broadsword and shield, and resembled Evan to some degree, particularly in the dashing wry smile on his lips.
“What a handsome Highlander!” she said.
“He looks like a savage. And he wears an awful lot of tartan,” Lady Wetherstone said.
“Highland men wore those great folded and pleated kilts long ago,” Catriona explained. “Now more often we see the pleated kilt, which requires less woolen fabric, and looks very elegant, I think.”
“It is improper to show one’s limbs,” the lady said.
“But when Highland men wear the kilt, it has a wonderful aesthetic,” Anna Wilkie said, joining them to consider the portrait.
“I agree, Mrs. Wilkie.” Catriona thought Evan looked marvelous tonight, dressed in a pleated kilt of dark green, dark blue, and red accent stripes, with a black jacket and waistcoat and tasseled knee stockings.
She could not help but admire the powerful cut of his strong calves and flat knees.
A curious thrill went through her at the hint of his long, taut thighs and more beneath the woolen fabric and sporran. She blushed and looked away.
Aye, she thought, perhaps she was ready to go to him tonight. The craving was strong, and she told herself that what held her back could be resolved.
“Those great kilts,” she said to the other ladies, “were very practical, long enough to wrap securely around the body, with enough length to tuck in and form a large pocket to carry things. And at night, a Highlander could wrap himself in the length of his plaid and sleep comfortably outdoors.”
“Using one’s clothing as bedding? It sounds dreadful,” the lady replied.
“We could use them on climbing holidays,” her husband said, turning to listen. “One would not need a knapsack or a blanket. Practical indeed, eh, Kildonan?” He grinned.
“Aye,” Evan said. “Highlanders are a creative and resourceful lot. That fellow there is Niall Mackenzie, an early laird of Kildonan. They called him Clever Niall. He built part of this house.”
“How could a poor Highlander afford to build a fine castle?” Wetherstone asked.
“Cattle thief,” Evan said succinctly.
“Who’s that other fellow?” Lady Wetherstone asked. “He looks a bit like you. Both of them do, to be sure.”
“This gentleman is my grandfather, first Earl of Kildonan.” He indicated a stern older man in a black frock coat with a plaid waistcoat and white neckcloth.
Military medals adorned his shoulder lapel.
“He made a brave showing in India and brought back a fortune in gold and jewels, enriching the estate and the Crown as well, resulting in an earldom that included Kildonan and the whole of Glen Shee.”
“Ah,” said Wetherstone, “a small earl by British standards, nevertheless a Crown-appointed peer.”
“Not so many generations ago, we were no different from the others in this glen,” Evan replied, “lairds with some property, raising cattle and sheep, engaging in clan wars, and unfailingly loyal to our kindred.” He looked pointedly at Catriona.
“Sometimes I think I would be more content as a Scottish laird rather than an earl.” He smiled faintly.
“Surely you see the advantages of a peerage,” Lady Wetherstone murmured, and strolled with Mrs. Wilkie and the others to study more of the paintings along the hallway.
Catriona felt torn between her duty as hostess and her desire to stay near her husband, and so she lingered with Evan and Lord Wetherstone.
“A pity to reduce the estate, given its history,” Wetherstone said.
“Reduce?” Catriona glanced at Evan.
“A shame, but inevitable,” Evan answered.
“And I cannot properly manage the estate from three hundred miles away. I keep a townhouse in Edinburgh and I am often there working on engineering projects. But the estate needs more of my attention, which could become a hardship either for the glen, or for myself—and my family.”
Silent, frowning, Catriona tried to catch his eye, but he avoided looking at her.
“Dividing it into smaller estates and renting out the castle is one solution,” Wetherstone said. “Your father began that process.”
“And I thought to continue it when I returned here not long ago.” Evan met Catriona’s gaze then. What she saw in his eyes in that instant seemed like pain.
She glided closer to him, her attention and her heart intent on the conversation. What Evan was considering left her life, her marriage, her home in the balance. Her heart beat fast as panic began to build.
“It is understandable,” Wetherstone said. “It is a long way to come up here from the city. Perhaps it is a place just to spend the summer and the hunting season. Certainly not winter. Wouldn’t want to be stranded up here, eh?” He chortled.
Catriona, listening, bristled at the reference, but Evan gave a dry laugh.
“Certainly not,” he agreed. His eyes flickered to hers as if in a silent conversation of their own, he somber, she stunned.
And she further thought that things might turn fiery, very shortly, once they were alone.
His plan to sell parts of the glen, even though she had an inkling of it earlier, shocked her.
Was he seriously thinking of selling to Lord Wetherstone?
Earlier that day, those luscious, fervent kisses at the standing stone made her yearn to go to him tonight.
Now the awful implications of what he intended for Glen Shee roused her anger, which overwhelmed desire.
She could not bear to see him give up his estate to an Englishman, no less, who would change it at whim and will.
Nor could she bear to lose her home, her marriage, and her future just when she began to believe the dream could come true, that she might find a way. But Kenneth Grant had claimed Evan would sell. She hated the fact that Grant might be right.
“Now that I’ve seen this grand place,” Wetherstone was saying, “I’m seriously considering it. How is the hunting? Good, you say? Your father was quite the sportsman.”
“Evan?” Catriona asked quietly, resting a hand on his arm. She did not care a whit about the question of hunting. She wanted to know what he was truly thinking.
“The hunting is excellent, sir. I’ve never been keen on it myself, but Fitzgibbon can tell you more about it. He was out recently with Mr. Grant, a local laird and physician.”
“So there is a physician nearby? Very good. My dear, there is a physician in the glen,” Wetherstone called to his wife.
She came back toward them. “Excellent! That was one of my questions.”
“He’s not a very good physician,” Catriona said impulsively.
Evan and the Wetherstones looked at her as if she had sprouted another head.
“He never completed his education and does not know as much as he claims. Instead, many of us consult croft wives who are skilled with herbs and potions. They might recommend that you carry a knotted red thread with you, or rub snails upon your person, or recite a fairy charm”—she looked hard at Evan—“but they often help whatever ails you.”
“Oh dear!” Lady Wetherstone looked appalled.
“In this healthy environment, one would rarely take ill,” Wetherstone said.
“But for the lung fever,” Catriona said.
“We are prone to it in the winter months. Young and old alike are susceptible.” She shook her head.
“A good Highland remedy for the cough is to swallow a soup of roasted mice and rub a stone covered with saliva on the chest. It works well, so I hear. I have never had to try it.”
“Oh!” Lady Wetherstone turned slightly green.
Evan narrowed his eyes as he sent Catriona a private glance. “I am sure if you were to acquire part of the estate, Lord Wetherstone, you would not regret it.”
“The scenery is quite beautiful,” Lady Wetherstone admitted, recovering a little.
“We often climb the hilltops to watch the terrific storms sweeping in from the west,” Catriona said. “They are magnificent. Lightning strikes, and wind that could tear the roof of a house. But the castle is snug, unless the old stones topple.”
“My dear,” Evan warned. “And hillwalking is another benefit of spending time out here. The landscape is wild and romantic.”
“And so vast,” Catriona agreed, “that one could easily get lost. And with such unpredictable weather, one never knows what might happen.” She smiled at Evan. “Isn’t that so, my dear?”
“Sometimes,” he said between his teeth. “I should also point out that we have about fifty thousand sheep on the estate at present, sir. The income from that is respectable.”
“Imagine having to catch all those sheep to clip them and gather the wool for market to make a profit,” Catriona said.
“And with so many Highlanders evicted from their homes, there are not as many available to help with the catching and the clipping. We have to hire Lowlanders to come up here seasonally to do the work. It takes time and money, when Highlanders would cheerfully do it for less. If they were still here,” she added.
“My dear,” Evan said, taking her elbow and squeezing, “Sir Aedan is looking for you. I believe he has a question for you.” He tried to shift her away, but she stood her ground.