by Susan King
And she realized why she had not protested. She had been kissed before by suitors—but she had never known that kissing could feel so tender, so loving and perfect. She had craved more, had not wanted to stop him.
Best forget that, discourage imagination, she thought, and apply herself to the responsibility of the school and its students. Her lessons were prepared and she was ready to begin class. What she needed now was a good night’s sleep,yet her thoughts continued to race. Punching the pillow, she settled again.
If she met the Laird of Kinloch at the glen school, she must be cautious.
Chapter 6
Standing in the morning sunlight in the yard of Kinloch House, Dougal watched the glen folk walking along hills and paths, coming from various directions toward the hill where his house—and the school—were perched. Kinloch House was tucked in the lee of the pine-covered slopes that formed this side of the glen’s bowl, and the school was a short walk across the shoulder of the same hill. Watching his tenants approach, he felt keyed and nervous, his normally calm and stoic heart thumping fast.
His glance strayed again to the place where the hills framing the glen parted, leading to the cove by the loch. Fiona MacCarran would be heading to the schoolhouse that morning too. Despite himself, he kept looking in that direction.
Even from a distance, he easily recognized the people approaching. He knew each one, each family. For generations, their kin had rented holdings from the lairds of Kinloch—and would always have that right if he had any say in it, no matter the clearings that were happening in other glens and regions.
Mothers carried small ones and guided older ones along, some of the girls and boys running ahead. Fathers came too, leaving their work for a bit, as it was an important day for the families. The children leaped rocks and runnels while their parents called, laughing or warning. Some walked through clusters of sheep grazing on the slopes with flanks marked with colored dye. Goats, too, scrabbled along steeper climes, while the children were reminded not to bother them.
The wind was cool, and bright sun crested the hill as Dougal lifted a hand to his brow. In late April, the slopes were greening up. Heather would not flower until late summer, its evergreen shrubs barely green at the tips; gorse bushes showed yellow buds; bluebells and buttery primroses spread blurs of soft color over the glen slopes, beside burns, and among trees.
The wild beauty of Glen Kinloch was more dear to him than he could ever express. He would do whatever he must to keep it safe and untouched.
“Kinloch!”
Turning, he saw Uncle Fergus coming toward him. The man hunched forward, walking in that rushing way he had, arms and fists swinging. His powerful torso and legs and his thick black hair and beard reminded Dougal of a black bull, enhanced by the leather apron he often wore. Dougal waved and waited, gazing past his uncle toward the house.
Long ago, the structure had been a small, sturdy castle, an old tower house built generations earlier by a MacGregor whose cattle reiving activities had warranted the protection of stout stone walls. After the strife and grief of Culloden had torn Scotland asunder seventy years earlier, when the Kinloch MacGregors and many thousands of others lost men and fortunes, the house had fallen into ill repair.
Resources were scant for keeping the old mortared stones together, but Glen Kinloch was populated with people of strong Highland stock who could live anywhere, under any conditions. Eventually, they recovered from those devastating days, and his kinsmen had done everything they could to support the glen folk, keep the old tower house upright and dry in the rain, and keep livestock grazing in the hills. Dougal was determined that his people and his kin would always flourish under his watchful eye, no matter what he must do, what risks he must take.
The greatest threat to the Highlands these days was no longer English troops, but the steady infiltration of Lowlanders and Englishmen buying up huge tracts of Scottish land for sheep runs, hunting lodges, and holidaying sites.
Dougal would never let that affect his glen. He would protect it always. But he would not sell the fairy brew to do it, even if it could bring in enough to save them all. He kept a sizable cache of excellent Glen Kinloch whisky to sell instead. Aged to a rare degree, what waited in storage now would fetch a very good price.
At that moment, he saw Fiona MacCarran crossing the glen. His heart leaped as if he were a hopeful boy rather than a man. He instantly remembered kissing her, but shook his head to clear the thought. There was no place for a woman in his life now, especially the sister of a gauger who could ruin all his plans.
She carried a packet, he saw, clutched against her, probably books or papers. Sunlight gleamed over her dark hair as the wind pushed back her straw bonnet. Her gown of deep blue accentuated her slim curves, and she wore a plaid shawl over her shoulders that whipped about in the breeze. Oddly, he thought of how the blue gown would match her eyes. Stop, he admonished himself again.
Whatever impulse had made him kiss her, he had apologized for it, and so it was over. Forgotten. The night and the mist, and the girl in his arms in a close, warm space—all of it had taken him over like a fool. The romance of it had taken her, too. But it was done.
Hugh MacIan, the kirk minister, hurried behind her and caught up to walk with her. She looked trim and small beside the reverend; he had the muscular build of a Highland warrior, though dressed in a somber black suit like a city man, and devoted, most of the time, to his Bible.
Even so, Reverend MacIan was a clever smuggler. Dougal smiled to himself, wondering what the bonny Lowland teacher would think if she knew it.
Seeing her flashing smile as she and Hugh walked and talked, Dougal frowned. He knew that bright smile and the feel of that trim waist under his hands; knew the scent of her, lavender and fog, and the sweet warmth of her lips. He should keep aloof, he thought; let her decide that a handsome, educated kirk minister was more interesting than a Highland laird who had left university to distill and smuggle whisky.
No matter. Soon she would be gone. Just then, Hugh took her elbow as they walked, and Dougal felt a frisson of jealousy slip through him.
“Kinloch!” Fergus called as he came close. “The lass is ready.”
“Lass?” Distracted, Dougal thought he meant the teacher.
“Lucy! She’s ready and none too glad about it.”
Glancing toward the house, Dougal saw a boy and a girl standing on the step. His heart tugged to see the small girl, his dark-haired niece Lucy. She was in a stormy humor, he saw, her hands fisted at her sides and little brow glowering.
“She does not want to go to school. Jamie does,” Fergus said of his grandson, the son of his daughter and her shepherd husband. The boy was tall for his age with blazing red hair, albeit contrasted by a sweet, peaceful nature. Young Jamie patted Lucy’s shoulder. She shrugged it off.
“Lucy says smugglers do not go to school,” Fergus said.
Dougal sighed. “Perhaps I have done wrong to raise my sister’s daughter among kinsmen who dabble in the free trade. Kinloch may not be the best place for a wee lass to grow up.”
“It is! She is happy and treasured by all, though we be thieves and rogues. But good men for all that,” Fergus said. “She is indulged, to be sure, and we could be more stern with her. But she is blessed with charm, and the wee lass knows it. You and Ellen were reared here at Kinloch among whisky makers and traders, and you did well enough,” he pointed out. “Though Jean was a help, and good for Lucy to be around a woman. Until she left us,” he muttered.
“And proved to us it is not so easy to raise a girl-child.”
“Jeanie has left Hamish before,” Fergus said. “She will be back.”
“I am not so sure this time.” Dougal watched Lucy push Jamie off the step. The boy climbed up again, smiling. “That wee lad has a saint’s patience.”
“She’s a spirited thing, lovely as her mother, but with a fiery heart. When she is grown, you will see lads at your door and hell to pay.”
Jamie too
k Lucy’s hand, but the girl jerked free and stomped away. “We will be lucky if anyone knocks at the door to court her,” Dougal drawled.
“School is about to start. Lucy! Jamie! Go on!” Fergus called, gesturing to them.
The schoolyard was filling with a small crowd, Dougal noticed. The school, situated not far from the tower house, was a rectangular whitewashed building surrounded by an earthen yard, occupying a flat section of the hill where the grass was chewed neatly and regularly by sheep and goats. Students and families were already gathering in the yard. Others without children had arrived too, curious to meet the new dominie.
“I hope she proves a fine teacher for the bairns,” Fergus said. “She is not like the old dominie they sent from Edinburgh last year. She looks a bonny wee thing.”
“She’s a dangerous wee thing,” Dougal remarked. “Remember the brother.”
“True.” Fergus looked at Dougal. “I saw Rob MacIan last evening at the tavern. He said Lord Eldin approached him recently, is interested in purchasing the best Highland whisky for his new hotel. He is willing to pay well, and he does not care if it is illicit stuff.”
“Excellent. I hope Rob told him Glen Kinloch whisky is the best in the Highlands.”
“In the whole of Scotland, to be sure. But every distiller says that, aye?”
Dougal laughed. “Sometimes it is true. Ask Rob MacIan to go to Auchnashee and let the earl know there may be some casks available.” He named a sum.
“Eldin would pay more, I suspect. Might even pay a higher price for Highland fairy brew. He asked if it existed—had heard some tradition about it in the area.”
“You know my answer to that. We will get a good price for Glen Kinloch brew. Even with delivering kegs and casks to the buyers I have already contacted, there will be some left to sell to Eldin. We may be able to move all of it. A good thing.”
“Even as we brew more. Very good.”
Lucy and Jamie walked across the yard now, but the small girl turned her footsteps toward Dougal, determination on her little face and in her big brown eyes. He pointed firmly, silently, to send her toward the school. She frowned but relented, and went with Jamie.
Fergus laughed. “Lucy thinks smugglers need not learn letters and maths, but devote their time to distilling whisky and moving kegs through the hills. Reminds me of a lad I knew once,” he added.
“That lad was full thirteen when his Da died. Lucy is just six. Her time should be devoted to running with her friends to play, and now chores and studies. I told her free-traders need their education too.”
“She would make a fine smuggler, that fearless lass. No harm in it when she’s older.”
“No,” Dougal said firmly. “She will get an education, and marry well, and stay safe in whatever she chooses to do. I will see to it. And she will have naught to do with the free trade”
“You sound like your father.”
“I never fulfilled what my father wanted for me, and I regret it. I will see to it for my sister’s child.”
“But you had a fine education here at the glen school, and a couple of years at university before you left Glasgow to come home. We could not force you to go back, though we tried.”
“We could not afford it.”
“We could have found a way.”
Dougal huffed. “Funded by smuggling?”
His uncle shrugged. “Well, someday I hope you will return to your studies. Such an intelligent lad. And it was your father’s wish for you.”
“I am needed here. Fergus, I am thinking—the school session could wait a bit while we find another dominie, one who is not kin to a customs officer.” As he spoke, Dougal watched the teacher approach the school with the reverend.
“And one who will not distract the laird?” Fergus asked.
“Huh.” Dougal saw MacIan sweep a wide gesture as he spoke to Fiona MacCarran, showing her the scope of the glen. As she turned, her gaze caught Dougal’s across the breadth of the hill. He felt the tug of it.
“Hamish says we should scare her off with tales of bogles,” Fergus said.
“We will not,” Dougal said sternly.
“The last society teacher who came here thought us all Highland savages. She left quick enough. This one looks steadier. We may not frighten her off so easily.”
“I agree.”
“Though if she meets a few rascals out in the hills, she might think better of it,” Fergus said. “I can send Arthur and Mungo to visit her.”
“I would not trust those two near her.”
“Then we must behave like a flock of angels, so she will have no tales to carry to her brother.”
“We could try,” Dougal mused. “I had best go welcome her, being the laird.”
“Aye. Och, I near forgot. The school roof needs work.”
“Again? We repaired it last fall when it leaked after the rains.”
Fergus shrugged. “The place is old.”
“We need new thatch and new beams,” Dougal said.
“We need a new building,” Fergus grumbled.
Dougal was distracted as he watched her cross the hill toward Kinloch House and the school. “I will go greet her. Open the door of the school, if you will.”
“She is a bonny lass,” Fergus mused again as she came closer. “Perhaps you are right. We might let her enjoy our pretty glen for a bit before we send her away.”
“Just do not scare her,” Dougal muttered.
“I am sure you will enjoy being in Glen Kinloch,” Reverend MacIan was saying as he walked beside Fiona. “We are so delighted that you came up from Edinburgh.”
“Thank you again,” she said. “Though I suspect not everyone is glad I am here.” She glanced across the hill, seeing the glen’s laird standing on the ridge, arms folded, watching the stream of people heading for the school.
“Kinloch? He has pressing matters on his mind, I imagine.”
“So I gather. Mr. MacIan, let me thank you and your grandmother again for such a nice welcome.” She lifted her face to the sunshine and cool breeze. “It is a lovely morning, and I am looking forward to working with the students. So the school is near the castle. I did not realize. Is that Kinloch House?”
“Aye. It is an old tower house. A small castle. The schoolhouse is just there.” He pointed toward a whitewashed building with a thatched roof a little distance past the stone tower. Both were nestled in the lee of a broad hillside, where the slope flattened out, protected at the back by a high sweep of forested hillside. Beyond the sandstone tower, the schoolyard was filling with people.
Now the laird of Kinloch was striding toward the yard. Earlier, she had seen him standing apart with an older man. Even from a distance, she had sensed MacGregor’s gaze so keenly that she had stopped, transfixed, distracted. Seeing him now, she clutched the packet of papers and books close as if to remind herself why she was here and what she should be doing, rather than let this man’s mere presence make her heart tumble so.
“There’s Kinloch, and one of his uncles,” MacIan said.
“Another one?”
“They all live in the tower house, have done since the laird was a boy and inherited the estate after his father’s passing. Your class is gathering. Come and meet your students. In Glen Kinloch, the school session begins when a teacher comes to the glen, and ends the day the teacher leaves.” He smiled.
That would be tomorrow if Kinloch had his way, Fiona thought. “I understand most Highland schools are only in session six months out of the year.”
“The students must take time off seasonally to help their families with planting and harvesting, and to help take the cattle into the hills in summer to graze. We cannot afford the yearly fee to retain a dominie permanently, so we must rely on the Highland societies to send teachers for a few months at a time.”
“The last lady who came from the Edinburgh charity stayed only a few weeks, I understand.”
“She changed her mind. The glen was, ah, too remote for her taste.”<
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“Too much smuggling going on?” She glanced at him.
He shrugged. “I heard she had a terror of ghosts and fairies.”
“I am intrigued by such things myself, and would not run from them.”
“Then this is the place for you. We are just happy to have a teacher again. For a long while, the laird’s sister was our dominie.”
She blinked in surprise. “His sister?”
“She died of a sudden fever a few years ago. A dreadful thing, that was. The laird has the guardianship of his niece, and so he takes more interest in the school now that she is of learning age.”
“His niece will be in my class?”
“Aye. Kinloch, good morning!” he called.
Fiona turned to see Dougal MacGregor coming toward them, his stride setting his kilt to swinging, and his dark hair wafting in the breeze. He scowled as he neared them, and turned it on her. She returned a smile.
“Miss MacCarran. Reverend,” he said. “I see you are ready to begin this morning.”
“Despite attempts to the contrary.” She smiled even more brightly. His frown deepened.
“Luck to you, then,” he said. “You have several scholars for your classroom.”
“So I see.” She turned to walk between the two men. “It is a pretty day. I had a nice walk across the glen with Mr. MacIan, who was kind enough to escort me.”
“I could have sent the carriage for you,” MacGregor said.
“No need. I enjoy walking. Your glen is so lovely and peaceful. No wonder the Highlands are growing so popular. There is such beauty here in the north.”
“Aye.” His sudden, crooked, charming smile was unexpected. “Glen Kinloch is a small and remote place, but it is like the romantic Highland glens that tourists go on about. It has a wild setting, majestic views, and good, hardworking souls living in it.”
She wondered if he was teasing her for admiring the place like a tourist or warning her to remember that the outer world should leave the place in peace. Either way, he genuinely loved his glen. “It does have a wonderful quaint aspect,” she agreed. “Coming here is like traveling back to an earlier time in Scotland.”
