by Susan King
Dougal laughed bitterly. “Not according to the legend.”
“You cannot bother with legends at a time like this,” Hamish barked.
“I respect the traditions of the glen, as its laird. And I respect the Fey.”
“Too much like his father,” Hamish grumbled, shaking his head.
Dougal looked toward the hills where John MacGregor had once taken him to reveal the secret of the fairies of Kinloch. “We can sell our store of Glen Kinloch brew, and keep the fairy brew for special gifts, as we have always done. The price we ask will be paid. The quality of our whisky speaks for itself.”
“Glen Kinloch malt whisky is without equal in the Highlands,” Fergus said, “but your fairy brew is legendary. Some will pay far more for that than even the best Highland whisky. They will want to try a legendary brew. And the glen needs the money.”
“Whisky is whisky,” Hamish pointed out pragmatically. “Sell it. A fairy legend means little when we know we must save this glen. The government would sell this land out from under us, and they have the right—most of the land in Scotland belongs to king and crown, and we only rent in those deeds. In perpetuity, if we are fortunate,” Hamish added. “But in this case, the government has full right to cancel that and sell the land. Forget the fairy ilk, lad!”
“The fairies do not concern me as much as the customs officers, if we are caught moving that much whisky in order to make a quick and large profit,” Dougal said. It was a wrenching decision to sell the whole of their stash of excellent whisky—it could be years before they had enough to sell for profit again. “If we are seen transporting more casks than usual, they will triple the number of gaugers in the area. We could lose all our cache. I will not risk our best whisky. And I will not move the fairy whisky—the risk is too great.”
“True, it is worth a very handsome sum. We do right to protect it for now,” Hamish said, deliberately misunderstanding what Dougal meant. “And if the teacher would leave the glen, we would be safer.”
“I cannot simply order the lass out of here.”
“You can,” Hamish said. “I like the lass well too, but you can.”
“Surely there is some way,” Fergus said.
“Frighten her off, as I have said,” Ranald suggested. “She will run like the last teacher did. A bit mouse, that one was. Easy to—” He stopped. The other two uncles glanced around, looking innocent.
Dougal narrowed his eyes. “What did you do to make that one leave quickly?”
“Why would we do such a thing?” Ranald asked mildly.
“Me, I never even spoke to her,” Fergus said.
“Tell me what you did,” Dougal growled. He had always suspected, seeing how fast the other teacher had packed and left, that one or more of his uncles had influenced her decision.
Hamish made a face. “The lady knew there were thieves in these hills, and she did not like Highlanders to start. Then Ranald warned her about the wicked fairies who would steal her away as she slept. Just that.”
“Just that?” Dougal looked from one to the next.
“I might have walked around her cottage a bit at night. I might have whistled some,” Fergus said.
“You deliberately frightened the wee woman.” Resisting the urge to laugh, Dougal made sure to scowl.
“Bah, she was a timid thing,” Hamish said. “We did not like her much.”
Dougal twisted his mouth, shook his head. “Do not think to do that to Miss MacCarran. She is not timid, that one.”
“She is a bold thing, with a curious mind and a quick wit,” Fergus said. “And those are poor qualities in a gauger’s sister. She will notice too much of what happens in the glen.”
“There is a fortnight at least before we must move that whisky,” Hamish said. “And a fortnight before the spring ball game in the glen. Which side will you join as a player, Dougal? Drumcairn or Garloch?”
“The laird of Kinloch is always neutral for the spring game, taking no side in the great rivalry between the glen villages,” Dougal said. “I should not play.”
“Hah!” Ranald said. “You, one of the best lads at the ba’!”
“Declare one side or the other and play,” Fergus said. “With you there, everyone will come to watch. It would be a good time to move the whisky.”
“That day?” Dougal asked. “I am not sure—”
“We three have talked it over already. It is a good plan,” Hamish agreed.
“Everyone in the glen will be watching the ba’ game,” Ranald said.
“Interesting. It could work,” Dougal admitted thoughtfully. “I suppose the game would provide enough distraction to allow us to move casks from the hills down to the loch. Otherwise, it might take several trips over several nights.”
“But you would have to send the teacher away before then,” Hamish said. “Or she might alert her brother, and that would bring excise men to the glen.”
“If she will not go, you could make her one of us instead,” Ranald said.
Dougal laughed. “I doubt she would join us at midnight with a pistol and a pony.”
“He means a woman of the glen would not speak of the free trading,” Fergus said. “Not even to a brother who was a gauger.”
“But she is not a woman of the—oh, no,” Dougal said, raising a hand as he saw his uncles’ eyes brightening. “You want me to seduce the woman? I will not.”
“Seduce and then marry the lass,” Fergus said. “It would work.”
Ranald chuckled. “It is not a bad idea.”
“Marriage would be good for the lad, hey,” Fergus told his brothers.
“Would help you recover from the black lovesickness.” Ranald grinned.
“Enough, you auld rascals,” Dougal growled.
“The dominie has come to the glen at the wrong time,” Ranald said. “She is a stubborn one, and will not leave easily. Nor will you tolerate scaring her off. But if she was bound to the glen and its laird by loyalty, she would not talk.”
“A wife would be good for you,” Fergus said. “Hamish could use one too.”
“I had one. We did not suit,” Hamish growled.
“Lucy is growing fast, Kinloch,” Fergus said. “She needs a mother.”
“She has female relatives. And I do not need a wife just now. We are talking about managing this lady over two weeks, not a lifetime. All that need concern us is moving that cargo through the glen without being caught.”
Hamish clapped Dougal on the shoulder. “Gain the teacher’s loyalty and swear her to secrecy. Do it however you want.” The others chuckled. Dougal folded his arms, shook his head.
“She will fall for your charm,” Ranald said. “Like she did the other night.”
“Did she?” Dougal gave his uncle a sour look, and all three chortled. He did not know how the lady regarded him—all he knew was that he thought about her far too often.
“They do say in the glen that no lass can resist the bonny Laird of Kinloch, and that when that lad decides to take a wife, every girl in the glen will knock on his door to offer,” Ranald said. “Plenty of lasses pine for you.”
“I doubt it, and there is no point. I am not looking for a wife just now.”
Hamish frowned. “You should marry, and soon.”
“I would be a fool, with all the secrets in this glen, to marry yet.” Dougal shook his head. “As for the lassies in the glen, let them find husbands and happiness without me. I am content on my own, doing as I please.”
“If we wait, the Lowland teacher will soon be gone south again, and we need not worry about what she sees and knows,” Fergus conceded.
“We cannot wait until summer,” Hamish snapped. “We need to move the whisky cargo soon. We must make a profit quickly, and the buyers for our best stuff are ready. The land must be bought back, or we will all be forced to leave this glen. Besides, the schoolhouse and tower house, the bridges too, all need repairs.”
“We can tell the teacher that the schoolhouse is haunted by the ghost of a scholar who
did not succeed. She might just pack for home.” Ranald nodded. “And we can fix the roof later.”
Dougal frowned. “Wait. The roof leaks, the walls are crumbling....”
“If we shut up the schoolhouse, the problem is solved,” Fergus said.
“Perhaps,” Dougal replied warily.
Hamish shrugged. “And we find another teacher for the glen later.”
Dougal nodded somewhat reluctantly, glancing toward the school, feeling the taint of guilt and regret. Behind those windows and that old door with its red, peeling paint, the teacher was doing her best to help the glen children. Those children included his own niece. He was a beast indeed, as Fiona MacCarran had called him once, to stand here scheming for her departure. But he had to consider his glen. He had no choice, though he did not like it at all.
“The children need the glen school and the teacher is willing to work with them,” he said. He did not add what else came to mind: he needed the teacher himself, with a strange, urgent impulse, as if his heart knew something he did not.
Despite the risk and the complications, he wanted her to stay. Dare he imagine that she would stay a lifetime? Some deeper instinct whispered that he would be a better, stronger, finer man if she did. But he would not allow himself that dream.
“You do have secrets to protect, lad,” Ranald said. “We must make sure the cache of whisky is safely moved and sold. And there is fairy brew yet to be made this season. The time is coming when you must go up the mountain and start another batch of the brew. As laird, it is your obligation.”
“The fairy agreement,” Dougal said quietly. Ranald and Fergus nodded, though Hamish rolled his eyes.
Sighing, Dougal gazed at the broad flank of the mountain that rose high over the glen. “We cannot risk too much interest in our glen just now. A Lowland teacher with a gauger brother, and with other kinsmen—one a viscount, another an earl building a hotel for tourists. A predicament.”
“Tourists!” Hamish grimaced.
“They may visit Glen Kinloch, since tourists are keen to see unspoiled, wild Scotland. And it is close to Loch Katrine, which has brought so much attention to the Highlands, thanks to poems by Scott.The Bard of the North.”
“Bah. I have heard of it. But I will not read such stuff as that,” Ranald said.
“I have, and did not like it much,” Hamish said.
“I read some,” Fergus said. “A lot of running about and rescues and fighting. A fine story. But our glen will not remain secret for long if tourists come up here.”
“I still say Kinloch could do worse than marry the teacher and keep her here. Get her promise to honor our secrets,” Ranald said. “The glen needs a teacher, the laird needs a wife, and the lass is bonny. A wife as smart as that one will keep him interested and happy, hey.”
“It is not that simple,” Hamish grunted. “An educated Lowland lady will not want a poor Highland laird with a small estate and a taste for free trading.”
“She could not find a finer lad or a finer home in Highlands or Lowlands,” Fergus replied.
Listening, Dougal glanced at the schoolhouse door again and heard laughter coming from inside. The children were enjoying their day. He felt a surge of regret, and at the same time, resolve. This had to happen.
He turned to face his uncles. “Tell her about the roof,” he decided. “And tell her the school must be closed until repairs are made. But first, let her have a few days to enjoy our bonny glen.”
Leaning her back against a sun-warmed boulder on the hill, Fiona studied her pencil rubbing to make sure she had captured the delicate imprint of an ancient arthropod, left in limestone eons ago. She slid the page into an envelope in her knapsack, then laid a fresh sheet of paper over another rock surface and rubbed it with graphite to capture an impression of another minuscule fossil.
Putting the things away, she walked across the brow of the hill, gazing out over glen and loch. The afternoon was cool and misty, and she had excused her students a little early, knowing that many had chores at home or in the fields. They had done good work that day, and she was willing to be flexible with lessons, as it would keep them content to return to school.
The extra time gave her a chance to do some hillwalking in daylight to search for fossil remains. She had promised her brother James to look for specific rock varieties, take notes, and sketch what she saw in order to help his research on the geological nature of antediluvian earth in the Scottish Highlands. Her knowledge of fossils dovetailed nicely with his research, and she often supported his work by sketching finds for him.
Identifying rocks and fossils was enjoyable and no trouble, but finding any trace of fairies, as required by her grandmother’s will, would be impossible. Still, armed with a notepad and Conte pencils, she hoped to find something that would meet the approval of the solicitor, Mr. Browne, and especially the scrutiny of Sir Walter Scott, her grandmother’s old friend. The late Lady Struan’s will had to be satisfied unless her brother could succeed in contesting it. That was doubtful too.
Heading across the breast of the hill, she kept the loch to her left as she went, allowing her to easily find her way back to Mary MacIan’s house. Seeing an outcropping of greywacke, she climbed toward it and knelt to study it.
She examined it closely, particularly interested in finding clusters of fossils and varieties of rock and minerals that could mingle in greywacke. Boulders were easy enough to explore, thrusting out of grassy turf and heather.
One small rock, small enough to fit in her hand, preserved a tiny impression of a trilobite. An ancient sea had left its traces even as high as these hills, she thought, reaching for her notebook to record the thought and make a sketch.
“That is a devil of an insect you have there,” said a voice behind her. Fiona jerked in surprise, turning to see Dougal MacGregor standing nearby. “Pardon, Miss MacCarran. I did not mean to startle you.”
“Good afternoon, Kinloch. I nearly threw a rock at you, I was that surprised,” she said with a half-laugh.
“And I am glad you did not.” He dropped to a knee beside her and glanced at the pages poking out of her knapsack. “Very nice drawings. Yours?”
“Yes. Some are drawings, and some are rubbings made over the stone. Those are arthropods,” she explained, as he looked at some of the pages. “The one in your hand is a trilobite—the devil of an insect that you mentioned. They were not exactly insects, but rather like very tiny crabs, little creatures floating about in the ancient seas. When they died, their bodies left impressions in mud, which over time became rock, preserving them forever.”
He nodded. “I have seen such things before, out in the hills. But I did not know what they were.” He glanced up, his eyes a piercing green. “Ancient sea? Here?”
“Some geologists believe that much of the earth was covered with water eons ago, including Scotland. Since we can find fossils of marine creatures and fish and shells, that proves the theory. My brother is studying the geological part of the puzzle.”
“Lord Struan is a scholar, then, not just of the peerage. A professor of natural sciences, you said?”
“Aye. Whenever I find good examples like these, I make sketches and rubbings to help in his research.”
“Unless you can haul the rock away directly for him,” he drawled, hefting her knapsack.
She laughed. “I hope the Laird of Kinloch does not mind if I take a few rocks.”
“He does not care in the least. Steal as many as you like.” His eyes sparkled with humor. “Fish on a Scottish mountain—how curious.”
“This one,” she said, choosing another drawing, “is an ancient shrimp.” She handed it to him. “There, at the bottom, a row of tiny arthropods, left in limestone.”
He studied them carefully. “We call these fairy tracks.”
Fiona tilted her head, fascinated. “They do look like tiny footprints.”
“When I was a boy, I was sure they were fairy footprints. Since then I have read a little about old fossi
ls, but I never thought they might be the fairy feet my own father told me about when I was young.”
“Few fossils are complete enough that we would recognize them as tiny animals. It takes a keen eye to see them at all, impressed in the rock. There are plants, too, leaves and ferns and bark, if one looks closely enough.” She smiled. “I rather like calling them fairy tracks.”
“It is better than calling them Highland shrimp,” he agreed, and laughed with her. Then he stood and held out his hand. “Come up to me,” he murmured.
Fiona paused, recalling the first time she had seen him on another hillside. She had taken him for one of the Fey then, and he had used that same odd, lilting phrase. Now he was smiling, affable—and yet still compelling and mysterious, as if he did indeed have a magical aura about him on this misty hillside.
She very much liked the man she saw now, already familiar to her, who smiled easily and did not insist that she leave this place. She set her gloved hand in his proffered palm, and let him help her to her feet.
Brushing dirt and grass from the skirt of her dark blue gown, adjusting the drape of the plaid shawl, a gift woven by her new sister-in-law Elspeth, now Lady Struan, she looked up and smiled. “What brings you into the hills this afternoon, Kinloch? Surely not fossil collecting.”
“Flowers, Miss MacCarran.” He lifted her knapsack to his shoulder and began to walk beside her. “You roam the hills for rocks, and I am looking for wildflowers.”
“For your lady love?” she asked. “You carry no bouquets.”
“My lady love wants a different sort of bouquet,” he said. “She is a great belching thing, pretty and shiny, but she is fussy and demanding when the steam begins to roll off her. But oh, she gives great comfort when she is ready.”
“A copper still?” she asked.
“Ah, she understands her rival,” he said with a quick twinkle in his hazel green eyes. Fiona felt a tiny thrill run through her.
“Why does she need flowers, then?”
“Spring flowers will be growing along the course of the burn near here, and I need to know what they are. The burn water feeds the stills down the slope.”
