Chapter Twenty-Three #3
“Just as I suspected.” Grant came to his side.
“Shocking insubordination. Your factor will undercut the profit from these lands. He should be arrested for criminal acts. And the reverend—doing this on a Sunday! MacConn should lose his living for this. Distressing,” Grant said.
“And Lady Kildonan is part of it too. Disappointing. Despicable.”
“Quiet,” Evan snapped without turning.
“What the devil!” Wetherstone joined them. “Good thing I decided against buying lands here. Rebellion on your estate! Shocking, as Mr. Grant says. Grant—best reconsider your offer to Kildonan as well. Clearly the locals have taken over.”
“Just have them evicted again,” Grant said. “And hire another factor. If I were laird here, there would be much more order and control. And profit.”
“But you are not laird here,” Evan said. He had heard enough. “Finlay MacConn!”
“Aye, sir,” Finlay said, meeting his gaze, not looking away.
“Did you hire tenants to work on the old bridge? I gave you those orders this week.”
“What?” Finlay seemed surprised, as if he did not understand.
“I need a work crew, as I said, and you were to gather workers from among the new tenants that you were authorized to move into these lands.”
“Authorized?” Finlay said.
“Authorized!” Grant sputtered.
“Of course he was authorized.” Evan gave Grant a tight smile. “Did you think Mr. MacConn would do this all on his own?”
“I did think that,” Grant snapped. “I still do. He said so himself.”
“My father,” Evan said, “sent hundreds, perhaps thousands of people away from this glen over the years. He replaced people with sheep. The sheep are flourishing, taking over the glen. The people were not flourishing where they had gone. It was time they came home. We have enough damned sheep and need the help. Lady Kildonan agrees,” he said brusquely, looking at her.
“I do,” she said. She looked at Grant. “I support my husband’s decision.”
“What is this all about, Kildonan?” Wetherstone asked.
“He’s lying to protect his wife and her family,” Grant said. “The Highlanders were sent away because they were useless. The land was wasted with crofting families on it. They should never be brought back.”
“My father made a grave error,” Evan said. “He did not realize that Highlanders are incredibly determined, hardworking, and intelligent. When they have a mind to, they can do damn near anything better, faster, more cleverly than men hired from the South.”
“That is very true, I must say,” Reverend MacConn added.
“By the way, Finlay, I will need a second crew for another job.” Evan waved to the hills behind them.
“The exterior walls of Kildonan Castle must be harled with plaster again. The present coat is in poor condition. The work will take months, and perhaps should be started after the sheep clipping is done in the spring.”
“Aye, sir,” Finlay said. “Anything else, Kildonan?”
“One thing more.”
“Sir?” Finlay asked.
“Damn fine job of running the estate in my absence, Finlay,” Evan said. He looked past him toward the newcomers, and walked toward them, holding out his hand.
“Greetings. I am Evan Mackenzie. Kildonan,” he added. “Welcome back to Glen Shee. And you are—?”
“William MacLeod,” the man replied. “This is my wife, Helen, and our lads.”
Catriona joined them. “They have just come up from Inverness to work on the estate. This is the new Lord Kildonan.”
William MacLeod doffed his hat. “Thank you, sir, for your help. Sending Finlay.”
“You can thank the MacConns for the help,” Evan said. “Mr. MacLeod, are you kin to Morag MacLeod or Flora MacLeod?”
“Aye, we are indeed. Mother Flora is my great-grandmother.”
“She’ll be very glad to see you.” Evan glanced at Catriona. “My dear, I thought to see you later and Kildonan Castle, but since you are here, walk back with us, if you will.”
“I will.” She turned to hug her brother and kiss her father’s cheek, then murmured something that made the burly man blink as if he fought tears.
Evan strode away, hardly waiting for her, his feelings still in turmoil.
He appreciated Finlay’s innocent, altruistic motives, however covertly he carried them out.
The letter the lad sent had never arrived, and Finlay might have assumed that the new earl would never allow it, so he had gone ahead on his own.
That had taken courage. He appreciated that as well.
For now, Evan had circumvented trouble. But this encounter made it clear that Grant was not the upstanding fellow he wanted people to think. And it also showed that Catriona was deeply sincere in her insistence that she would never leave Glen Shee.
He walked ahead of her in silence, conflicted—proud of her for her actions, yet hurt too, knowing things might yet have to change. Knowing he might yet lose her.
She caught up to him then, tall girl that she was, her stride carrying her toward him. His guests had gone on ahead, apparently eager to keep their distance. Evan still seethed within, and was glad of it.
“Evan, wait.”
He turned to look at her in silence.
“Thank you,” she said, eyes bright, cheeks so pink he wanted to kiss her and let go of the obstinance he felt. “I promise I will explain everything. But thank you. Why did you decide to—”
“Loyalty,” he growled. “I love this glen too. You could have told me, Catriona.”
He lengthened his stride, aware that she stood for a few moments, then followed.