“He did. Miss Elspeth MacArthur of Kilcrennan. Do you know her?”
“Her father, the weaver of Kilcrennan, is a distant cousin.” He narrowed his eyes. “Twin brother, is it? You two will be close, then. No doubt he will visit you here.”
“He has been in Edinburgh for some months. He is a lecturing professor.”
“I see. And what of the cousin?”
“The Earl of Eldin. But we are not so close, he and I.”
“Eldin is the one who purchased Auchnashee to turn it into a hotel.” He frowned. “We have not met, but I have heard of him. So you are an earl’s cousin, the sister of a viscount, and sister to a gauger as well.” Frowning thoughtfully, he seemed to assess her.
“So you see, I have ties to the Highlands, as you do,” she pointed out.
“Not quite as I do, I will venture to guess. When were you at Auchnashee last? I hear the hotel is near ready, and is reserving dates for guests on holiday.”
“I was there two days ago, and it is coming along. But I suspect it is not Eldin who most concerns you, but Patrick.”
“The excise officer.” He inclined his head. “Then I assume the gentleman I saw you with earlier was one of your brothers—unless you have a suitor here you have not owned to.”
“Of course not. Patrick was walking with me. You saw us there?”
“I keep watch over my mountain and my glen. Where my gaze does not reach, others keep lookout for me.” He smiled, but it had an edge. “I wonder if the reverend knew your brother was a revenue officer when he invited you.”
“It never came up. Patrick’s appointment came after I agreed to the post here. His jurisdiction is south, so you need not worry about that. But he will come here to see me—and to make sure I am safe,” she added pointedly.
“Miss MacCarran,” he said, “I will guarantee your safety.”
Catching her breath at his deep, certain tone, she felt something indefinable, both pleasant and yearning, thrill through her. But she squared her shoulders. “I do not fear any danger in Glen Kinloch. It seems you are the one who needs to be cautious. The king’s men were eager to find Dougal MacGregor.”
“They know where I am if they want to talk to me. The excise men suspect me of much, but have never been able to prove anything. It is the price of being laird in a glen where, aye, some smuggling does go on. The laird is easy to blame for it.”
“Ah. There is a smuggler called the Laird. You are he?”
“I am laird of this glen,” he said.
“We were forced to hide while your kinsmen pretended you were another. If you are legitimately the laird of this area, why hide?”
“That was for your protection, Miss MacCarran, not mine. What goes on in this glen is no game. Sometimes the revenue officers are less trustworthy than the rogues they’re after.” He took her arm again, and she sensed earnestness in him, and intensity. “My kinsmen and tenants will not harm you, but other rascals do come through these hills, and it is good to be wary. If word gets about that your kinsman is an excise man, it could go ill for you, and your brother. I believe it is not in your best interests to stay in this glen, after all.”
“Mr. MacGregor, I have been here but a day, and have been hauled about in a most uncommon fashion, threatened with pistols, and exposed to danger—and now you, the laird of the glen himself, want me to leave? Reverend MacIan invited me here through arrangement with the Edinburgh Ladies’ Society for the Education and Betterment of the Gaels. And I have agreed—”
“The what?”
She repeated the name. “I have also agreed to teach for several weeks. School begins in a few days. I cannot leave.” She drew a breath. “Too much depends on—” She stopped.
He rested a hand on her shoulder, slid his hand down her arm. Fiona caught her breath, feeling the same warm magic that had taken her earlier, capable of melting reason and resistance. He bent his head close to hers, and for an instant she thought he might kiss her again, so that she tilted her head back.
“It is best that you go,” he said. “I will speak to the reverend myself. In the morning I will send a gig and driver to take you to Auchnashee. If there are expenses for your return to Edinburgh, I will cover them myself. You may keep the rocks,” he added.
“You have neither right nor cause to dismiss me.”
“As I have said, it is for your own welfare.”
“I believe only Mr. MacIan can excuse me. And I intend to stay.” She stepped past him, angry, even panicked—she could not leave the glen. She felt drawn to the place, and now strangely to its laird. And she had to fulfill at least some of the conditions of her grandmother’s will, her stay in this glen being the best opportunity for that. “If you wish to protect your smuggling interests, certainly I am no threat to those. Do as you please.” She spun away to walk toward the house.
“Fiona, wait.” In that deep, mellow voice, her name sounded different to her, beautiful and warm, in a way she had never quite heard it before. She turned, lured somehow by his voice, his use of her name. MacGregor reached her in one step and took her by the shoulder.
In the misty twilight, as he loomed over her, all else seemed to fade. Wildly, impulsively, she felt as if she were caught in the fairy realm, transfixed by one of the mysterious Sidhe. “Listen to me,” he said. “This is not the time for you to be here. That is all I can say.”
“I will not say a word about this evening. We need not even bargain for it.” She stared up at him. Feeling his fingers flex on her shoulder, she leaned forward, could not help it. “That should satisfy your doubt.”
“Nothing could satisfy—” He bent toward her. “Damn,” he muttered, and pulled back as a woman’s voice cut through the darkness and fog.
“Is that you, Miss MacCarran? Who is with you?” Mary MacIan’s voice broke the spell that had held Fiona standing in place. She turned to see the elderly woman, once again silhouetted in the door of the cottage, with the firelight behind her.
“It is Fiona, Mrs. MacIan,” she returned in Gaelic. “I will be there in a moment.”
“It’s Kinloch out here as well, Cousin Mary,” MacGregor called. “I met your guest while out in the hills, and escorted her back.”
“Cousin!” Fiona began walking, and he strode beside her.
“Certainly,” he murmured. “We all know each other, and many are related, in the glen.”
“Kinloch, you rascal! Come in, both of you,” Mrs. MacIan gestured toward them. “Did you bring me a cask? Lovely lad! Is it the fairy sort this time?”
“Sorry, just the usual sort,” he answered.
Fiona looked up, curiosity piqued. “The fairy sort of what?”
“Whisky,” he murmured. “But that, I assure you, would be quite illegal.”
“I want nothing to do with it,” she said, and hurried ahead of him.
“Kinloch whisky of any kind is always welcome.” Mary MacIan smiled, hands folded in front of her, face crinkling and pleasant. She was a tiny woman with a froth of white hair spilling out from her white cap; a dark dress hung loose on her small frame, and she wrapped a plaid shawl close around her bony shoulders. She stood back as Fiona stepped inside, and MacGregor followed, bending a little to clear the lintel as he entered the house.
Fiona set her knapsack on the floor, and Dougal MacGregor deposited the small keg on a table beneath a window. Standing in the small, simply furnished front room of the cottage, he seemed large, imposing, handsome, and magical. He looked at Mrs. MacIan and bowed his head.
“I am sorry, Cousin Mary, I cannot stay for long.”
“Aye, there’s gaugers about tonight,” Mary said. “The lad was here earlier, and he told me about some officers on the road. Did you meet them?”
“We did. All is well. Give my best to the lad.” He stepped toward the door.
“The lad?” Fiona asked.
“My grandson, the reverend,” Mrs. MacIan said. “He promised to take you around the glen tomorrow afternoon, Fiona.”
“How wonderful,” Fiona said, looking at Dougal. “I am so looking forward to it.”
“A pity, as Miss MacCarran will be leaving the glen in the morning,” he said, gazing intently at her. Fiona narrowed her eyes in defiance.
“But she just got here!” Mary MacIan looked astonished.
“I did, and I just know I will enjoy my stay here.” Fiona walked to the door and opened it wide. “Good night, Mr. MacGregor.”
“Miss MacCarran.” He inclined his head politely, then leaned to kiss Mary MacIan on the cheek. When he stepped outside, Fiona shut the door firmly behind him.
“I wish he could stay longer,” Mary MacIan said. “Such a pleasant lad, is Dougal.”
Fiona sighed, willing her heart to slow, her hands to stop shaking. The attraction she felt toward him was strong, insistent; yet she told herself it was only the result of an unexpected adventure in the Highlands with a handsome man, and the aftereffects of a tender and dangerous kiss. He was a rogue, she reminded herself, and she would do well to avoid him during the time she spent in the glen.
“Och, the dog is barking outside!” Mary said. “She will have heard the laird and come running home again. She loves that lad fierce enough to follow wherever he goes. Has gone all the way to Kinloch House, she has, and he’s brought her back. We must get her in for the night, as it may rain again.”
Fiona heard Mary’s dog faintly barking out in the yard, and she opened the door again. “Maggie!” she called. Peering through the darkness, she saw the black-and-white spaniel in the yard, tail wagging like a quill feather as she greeted the man who walked away from the house.
MacGregor paused then, bending to pet the dog. The mist swirled around him, and as he straightened and shooed Maggie home again, for a moment he stood, gazing toward the house.
Fiona grew still, too. She could almost feel his gaze upon her, and she wondered if he felt her watching him as well. Then he strode away, vanishing into the fog.
She lifted her chin. I will not leave, she thought. She did not want to go—already she felt a powerful bond to the glen, despite her strange encounter with the laird.
And no matter what he wanted, she had tasks to accomplish before returning to Edinburgh.
Maggie arrived then, jumping onto the step and over the threshold, her damp tail brushing Fiona’s skirts. Stooping to pat her head and welcome her home, Fiona closed the door.
The silvery sheen of dawn woke her, and soon Fiona was pouring steaming cups of tea for herself and Mrs. MacIan. While Mary cooked savory sausages over the fire in the hearth, Fiona looked up, hearing a clattering of hooves and wheels in the distance.
“Is that Hugh, come to take you round the glen?” Mary asked. Fiona went to the door and Maggie launched past her. Stepping outside, Fiona gasped.
A black carriage drawn by two bay horses made the turn from the loch side road and took the earthen pathway into the cove. Wheels creaking, body heaving like a beast, it lumbered toward the kailyard.
“What is that noise?” Mary MacIan set the sausages on a plate and hurried toward the door. “It sounds like a coach!”
“It is.” Fiona folded her arms, scowling as she remembered MacGregor’s promise.
Mary peered over Fiona’s shoulder. “That’s the old coach from Kinloch House! It’s hardly used—and that’s Hamish MacGregor driving,” she added. “He’s one of the laird’s uncles. What does he want here? Well, I am glad Kinloch is putting the old thing to use. That coach has been in the Kinloch stable a long while, ever since the laird’s grandfather traded good Kinloch brew for it after a night of playing cards. But fine coaches are not meant for Highland roads,” she added. “I wonder if it’s carrying a load o’ whisky—a coach would hold a good deal, and we’d all make a profit. Oh,” she said, glancing suddenly at Fiona, as if she’d said too much.
“I believe Mr. Dougal MacGregor sent the coach for me,” Fiona said. “He thinks the glen school does not need a teacher at this time.”
“Bah, Kinloch knows how much we need a teacher,” Mary muttered. Lifting the hem of her skirt, she stepped into the yard. The coach drew up in front of the house, shuddering to a stop, horses blowing and shaking their heads, thick creamy manes gleaming, the body of the vehicle swaying, its joints and brakes squealing.
“Hamish MacGregor, get down from that seat!” Mary shouted.
“Greetings, Mary MacIan, and I am not getting down,” he replied. “I am in a hurry.”
“Then I will pull your ears off next time I see you in kirk, for disturbing my morning and ruining my yard,” Mary said. The coachman sighed and began to climb off the coach.
While Maggie barked and ran circles around the coach, Fiona called her back and walked into the yard. She waited in silence, lifting a hand to her brow against the morning sun, looking up at the silhouette of driver and coach.
“Good morning, Miss MacCarran,” the driver said when he stepped to the ground, the coach’s worn springs bouncing beneath his weight. He was a solidly built man of middle age, with a round, mild face and close-cropped silvery hair. He wore a flat dark bonnet, worn jacket, and wrapped plaid over old trousers—the shabby but comfortable outfit common to many Highland men. “I am Hamish MacGregor, uncle to the laird o’ Kinloch, who sent me here.” He doffed his bonnet briefly.
“Mr. MacGregor, I am Fiona MacCarran. Very nice to meet you.”
“What’s this about, then?” Mary pointed toward the coach.
“Kinloch sent me to fetch Miss MacCarran. He said she has decided to leave the glen. Pity though, with her just arriving, and we needing a teacher, but still if she wants to go, she shall. Miss,” he acknowledged, tipping his bonnet again.
“It is no pity at all,” Fiona said. “I am staying.”
“Och, the laird will not like to hear that, since he sent me to take you to Auchnashee. Said you would be ready after breakfast. I will wait if you need more time to pack your cases.”
“Thank you, but I do not need time,” she said. “Please tell Mr. MacGregor of Kinloch that I am content to remain here.”
“And tell him to put his coach to better use and carry whisky about in it,” Mary said.
“Ha! And attract more attention from gaugers?” Hamish shook his head, then turned to Fiona again, his gaze stern and reproachful. “Miss, are you certain?”
“I am,” she answered.
“These are Kinloch’s best packhorses,” Mary said, walking over to pat the noses of the lead horses, two sturdy bays with heavy white feathering around their ankles. “Groomed very fine, I see, with their tails and manes combed out.”
“Aye, and with Andrew’s help I greased the wheels and repaired the carriage so the lady could ride in comfort, and no embarrassment at riding in a plain wagon, as she did last night.” He glanced at Fiona, who blushed. So he had heard about that; she wondered what else he had heard about last night, and from whom.
“Grease that old wagon all you like, Hamish MacGregor, you cannot make it a comfortable ride,” Mary said. “Take it back to Kinloch, and let those horses out to graze. They are not used to harnessing. Just pannier baskets,” she added with a twinkle in her eye that made Hamish chuckle.
“Och, very well,” he said. “I will tell the laird, but he will not like it.”
“Tell him that you did your best, and this is no fault of yours,” Fiona said.
“And tell him he will see Miss MacCarran on the first day of school,” Mary MacIan said. “The lad is visiting families in the glen to remind them to send their young ones to the glen school to meet the new dominie, Miss MacCarran. I will not tell the lad his visits were in vain!”
“So be it, then. Miss MacCarran, I am sorry to intrude,” Hamish said.
“Not at all,” she replied. “Will you have tea and sausages? We have oatcakes, too.”
“And plenty to spare,” Mary said.
“I would like that. And if I may, I will bring some back to the laird, as he likes a bit of Mary’s cooking now and then.�
��
“You will take some to him and Lucy, too,” Mary said as she accompanied Hamish toward the cottage.
Walking behind them, Fiona wondered if Lucy was the laird’s wife. At the thought, her stomach wrenched strangely, as if the name were unwelcome news. If he did have a wife, she thought, the man had been wrong to kiss her the night before.
And she should not have accepted it or enjoyed it; nor should she have dreamed of it at night, as she had done.
“Come, Maggie,” she said, turning to whistle the dog inside—but the smell of sausages had already captured the dog’s interest, as Maggie rushed past her into the house.
Fiona glanced again over her shoulder, hearing something distant and stirring—the sound of the bagpipes, she realized, but the fleeting melody had grown faint. She saw only the shabby old coach in the yard and two great horses nuzzling the grasses, the hills beyond bleak in early spring. A few sheep ambled, pale dots high on the steep slopes. Their shepherd no doubt played for them.
There, the sound came and went again. She stood for a moment listening, and gazing at the hills. But she saw no one—certainly not a tall, black-haired man dressed in a rumpled jacket and plaid who watched from a distance to see if she had boarded the coach. Likely the handsome, infuriating laird of Kinloch had just assumed that she would do so, and had gone about his day, which no doubt included something underhanded and illegal.
Well then, let Kinloch be surprised to find her still here, she thought as she shut the door firmly. He had no right to expect her to do his bidding, even if it was his glen.
Chapter 5
Drone and melody filled the air, cresting off the mountain and returning fainter but richer, the sound soaring between the hills and out over the glen. It filled him inside, too, so that he need not think, nor stop again to look out past the glen to the loch side road where the coach must surely be rolling now, headed for Auchnashee with the lovely one he would never see again.
But he need not think about her now. Only the music of the pipes, its rich and layered tones ringing out in the air, should concern him now. As the last haunting note faded, he walked higher on the hillside, relaxed for a moment as the wind sifted through his hair. Then he drew breath, propelled air through the blowstick to inflate the woolen bag, inside which was a sheep’s stretchable bladder—the set of bag and four chanters was old, having belonged to his own grandfather—and then he tucked the full bag up under his arm and set his fingertips flying over the holes along the main chant pipe. The tune was older than the bagpipe he played, and had been played in these hills by so many pipers over so many generations that the echo had a familiar ring to it, as if the hills themselves knew the song as well.
The Highland Groom Page 6