Chapter Twenty-Three
On Sunday mornings, Evan thought, the light often had a gentle quality, the air calmer, the weather more peaceful, even birdsong more melodic. As he left the church beside Catriona, he had a dim memory of standing on this very church step as a small boy, his hand in his mother’s gloved fingers.
Now he held his wife’s hand, and no wonder the day seemed brighter—but for Reverend MacConn’s stern glower and Judith Rennie’s sour face.
Earlier, during their awkward reunion, Evan watched proudly as Catriona showed the grace and kindness typical of her, despite the taut atmosphere.
Then Thomas MacConn had delivered a sermon on the Good Samaritan, perhaps a gesture of apology since he had chastised his daughter so for saving a man’s life.
The morning gave Evan hope that MacConn and Mrs. Rennie could forgive and forget.
Outside the church, Evan made his farewells and then held out a hand to Catriona to escort her to his gig. But she hung back with a thin smile and shook her head.
His heart dropped. Was she tempted to stay now that she was back in the dreary shadow of her father and aunt? Had she changed her mind on the marriage, even after the loving hours they had spent together?
“Kildonan, go on without me,” she said. “Finlay will bring me home later. He wants to show me something.”
“Of course.” Home, she had said. That abated his concern, but he was disappointed to leave without her. Each day, it seemed, his feelings for her deepened.
“You should help your guests plan their outing to Ben Shee,” she said.
“They would climb on a Sunday?” Judith Rennie asked haughtily, overhearing.
“Just making plans, Aunt,” Catriona said. “But they could climb today if they want.” She lifted her chin with the quiet stubbornness Evan was coming to know.
*
As the gig from Kildonan grew small in the distance, and as she saw her father and aunt walking over the moor back to the manse, Catriona breathed a sigh of relief. She turned to Finlay, who waited nearby.
“When?” she asked quietly.
“Soon. Lord Kildonan is far enough away now that we can begin. I’ve wrapped up some extra food for the MacLeod family we’re moving today, so we are ready to take the pony cart to fetch them from Mrs. MacAuley’s inn.
She’ll have fed them, but they will need foodstuffs for their new larder.
It will take a little time to get them up to the shieling and help them settle in.
I’m just waiting for another who has promised to help. ”
She nodded, assuming Morag or another of the MacLeod kin were coming.
Glancing over the moor again, she saw that the gig had vanished from sight around the base of a hill.
Guilt tugged at her for a moment to do this without Evan’s knowledge, but it was necessary.
Finlay needed some help with all he was doing, and she could not have spent the day in the company of her husband and his guests knowing that another family was being moved into the glen, and the earl all unaware, and his wife beside him knowing it.
She may as well roll up her sleeves and help.
It felt better than holding back what she knew.
Her brother could move the returning MacLeod family into the shieling hut without help, but she wanted him to know she supported him fully.
And if she had to admit that to Evan at some point, so be it.
She was more worried about Mr. Grant than Evan now, for Grant might try to undermine this effort if he knew.
Though she could not understand his reasoning, he would willingly damage others if he did not get what he wanted.
Turning, she saw her father crossing the meadow back toward the church without his sister. He must have walked Judith to the manse and decided to return. She twisted her hands together, certain he would be furious if he knew their plans.
“Are you ready, then?” Thomas MacConn asked Finlay.
“Ready?” Catriona glanced from one to the other.
“To help the new family move into the shieling,” her father said. “I promised to help Finlay today.”
“But Papa, it’s Sunday!” She blurted the first thing that came to mind.
He gave her a rare smile. Thomas MacConn had smiled often in Catriona’s childhood. She realized then how much she had missed that in her father.
“Sunday, aye. But we’re doing God’s work.”
Surprised, she gaped at him while Finlay chuckled and went to fetch the pony cart.
*
“Lady Kildonan found you here, along this very track? How exciting!” Jemima said, walking beside Evan on the drover’s track that led over the mountain peaks and down toward the glen.
Those guests who had ventured out with them were close behind.
“Lady Jean said it was a very romantic incident. She said the place you were found ought to have a plaque and stone to commemorate the spot where Kildonan lost his heart.” She laughed.
“Did she now? That is my sister,” Evan drawled. “In truth, I was unconscious with a bloodied head, and somehow the poor lass dragged me over the icy track to safety.”
“She is very brave, your countess,” Emily Murray said, joining them. “I would not be half so brave in the same situation. Where did you fall?”
“Up there,” Evan said, pointing. “I fell from the slope above down to that crag.”
Reverend Wilkie, walking with his wife Anna, stopped to shade his eyes. “That black and wicked slope? A long, hard fall. A wonder you survived. You’re a skilled climber.”
Evan shrugged. “I took a foolish risk that day.”
“And you met your angel,” Jemima said.
“It was fated.” Emily Murray sighed.
“Perhaps it was,” he agreed, smiling.
“Surely there are easier ways to get to the top of Ben Shee than the route you and Fitzgibbon took.” Jemima studied the steep incline.
“Easy to a certain height. Then any path upward is a challenge,” he answered.
“Well,” Jemima said, “we’ll find a route to suit everyone going up. I guarantee none of us will want to scramble up that vertical black rock.”
“Just Kildonan and Mr. Fitzgibbon,” Emily said. “And Mr. Grant. He seems keen on the rougher climbs.”
“Kildonan, where is the hut where you were stranded?” Wilkie asked.
“Over the ridge to the left. Off the track and down a hill beside a burn.”
“We’ll have a look. I’m keen to explore, as I’m writing a book about the Torridons.”
Evan was not keen to see the hut with the group. “We’ll meet you on the ridge.”
“Finally,” Jemima said then. “Here are Wetherstone, Fitzgibbon, and Grant!” As she spoke, the men came up the slope followed by three young grooms leading three stocky, surefooted Highland ponies.
“We must keep together!” she called to them.
“Remember what happened when Fitzgibbon and Kildonan were separated!”
“But that was an ice storm,” Fitzgibbon called in reply.
“Something wonderful happened to Cousin Evan on this mountain,” Emily said, giving Evan a charming smile. “I wish I could have such romantic luck out here.”
Evan laughed. “If I see some lucky lad up there, I will send him your way, Cousin.”
“Kildonan!” Arthur Fitzgibbon called. “Plotting our route?”
“Just getting a look at the lower slopes. That black wall looks like a deposit of Lewisian gneiss. You may want to look. We’ll go along the drover’s track and meet you at the top of the ridge over there.”
“I will go with you, Arthur, if you want to examine the black rock.” Kenneth Grant’s manner was serious as usual, Evan noted, despite the lighter mood around them.
“I’ve climbed as high as anyone dares on these dangerous slopes.
The rocks are unstable in places, and parts of the upper incline are sharp with rocks, making walking difficult.
Especially for the ladies who insist on going up. But I can guide you.”
“We ladies will be just fine, Mr. Grant,” Jemima retorted. “Finlay MacConn has agreed to guide us up the higher elevation. He knows what he is about, I am sure.”
“He does,” Evan agreed. “You’re welcome to come along, Grant.”
“I wonder if the lad will even show up. He has been very busy of late,” Grant said.
“Look!” Arthur reached into his pocket. “I found some nice Cairngorms back there.” He drew out a glittering cluster of smoky quartz crystals, and Jemima and Emily came close to admire them.
“Kildonan!” Reverend Wilkie came partway down the incline of the ridge again, holding his wife’s hand. “I thought you said the hut was in bad repair.”
“Aye, half the roof is gone, and the walls leak the winds.”
“It must have been repaired. What a charming little cottage,” Anna Wilkie said. “So picturesque! There’s smoke curling from the chimney and a cart and horse outside. I want to sketch it for my husband’s book about scrambling in the Torridons.”
“Charming cottage?” Evan asked, puzzled. He strode toward the ridge and upward to take a look. When he reached the rise in the hill, he stopped in astonishment.
What he saw was a pretty Highland croft with a thatched roof, a neatly swept yard, a door with a new coat of red paint, and stone walls patched with mortar. Smoke curled from the chimney at the end of the roof, and a cart and horse waited in the yard.
Finlay had intended to fix up the old shieling hut, and must have seen to it quickly and efficiently. And someone was there. Bewildered, he began to walk closer, then stopped as the red door opened.
Catriona emerged, her hair coppery in the sunshine, moving from stone doorstep into the yard. Finlay followed her out of the house. Then Thomas MacConn came outside.
What the devil? Evan folded his arms. A crisp breeze blew his coat about, lifted his hair, chilled him through. He stood statue still.