Now, in the chapel the next morning, Miss Weir said, “You can’t take the weight of the world on your shoulders, lass, or it’ll crush you.”
“But I’m the Lady of The Cranoch, so I have to take the weight of this little part of the world on my shoulders.”
“If I was you, I’d just take the money.”
“If I do, I’m going to feel like a second Lady Carolyn.”
“Lass, I don’t think you could possibly be any less like Lady Carolyn.”
“I’d be responsible for a second clearance, just the same.”
“No, not just the same. Somehow I couldn’t see you burning crofters’ cottages around them and selling them into servitude.”
“Still, the bottom line is that the crofters will have to leave their homes and the glen and face an unknown future.”
“The future’ll take care of itself,” Miss Weir said. “As for the present, the best thing you can do is go back upstairs and lay your head down in that four-poster bed.
“Then, when you wake up, you can go around the crofts like you said last night.” Miss Weir put a reassuring hand on Kate’s shoulder and said, “We’ll all work together, everyone in the glen, like we always do and see what we can come up with, okay?”
Kate nodded. On an impulse she hugged Miss Weir before doing what she was told: going back upstairs to bed.
IT WAS ALMOST NOON WHEN KATE WOKE UP, AND FINLAY and Miss Weir were having lunch by the time she made it down to the kitchen.
Finlay offered to go around the crofts with her, but there was a rod and bait box outside the kitchen and she guessed he’d been about to set off on a fishing trip. She didn’t know how much longer Finlay would have the chance to enjoy an afternoon casting in the still waters of the lochan or the fast-flowing little river in the hanging valley above it, so she smiled her thanks and said she’d manage on her own.
After a cup of tea, some small talk, and a big salmon sandwich, Kate set off down the steps and the stony track that wound around Castle Crag to the glen below.
She was halfway down the crag when she noticed something from the corner of her eye: a little cloud of dust blossoming on the dirt track at the far end of the glen. Seconds later the more substantial shape of an approaching vehicle appeared in its midst. The dust cloud died away as the driver parked near the old church—still too far away for Kate to make out what kind of vehicle it was, let alone tell anything about the person who got out. Rather than visiting the cluster of whitewashed cottages at the foot of the crag as she’d intended, Kate kept on walking. She was curious about who had just driven into the glen and why. Besides, she was glad of an excuse to delay knocking on the crofters’ doors with bad news.
By the time Kate reached the first abandoned farm township she could tell that the parked vehicle was some kind of little van.
A little further on, she saw that it was a fawn-colored camper and the driver, who was looking at the old church now, was a man. Even from a distance there was something unmistakably masculine about his build and bearing—tall and broad-shouldered, with a long-legged gait and no roll of the narrow hips.
As Kate walked and watched, she saw the man hesitate at the door of the church, then turn his back on it and walk towards the first cluster of ruined cottages. He stood perfectly still for a very long time when he got there. Kate sensed he was trying to decide whether to enter the nearest cottage, but that something was stopping him.
Finally turning away from the blackened building, he walked down to the lochan and along the water’s edge. Every so often he crouched down, reached for something around his neck and raised it to his face. He seemed to be taking pictures: the Yeoman Holdings snooper Finlay had seen the other day, Kate guessed. Her curiosity turned to a mix of disgust and anger. At first she wondered if it was Tony Carling himself, but as she drew nearer she saw that this man was slimmer, and that his walk didn’t have any suggestion of an aggressive swagger about it. One of Carling’s minions, she decided.
The man crouched on one knee again, not just pointing and shooting as Kate did when snapping a picture, but obviously taking great care with the composition. He hesitated, and Kate thought he’d spotted her. But when he lowered the camera it was to look up at the sky. Kate looked up to see what was of such great interest, but all she saw were clouds. Then she realized that he must be waiting for the clouds to move in or out of the shot.
He stayed crouched like that for at least a minute, camera cradled in his left hand, right elbow braced on his knee, before finally firing off a shot and getting to his feet.
Kate was close enough now to see that the man was about the same height as Tony Carling, but lean and rangy. He wore stonewashed jeans and a faded blue plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the buttons undone, over a plain white T-shirt. He was so caught up in taking photographs that Kate sensed he wasn’t aware of her approach.
The man seemed a little startled when he finally noticed Kate. He acknowledged her with a nod of the head, but Kate didn’t nod back. She prided herself on being able to turn strangers into friends with just a smile, but the memory of her last meeting with a representative of Yeoman Holdings was still fresh in her mind, and she didn’t feel like giving this one a smile. She was close enough now to see that the man’s thick, dark brown hair was neither straight nor tightly curled. His tanned face had high, hard cheekbones planing into a clean jawline that couldn’t be called weak or heavy, below a mouth that was a little closer to broad than narrow. As Kate looked into his hazel brown eyes her heart skipped a beat and she had to work hard not to return the smile he gave her. He was like a sort of less rugged version of Tom Berenger, she thought. She had to remind herself that this man worked for Tony Carling, that he wanted to turn the crofters out of their home, and Glen Cranoch into a—
She couldn’t bring herself to think about it any more, so instead she just said, “Can I help you?” in the most unhelpful of voices.
“I’m looking for Glen Cranoch,” he said. He had less of an accent than Finlay, but was unmistakably Scottish all the same.
“You can’t wait, can you?” Kate said.
The man’s friendly smile gave way to one of bemusement, and he said, “I’m sorry?”
“You can’t even wait until you actually own the place, can you? What are you taking pictures of: where the ski-lifts will go, or some sort of fast-food concession, maybe? Wouldn’t a McDonalds or a Pizza Hut look great over there?” She pointed to the shingle beach at the end of the lochan, beside the abandoned church.
“I’m afraid—”
“How can you look at all this,” Kate said, turning away from him to take in the hills rising up on either side, and the two crags in the distance, “and not feel ashamed at what you’re going to do to it?”
Pointing to the cottages at the foot of Castle Crag she said, “Because of you and your friend Tony Carling, the people in those little white houses are going to be forced out of homes their families have lived in for generations. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
“I’m sorry—”
“I’ll bet you’re just broken-hearted.” Kate shook her head in disgust. “How can you sleep at night?” she asked him. “If I was a man I would throw that camera of yours into the water and run you right out of the glen.”
“So much for Highland hospitality,” he said.
“You’re going to destroy the place I love and dispossess the people who’ve become my friends: what do you expect me to do, throw my arms around you and welcome you with a hug?”
“A hug would be nice.”
For a moment Kate seriously considered slapping him, but settled for saying, “I’m glad you find this funny.”
“Funny peculiar, not comedy funny. I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding.”
Kate had calmed down, but not enough to stop herself from saying, “The misunderstanding is if you and Tony Carling think I’m just going to give you the glen on a plate. I’m no Lady Carolyn.”
&nb
sp; The man was about to say something, but seemed to think better of it.
Guessing what had gone through his mind, Kate said, “Go on, at least have the guts to say what you were just thinking: Tell me that I’m no lady, right out.”
“At least give me credit for having the good manners not to say it.”
“I’ll credit you with a cold heart, or at best a callous indifference,” Kate told him.
The man looked a little thoughtful at that, perhaps even a little hurt, as if her words had hit home.
Kate was puzzled by that. A man with a cold heart or a callous indifference wouldn’t have been hurt by what she’d said.
“I think I’ve maybe come to the wrong glen,” the man told her.
“You’re damn right you have. Still, it’s an easy mistake to make,” Kate said bitterly. “They’re ten-a-penny, as your bully-boy buddy said. Why don’t the two of you go and find another one to trash.”
“Are you from Greenpeace or something?”
“What?” now it was Kate’s turn to look confused.
“You know, Greenpeace. Don’t kill the whale, the Rainbow Warrior, that sort of stuff.”
“Why do you say that?”
“From your accent you’re obviously not from these parts, but it’s also obvious that you care pretty passionately about them. I wondered if you were maybe some sort of activist.”
“No, I’m not some kind of loony activist.”
“I never said ‘loony’.”
“No, but it’s what you were thinking, right?”
He smiled. “It’s quite funny, you seem to have an uncanny knack of knowing what I’m thinking, but you obviously don’t have the slightest clue who I am.”
“I might not know who you are, but I know exactly what you are. Finlay’s told me all about your little meeting the other day.”
“Finlay?”
“Yeah, you know the little old guy you probably laughed at when he stood up to you. The guy who played the bagpipes on the beaches at Normandy. It’s the only time he’s ever left this glen, and now he’s going to have to leave it for good because of you.”
“Look, I think you’ve got me—”
“You’re not fit to lace up his boots,” Kate said angrily.
This time her words really seemed to hit home, because the man said, “You’re wrong about everything else, but you’re probably right about that.”
Kate thought that the man suddenly seemed much older. The boyish smile was gone so completely now that she found it hard to imagine she’d ever see it again. Moments earlier he’d joked about Kate knowing exactly what he was thinking, but now she didn’t have the slightest idea what lay behind the troubled look in his hazel-colored eyes. Suddenly she found it a little harder to be angry with him. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I feel strongly about this. I don’t know if there’s a law of trespass in this part of the world, but I really think you should leave.”
“You sound like you own the place.”
“For the moment, I do.”
He looked taken aback. “You’re not what I expected.”
“What did you expect? What did Tony Carling tell you about me? No, wait, don’t tell me. I’d rather not know.”
“I’ve never met this Tony Carling or even heard of him, and I’m sorry if I’ve strayed somewhere I shouldn’t have, into the middle of a feud between neighbours or something, but I couldn’t see any other way to get where I wanted to go.” Looking around, he added, “And even if I could have seen another way, I’d have wanted to come this way. It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen, and I thought it looked like the most tranquil, too.”
“Until you met me.”
Finally the man did smile again. “I don’t have to say what I’m thinking with you, do I? Am I really that transparent?”
“Quite the opposite, in fact you’ve suddenly got me all confused. How can you be working for Yeoman Holdings and yet not know who Tony Carling is or what he’s got planned for the glen? Are you some kind of freelance photographer on contract to him?”
“I’m a freelance photographer, but not on a contract to this firm Yeoman Holdings or anybody else. I was just taking photos for the love of it. That’s something I’ve not done for a long time, and I’d forgotten how good it could be.”
“You have nothing to do with the plans to buy the glen?” Kate asked.
He shook his head.
“You’re not the man with a camera Finlay confronted earlier this week, then?”
Again he shook his head.
“I’ve made a bit of a fool of myself, haven’t I?”
He nodded.
Suddenly they were both laughing.
“Kate Brodie,” she said, reaching out her hand. “I don’t have the nerve to say ‘Lady Kate’ after the way I’ve just behaved. In my defense, though, I’ve only been a lady for a couple of days.”
Kate saw his boyish smile again. It was wider this time, and accompanied by a sparkle in his eyes. Her heart skipped more than one beat and her chest tightened at the thought that she didn’t have to hate him.
As the tall man shook her hand, he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier, but—”
“I just got wired into you and didn’t give you a chance, did I?” She covered her face with her free hand and said, “I feel so embarrassed. Goodness knows what you must think of me.”
He gently prised Kate’s hand away from her eyes. Looking straight into those eyes, he said, “You read my mind a couple of times before; let’s see if you can do it again and guess what I think of you.”
Kate blushed, and the man didn’t just smile this time, he laughed. It was a quiet sound that made Kate happy, and suddenly the two of them were laughing together.
When they’d stopped, Kate said, “I did it again, too, didn’t I?”
“What?”
“Interrupted you before you had a chance to introduce yourself.”
He nodded. “Now that I do have a chance, I better take it. I’m Cameron Fraser, and I was looking for a place called Jamie’s Crag. It’s on The Cranoch Estate, so we must be neighbours.”
Kate smiled with a happiness she hadn’t felt since before the meeting with Archie Cunningham. Then she remembered that meeting. Her smile faded, and she said, “We’re neighbours for now, at least.”
“I take it this is where Tony Carling and company come in?”
Kate nodded. “Yes, this is where Tony Carling and company come in.” She turned from Cameron to look around the glen, and said, “Can you believe, they want to turn this into a ski resort, and Greystane into a glorified souvenir stall selling ‘tartan tat’. He actually had the nerve to say that to my face.”
“But they can’t do any of that if they don’t own it.”
“I own it, but not for much longer.”
Cameron’s puzzlement at why she’d give up a place she obviously loved was clear on his face.
“I can’t afford to keep the estate,” Kate explained. “I feel obliged to tell you, in case you had any ideas of maybe rebuilding Jamie’s Cottage. The chances are you won’t be looking out on this view for much longer but on a ski resort instead. Maybe that’ll make your property worth more. I hope so. I hope you’re not another of the many people I seem destined to let down.”
Cameron Fraser reached for her hand again, this time not to shake it, just to hold it. “If you’ve got to sell, you’ve got to sell. It’s not the end of the world.”
“It’ll be the end of this little part of it, though.”
“No other offers on the table?”
Kate shook her head. “I can’t afford to keep it on the market for long, either. Apparently the estate’s dead on its feet. It would take a small fortune to get it back in working order as a sporting estate, and even then it would need to be subsidized to keep it going.”
“What about running it as something other than a sporting estate?”
“I’m open to ideas, believe me. I’m going to have a
meeting with the crofters—Carling wants to turn them out, of course—to see if they’ve got any ideas. You’re welcome to come along. I could do with all the support I can get.”
“Just let me know where and when.”
“It’ll be in the hall at Greystane—that’s the little castle on the crag opposite your cottage,” she told him, pointing to the far end of the glen. “I’m sorry, I don’t know the when, yet. I’m just about to go around and see the crofters now, see what time suits them. Do you have a phone number I can call when I’ve fixed a time?”
He shook his head.
“How can I get in touch with you? You can’t be staying at Jamie’s Cottage; it’s a bit of a ruin from what I’ve seen.”
“I’ll be around there for a few days in the camper, seeing how much work needs done and getting an idea if I can afford to do it,” he told her. “I might well be in the same boat as you, but without even a buyer. This firm Yeoman hasn’t made any approach to me.”
“If it did, would you sell?”
“Not unless I had to, after what you’ve told me about their plans for the glen.”
“What would you do if you were me?”
“Same answer, I suppose. Sometimes you’ve got to just bite the bullet, though. Looking on the bright side, at least you’d get enough money from selling this place to set you up in style somewhere else,” he said.
“I’m sure it would, but no amount of money could buy me a clear conscience.”
The man stiffened at those words and a troubled look flitted across his eyes. Again Kate experienced the strange mix of knowing what he was thinking one moment, and the next moment feeling like he was looking at something she couldn’t see, something from a profoundly troubled past. She remembered what Archibald Cunningham had said about the man standing in front of her: that he’d resigned his commission in the army at considerable personal cost, and how that probably meant he was either a bit of a saint or some sort of sinner. Cameron’s expressions, and the words that had triggered them, suggested it was the latter. However, Kate found it difficult to reconcile that notion with his quiet, gentle manner. She found herself wanting to do something to ease the hurt he was obviously feeling and make him forget whatever it was that troubled him. Before she’d even thought about what she was doing, she said, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
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