by Susan King
For a moment he glanced about, hoping to see Fiona before he was off on the night’s mission. Here and there, he had seen her watching the game together with some of the other women. She had been standing with Mary MacIan and Lucy. Seeing the three together, each one so special to him, renewed his strength and resolve when he had been all but exhausted.
He had not seen her since then, and wondered if she had gone with Mary MacIan to the house to help right the mess here. He would offer to repair the damage and would bring the old woman a cask of her favorite whisky. But he could never make up to Fiona what fate, and his own misjudgment, had wrought.
No doubt she had decided to be done with the laird of Glen Kinloch, who preferred to muck about in a rough game, smuggle whisky, tend sheep, play the bagpipes, work in his distillery, and roam the hills rather than don a frock coat and complete his university education to become a true gentleman laird. Privately he savored more book learning, but he was not like the aristocratic gentlemen that Fiona MacCarran knew. He lacked the polish of men like Eldin. No matter the circumstance, the laird of Glen Kinloch would always be more suited to a plain existence in the Highlands. Could Fiona accept that, and leave her sophisticated life to live rustically? Deeply, desperately, he hoped so, and yet doubted it.
Tonight, though, he had more immediate matters to hand. Running down the hill to the lochside road in the purple gloaming, he sat on an old stone wall to wait for his uncles.
Tucking her shawl around her shoulders against a cool breeze, Fiona stood on a slope a little apart from the others, watching the ruckus of the game continue. Not far away, Lucy gathered flowers in the increasing darkness, humming to herself. Fiona smiled to see the girl happily occupied making a bouquet of yellow primroses and the bluebells that covered the hills in a blur of vivid color.
She had spent most of the day with the women of the glen, as well as the girls who attended her school. Lucy had been with them too, along with Maisie and Annabel, Jamie too. Walking the hills as the game ranged across the glen, Fiona had enjoyed watching. She had never seen anything quite like the game of the ba’—and she had not laughed so much in a long time. The quick glimpses of Dougal MacGregor in the thick of the game, sometimes the one controlling the ball, were more exciting and wonderful than she might have admitted to anyone.
She had found a chance to explore the lower hills, too, searching for rock samples, the children eager to help her. The afternoon was sunny and she had removed her straw bonnet, enjoying the breezes and the clear Highland air. 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—and Fiona, impressed, realized that the wee girl was already picking up some of what her uncles knew. Annabel, whose mother was known for her fine ale, had knowledge too. Shy Annabel had walked with them, singing a little in her sweet, beautiful voice. Fiona had smiled to herself, listening.
She truly loved Glen Kinloch—the place, the people. The laird.
In one spot, she discovered an outcrop of limestone containing some rare fossils, including ammonites, shell remains that she showed to the children. She had brought her knapsack and tools, and broke away some of the stone with a small hammer. While Lucy took a rubbing of the tiny shell impressions, Jamie had been thrilled to find traces of a beastie—a fat little trilobite petrified in stone. Fiona had split off that bit of stone so the boy could put his treasure in his 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 would Kinloch be doing, but playing at the ball today?”
“Smuggling,” Lucy said blithely. She sniffed a little posy that she had created and offered it to Fiona. “My uncles said they would go trading tonight at dark. They are going to meet a great ship from France, I think, that is coming up the loch in the dark to take the whisky and 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 Clyde to the sea,” Jamie said. “Grandfather Fergus took me to see a cutter coming up the loch once.”
Fiona had seen one as well, she remembered, when she had first come to the glen. Frowning, she glanced toward the game, where 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 a game could go on for days, even a week. Men came and went in shifts to give them a chance to eat and rest before joining the ruckus again.
Women, being sensible creatures, so Mary had said, usually watched for a while and then returned to their work and their homes and children. But now and then, she had added, 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 will be in the fray.”
Laughing at the thought, half-tempted herself to join the fun—an urge that turned practical as she watched the rough game continue—she looked around, her attention suddenly caught elsewhere.
A few men were walking across the moorland away from the great cluster of players and spectators. One of the men had captured her glance. 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?
Then she realized that he was heading away from the game, away from the meadow toward the loch. And he was with his uncles.
Smuggling, Lucy had said her uncles would be doing tonight.
Ah, Fiona thought. The raucous game provided a perfect distraction. Dougal himself had arranged the game today, though it was earlier than usual. Was he intending to create a cover for a night of smuggling?
Hearing a shout and Lucy’s quick answer, she saw Hugh MacIan climbing the hill toward them. He waved, smiled, and as the children ran toward him, he stooped to admire their collections of stones and flowers. Then he joined Fiona, standing beside her to watch the commotion down in the glen.
“The Southies look to win it,” he said with a smile. “They are moving the game toward the loch. Will you walk there with me, you and the wee ones?”
Crowing with delight, Jamie and the other children began to race down the hillside, while Fiona called after them to slow down. Gathering her things, she walked along with Hugh.
“Is the game nearly over, then?” she asked. “It will be twilight soon.”
“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 a chance to speak with him, and he promised to meet us down by the loch. Lord Eldin is here too. He heard about the game. I fear Dougal had best be careful,” he added low.
Fiona sent him a quick glance. “What do you mean?”
“The cutter,” Hugh said. “He has 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.
“I believe 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 a reaso
n he might send Hugh to fetch her, but she felt a little frisson of hope.
“He is fine,” he said. “He just wants to see you, I think, and Lucy as well. He is too tired, I imagine, to come up here for you himself. I will take you to him.”
“Of course.” Did Dougal mean to talk to her about his feelings, as she longed to talk to him, be honest with him? But a sudden thought made her stop.
Did Dougal mean to fetch them to protect them, with the smuggling going forward tonight? She felt a small twist in her gut, a warning knell.
“Fiona, forgive me for being familiar,” Hugh said, “but I believe we are friends, aye? As the kirk minister, I am concerned for all the souls 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 was uncertain what to say. “The laird was very respectful, Reverend.”
“Good. Maisie told me she found whisky glasses about, and broken glass, and a bit of a mess. She is not a gossip, I assure you. We two are, ah, fond of one another, and she often confides in me.”
The glasses, Fiona thought, her stomach sinking. She had forgotten to go back to the library and clean it completely, and Maisie had seen 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 the fairy whisky?” He glanced at her. “Maisie said that bottle was open, which puzzled her, as the laird does not normally drink that sort—nor does he generally take much whisky at all, for all 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 paused, but nodded. “I did taste it. A very nice whisky. But that was all. The laird came home, and we, ah, visited briefly. It was a lovely evening. I was tired and went to bed early.” She turned her head to hide her deepening blush.
They neared the road, walking through the crowd. The game’s center was hurtling and rumbling 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 way from the rough game. Hugh took her arm to draw her away from the horde.
“This way,” he said. “Dougal is waiting nearby.” He drew her along. “Lucy, Jamie, Annabel, come along!”
“Aye, sir,” Jamie said, and made sure the two girls went with him.
Feeling the pressure in the reverend’s grip, Fiona frowned. He led her and the children closer to the shore of the loch and around a curve. Ahead, a massive cluster of limestone and red sandstone rose straight up from the loch bed, partly blocking the view of the winding, pebbled shoreline. A thicket of bushes and trees further screened the area, but Fiona saw a narrow path tracing along a wedge of shoreline. The water slapped slowly, rhythmically against the base of the gigantic rock that thrust upward like a cliffside.
“Mr. MacIan, where are we going?” Fiona asked. “Children, hold hands and stay by the rock wall. The way through here is very narrow. Be careful. Sir, are you sure Dougal is waiting for us here?”
“Aye, just up here.” Hugh led the way, reaching again for her arm.
Fiona glanced up at the rock walls. Dark crevices split the rock face, and she could see more gaps hidden by bushes. Caves likely honeycombed the rock, she thought. Those might be used by smugglers—so Dougal might indeed be using such a location. Reassured, she followed MacIan and reached back to take Lucy’s hand, the others coming along behind.
“Here,” Hugh said, shepherding them along.
Fiona frowned, feeling uncertain again. Was something wrong, that Dougal had summoned them here? She hung back, but MacIan smiled and took her arm.
He guided her ahead of him now, pointing toward a triangular crevice in the rock face. Urging her inside, he ducked his head to step inside and ushered the children past him. Fiona had to dip her head down a bit too, but once past the overhang of the entrance, she could easily stand upright in the space. Jamie and Lucy jumped around and hooted with delight to discover the cave, while Annabel turned around in awe, staring at the place.
Lucy looked up. “It is not very big. Why are we here?”
“Aye, where is Kinloch?” Fiona asked, pulling out of Hugh’s grasp. “Kinloch! Are you here? Dougal!” The sound echoed in the cave, which was narrow but seemed very deep. She noticed footprints in some light dust on the floor, leading toward a shadowed wall. “Who is here?”
“Kinloch,” MacIan said, gesturing into the triangular shadows formed by a crevice, an inner entrance. The cave floor ran between the walls into darkness.
“I want to go back and watch the ba’,” Jamie protested. MacIan took the boy’s shoulder to firmly guide him and the others into the second opening. Reaching up, he took a lantern from a natural shelf and lit it quickly.
“Go on,” he said. “It is safe.”
Something was wrong. Fiona reached for Lucy’s hand, turning to gather the children to back away. But as she rounded, MacIan, tall and broad, was blocking her way, so that she could only turn sideways. She brought the children close to her while MacIan turned up the lantern wick to show a rough, descending path.
“You know Kinloch is smuggling out cargo tonight,” he said. “He wants you kept safe should there be trouble. This way.”
She hesitated, looking along the dark, narrow path. Clearly there were multiple caves inside the complex of rock—a honeycomb of cells formed from bubbles in the intensely hot ancient liquid material that had hardened, over eons, to limestone.
Intrigued by what she saw despite her growing wariness, she looked around, seeing various strata—sandstone and greywacke, sparkling with thousands of crystal particles. The lantern light caught them, turning common stone to glittering surfaces. Crystals were embedded beside veins of metal that could, she realized, be mined one day. Then something else caught her attention.
“Astonishing,” she breathed. “The caves progress eastward, I think, from the entrance above us. These caves go under the loch!”
“They do. Very good. The caves go deep into the earth, and the loch is above these spaces,” MacIan agreed as they continued downward.
“Under the loch! Woo-hoo!” Jamie hooted with delight, as did Lucy, their voices echoing.
“Hush!” the reverend said sharply.
“Could we drown here?” Annabel asked nervously. Fiona took her hand.
“It is perfectly safe,” she assured the girl. “The rock is very, very thick and solid, and it has been here for a very long time.”
“This way,” MacIan said. “Dougal keeps a cave down here. Come on.”
Slowing, Fiona peered in the cavelets and niches along the natural corridor and realized that Dougal must indeed use this space. The lantern light that MacIan carried showed kegs piled inside various spaces—hundreds of kegs, in fact. They were stacked within the caves, most of the kegs and casks small enough to be carried on a man’s shoulder. Some were larger, the sort that could be rolled along.
The containers stored in the caves could be quickly moved from here to the upper cave, and out to rowboats waiting to take the cargo to a cutter—and away down the loch before they could be spotted.
“Where is Kinloch?” she asked.
“He will meet us here, if he is not here already. Kinloch!” MacIan called.
“All of this is whisky to be smuggled?” she asked. “Is that why the game is going on today, to cover this enterprise?”
“I believe so.” He shrugged. “I am only here to help you find your way to Kinloch. A favor for a friend.”
“Smugglers’ caves!” Jamie said, as he and Lucy ran ahead with Annabel.
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“Quiet,” Hugh growled. “Miss MacCarran, I regret bringing the bairns with us. But it was best, since they were with you and would tell others where we went.”
Fear spiked through her gut. “Why have you brought us here?” Fiona rounded on him.
“To meet Dougal.”
“But he is not here, is he, Reverend.” Her voice trembled with the accusation. Her heart was beating hard as dread mounted. She called to the children to come back, reaching out to gather them to her. “I should never have believed you, never have brought the children along.”
“Of course you can believe me,” MacIan said. “I knew you were interested in fossils and would very much like this place. The walls are thick with ancient imprints, see.” He gestured. “I think these are tiny shells and such, is that so?”
She was not distracted. “Kinloch did not send you after us, did he.”
He sighed. “Miss MacCarran, I felt it was important for you to realize what a rogue MacGregor is. A smuggler.”
She laughed bitterly. “Rogue and a smuggler—that is no surprise to me. I know what he does. I also know he cares deeply about the glen and the people in it. I know he smuggles cargo to protect his tenants from poverty and taxation. And I also know he makes legitimate whisky. Is this legal or illicit stock?” She gestured to the caves, fingers shaking.
At the same time, she glanced furtively about, wondering how to get the children out of this place quickly. MacIan was convincing—but her gut had been telling her all along that something was wrong. She should have paid attention.
“The spirits produced in his legal still are not aged enough to compete with this lot. These kegs hold nicely aged whisky. Very good and costly stuff. He will make a fortune on the shipment.”
“Where is he?” she demanded. “Why is no one here guarding this?”
“They will be here soon. Come this way.” He turned along another natural path between uneven stone walls. Feeling truly unsettled now, Fiona gathered the children close and whispered to them to turn and run, urging them to go the way they had come. Grateful that they did not question her, she was relieved to see them whirl and pound up the slope toward the outer cave.