The Highlanders: A Smitten Historical Romance Collection

by J'nell Ciesielski

  Molly greeted neighbors and friends as they came to pay their respects after Rory MacGregor’s graveside service. Now Pa was gone, what was she to do? How would they get by without his wages?

  Séamus Macaulay hovered, which only unsettled her more. How was one to avoid the undertaker at a funeral? “Scott, take the wraps and put them by the hearth, so they warm up before folks leave. ’Tis bad enough they’re rain-soaked.”

  Loaded with coats, Scott approached the hearth where Katherine poured tea for the guests. “A shame some of the visitors are stuck waiting outdoors in the rain.”

  The minister’s wife, Grace Campbell, approached Molly with a mug. “Here, lass, ye look like ye could use it. I brought ye and Scott some scones.”

  “Bless ye, such a friend ye’s been, and thanks for all yer help, and yer husband for his kind words at the service.” She wiped a tear from her cheek.

  “’Twill be over soon.”

  “Aye.”

  Molly received hugs and handshakes for an hour before the last of the mourners finally departed. All but Katherine Grant and Séamus Macaulay.

  While Katherine quietly washed the cups and dishes, Molly searched the cottage and picked up any that were left.

  Séamus still sat with Scott at the table when she brought the few remaining dishes to Katherine. “So many cups and plates to clean. How are ye going to remember who to return them to?”

  “’Tis easy. I set them all out on my table and ask them to take their own.”

  She placed her hand on Katherine’s back. “What would I do without ye?”

  Katherine tilted her head in the direction of the table, her clear blue eyes full of warning. She whispered, “Ye know he has plans for ye?”

  “Aye, and I have been avoiding private conversations with him as best I can,” she whispered.

  “Do ye want me to stay ’til he leaves?”

  “Nay, I need to face up to all that lies ahead,” she muttered, “even Séamus Macaulay.”

  Within fifteen minutes, Katherine had packed all the borrowed dishes into baskets and placed them in her wagon. “Now remember, I’m only a ten-minute walk, and I will help ye if I can.” Katherine nodded at Séamus and Scott. “See ye later.”

  Molly stood in the doorway and waved as Katherine held the hood of her cape over her head for protection from the rain and dragged the wagon behind her. Molly closed the door and turned, almost bumping into Séamus.“Ye startled me, Séamus. I didna hear ye approach. I will get ye the money for yer services in the next fortnight.”

  “I’m not worried about payment, but I did want to talk over something with ye.” He glanced back at the table where Scott sat whittling.

  She pulled her shoulders back. Might as well get this over with. “What is it?” The man, older than her by a decade, could not have been even two inches taller than her five and a half foot frame. A reddish color rose to the top of his face while he held his shaking hat with both hands in front of him.

  “Yer the prettiest lass with yer carrot-colored locks and yer blue eyes. Yer needing a fellow to care for ye now … and the laddie ... of course. I’m thinking we should marry.”

  Scott got up, still holding his pocketknife and walked over to her, standing tall with a defiant look. “She does not have carrot-colored locks … and I’m thinking that I will care for my sister.”

  Séamus’ eyes flared, and she bit her lip. Out of the mouths of babes. The urge to laugh or smile was so strong, and so improper only a few hours after burying Pa. And ’twas certainly not a seemly way to respond to a marriage proposal. “I’m deeply honored by yer declaration, but I’m not even close to thinking about marrying … anyone.”

  CHAPTER 3

  A WEEK AFTER RETURNING to Tullochgorum, Grant was stacking peat while Keith emptied the root cellar when one of the laird’s agents showed up.

  He handed them papers. “Ye hae three days to vacate.”

  Grant slapped the eviction notice against his thigh as the agent rode off. “’Tis not a surprise. Been expectin that.”

  Keith sat on the three-legged stool by the front door of their stone cottage. “What do we do now?”

  Grant wiped his other hand on his pants and placed it on Keith’s shoulder. “We leave. Come, I have somethin to show ye.” The eight-year-old needed hope. “There’s more to life than workin at the mercy o a self-servin laird.”

  Inside the small cottage, Grant motioned for Keith to sit at the table. “Ever seen a map afore?”

  “Nay.”

  Grant removed the rolled parchment from a shelf. He smoothed it out on the alder oak table, anchoring the corners with potatoes. Keith’s pale blue eyes were wide with wonder and joy, something the lad had not displayed much lately.

  “What’s that?” Keith took off his cap and sat at the table, studying every inch of the document.

  “’Tis a map of Scotland ’n’ Ireland, ’n … England.”

  “Where did ye get it?”

  “I found it in some of Ma’s things I was organizin this mornin. Maybe she got it from her sister ’n brother-in-law. Katherine and Henry must have left it fer Ma and Pa when they moved to Ireland years back hopin they would follow.” He pointed to the cartographer’s drawings. “These are the boundaries dividin the countries and bodies of water. “There are the Scottish Highlands ’n the Lowlands.”

  “Do ye know where we are?”

  “Aye.” He pointed to an area on the tan parchment. “Right around here in the Cairngorm Mountains.”

  Keith leaned both arms on the table, quizzing him on all the symbols, names, and defining areas.

  “This is where in Ireland our kin bides.” He pointed to an area south of Coleraine.

  “Way up there, near the top?”

  “Aye, the whole area is Ulster, where the Scots went when they left home. I’m thinkin we should go. Not much left for us here. Aunt Katherine was a Grant, like Ma, and she married a Grant, but Henry died. Their son, our cousin Gavin, left Ireland and went to America.”

  “Where is that?”

  Grant knocked his knuckles on the far side of the table.

  “That far?”

  “Aye. So what do ye think? ’Twill be an adventure.” He grinned and rubbed his hand on Keith’s auburn curls.

  “Aye, does not look so far.”

  He laughed and gave Keith a playful jab in the arm. “Not on paper, but ye will see, ’twill be quite a journey.”

  “What about the goat ’n the pony?”

  “We will give the goat to the Simpsons. They helped ma ’n ye. We need the pony for ye to ride. When we reach the coast, we sell it ’n my horse. Then purchase other ones in Ireland.” He rolled up the map and put it aside. “Go wash. ’Tis neeps and tatties for supper.” And that was proof enough that they needed to leave, nothing left to eat here but turnips and potatoes.

  Three days later and a day into their journey, they reached a few miles south of the remnants of Ruthven Barracks. A crofter in his field waved to them. “Where are ye headed?”

  “Glasgow.” Grant glanced at Keith. The lad was weary and cold. “Have any shelter for the night?”

  “Aye, have a lean-to yer welcome to. And some hot porridge if yer hungry.”

  Keith’s eyes lighting up was all the encouragement he needed.

  After two more days of travel, they reached the market town of Stirling on the River Forth. Grant laughed. “Laddie, yer head is swivelin ’n yer eyes bulgin. Ye have never seen a village anythin like this afore.”

  The lad’s mouth dropped open when he spotted Stirling Castle standing high atop a hill. “I never knew there was such a town.”

  “We are out of the Highlands now ’n into the Lowlands. Tonight, we will be at a tavern with a hot meal for a change.”

  The next evening, Grant and Keith crossed an arched bridge over the River Clyde and arrived in Glasgow. Keith’s eyes searched the area when they entered the Tradeston district, his nose twitching. “The air is filled with smoke, ’n t
he buildins blackened with soot. Smells reeky.”

  “Town livin is crowded with industry, ’n progress. I prefer the moors ’n glens. Glasgow ’tis the farthest I’ve gone. Tomorrow will be new territory for me, too.”

  Keith patted his pony. “How many more days will it take?”

  He pointed to an inn amongst the tenements. “We’ll stay there. ’Tis about a hundred more miles till we reach Portpatrick. Then over the Irish Sea. We dock at Donaghadee, ’n then on to Belfast, ’n Aghadowey.”

  Molly sat at her spinning wheel, dipping her fingers in the cup of water and working the flax as she spun it. The clock chimed two. Scott would return soon to eat. She glanced out the small window and then at the soft blue wool fabric spread across the other side of the table. To have a dress made of it would be lovely, but there was no way of justifying the expense. She sighed looking down at the black muslin dress she wore. She needed to get back to work on Mrs. McGuire’s dress while the light was good. They needed the income. The sooner she could pay off Pa’s burial fees the easier it would be to avoid Séamus Macaulay.

  Scott came through the door followed by Katherine Grant. “I finished the chores. May I go to Patrick’s? We planned to fish.”

  “After we eat.”

  Katherine, tall and slender and still in black, set down the basket she carried. “I brought ye some stew and came to see how yer farin.”

  Molly walked to the hearth. “Have a seat. I will pour us some tea.” She set out a plate of biscuits with the tea and resumed her place at the wheel. “If ye dinna mind, I will keep spinning. One of the weavers will be by later today to pick it up on his way to the mill. We are doing as best we can, right Scott?”

  “Aye, but ye work well into the night on yer sewing and spinning.”

  Katherine dished up some stew for Scott and sat at the table beside him. “I understand Séamus is regularly comin by.”

  Scott put down his biscuit. “Séamus Macaulay is a nuisance.”

  Molly laughed. “Where did ye learn such a word?”

  “From Patrick. The man is nasty.” Scott’s glare was comical. He shoveled some of the stew into his mouth.

  Molly gave him a warning look. “Well, we need to be polite.”

  Katherine patted Scott’s arm. “The man is fond of yer sister.”

  Scott ate the last of the stew. “He creeps up on her and says her hair is the color of carrots. Anyone can see her locks are a wee bit redder than mine, but not the color of carrots.”

  “Scott, if ye are finished, go on to Patrick’s, but be back in a couple of hours.”

  “Aye, ta.” He grabbed his cap, another biscuit, and said to Katherine, “Tell her not to wed Séamus.”

  When Scott left, Katherine took another sip of tea. “Ye need to eat something lass and keep up yer strength—even if ’tis just to keep out of reach of Séamus Macaulay. Ye cannot work round the clock.”

  “’Tis been weeks since Pa’s passing and without his income …”

  “Have ye thought of lettin out the hut? ’Tis in good condition.”

  “Aye, it did cross my mind. It only has a wee hearth, perhaps it would do for a young couple starting out. If ye hear of someone trustworthy, let me know. I wouldna want just anyone so close. The hut was rethatched same time as the cottage two years back so should be plenty dry and warm.” She shivered and wrapped her shawl tighter. “Are ye believing ’tis almost June and still so cold ’n overcast? Makes me wonder how the crops and flax fields will fare.”

  “Many folks are wonderin the same. So, what are ye goin to do about Séamus?” Katherine took the pot of stew and emptied what was left into an empty pot beside the hearth.

  Molly continued spinning. “I told him I’m not interested in marrying. I’m eager to pay him for Pa’s services, so he has no more reason to come round.”

  “If he learns of other lads comin around ye, he may not give up.” Katherine set her pot back into her basket. “Is this for Mrs. McGuire?” She fingered the blue wool fabric on the table. “’Tis so lightweight and bonny.”

  Molly nodded. “I have no time or interest in the lads.” She got up from the wheel and walked to the table. “I’m behind, and Mrs. McGuire is expecting a fitting next week.”

  “I will be prayin that the Lord would provide ye the time and resources ye need. Mention to Parson Campbell yer thinkin about lettin yer hut. He may know of someone with a need.” Katherine hugged her.

  “Good suggestion. Thank ye, sweet friend, for the stew … and yer prayers.” She would see Grace Campbell that afternoon for a fitting. She could mention it then. Letting the hut wouldn’t solve all her problems, but it would be something.

  CHAPTER 4

  GRANT SHIFTED ON THE horse to view Keith riding behind him. The lad studied the countryside. “We are almost there, laddie. Crossin the Agivey water means we will be at Aunt Katherine’s afore supper.”

  “I’m thankful for that.” Keith pulled his horse alongside Grant’s. “Aunt will be surprised to see us.”

  “True. I’m hopin she kin direct us to someplace to stay ... ’n where I can find work.”

  When they entered the village, Grant spotted a man leaving the church. If he was the pastor, he might know how to find their aunt. “Excuse me, sir. We are hopin to locate our aunt, Katherine Grant.”

  The tall man’s wide smile was a welcome sight. “Follow that road along the river about ten minutes. Just when the road veers off to the right, ye will see a clump of birch trees. The Grant home is the first stone cottage after that. Has a fine apple tree on one side and a pear tree on the other.”

  Grant nodded. “Much obliged, sir.” They followed the man’s instructions. “Looks like a pleasant village.” The man seemed familiar with Aunt’s home, but then it was just a village. ’Twas more populated than Tullochgorum but still rural.

  Keith stretched and patted the horse’s neck. “Another river. Wonder if it has good fishin.”

  Grant took a deep breath when they approached what fit the man’s description of their aunt’s cottage. The whitewashed, thatched roof dwelling with a blue dutch door the color of the Scottish saltire flag appeared welcoming. “Stay by the pony ’til we learn if she is home.” He dismounted, tied his horse to a rail, walked to the door, and knocked.

  A moment later, a tall, thin woman opened the top portion of the door. Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. “Can it be?”

  Keith approached, and he put an arm around him. “I’m Grant Cummings ’n this is my brother Keith. Are ye Katherine Grant, sister to Isabella Grant Cummings?”

  “Aye. Ye looks so like yer pa, tall with yer blue eyes and brown curls. Come in, come in.” She opened the bottom of the door. “Tie yer horses to the post. I’ll make ye some tea.”

  “Ta.” After securing their horses, they followed the woman into the small cottage. She took the kettle from over the peat fire and poured them tea. The aroma reminded him of home.

  “Sit and tell me, how’s yer ma?”

  He and Keith sat at the table. “She passed about a month ago, but left a letter.” Grant pulled the letter out and showed it to their aunt. Katherine was the same build and coloring as Ma with her soft medium-blonde hair. Her reaction to his news and then to the letter brought back his own loss. “The laird evicted the crofters since he’s turnin to raisin sheep.”

  Their aunt wiped a tear from her cheek. “We always hoped yer folks would join us here. Ulster is filled with Scots, though most are Lowlanders like my Henry. Ye knew he passed?”

  “Aye, we did. Sorry for yer loss.” Grant glanced at Keith. An anxious look formed on the lad’s face. “We are not here to impose, but we will need to find lodgins ’n a job for me. I worked on the Caledonian Canal afore comin here.”

  She placed her hand on Ma’s letter on the table in front of her. “Of course, I will help ye out, but as ye can see, ’tis a wee cottage. Yer cousin Gavin left seven years back, but his pallet is not big enough for the both of ye.” She sighed then
smiled. “’Tis good that ye has experience in construction. There is talk of a canal, but most likely will be road and bridge construction around here.”

  Grant smiled and took a sip of the tea. It was the first encouraging news he had heard in weeks.

  Katherine went to the hearth and returned to the table with the kettle. “Ye two stay here, let yer horses feed in the field over there. A stream runs beside the field that comes from the Aghadowey River.” She pointed to a pasture on the other side of the cottage and picked up her shawl. “I may have a spot ye can board, but I need to check. There’s bread and pear jam if ye are hungry.” She smiled sympathetically. “I’m sorry about my sister, but I’m glad ye came here. Be back soon.”

  They followed her outside. She scurried in the opposite direction from where they’d come, glancing over her shoulder once. She evidently had a plan, hopefully, one that would bear fruit.

  “Come, lad. Let’s see to the horses.”

  CHAPTER 5

  “KATHERINE, I LOVE YE like a mother, and I would like to help, but Highlanders?” Molly put down her shears and placed her hands on her hips. “Ye dinna even know these fellows. Surely ye dinna want me to house loud, uneducated, wild, haughty chaps. Highlanders think they are better than the rest of us.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “The Reverend Mr. Campbell will have a better suggestion for a tenant for my hut as well as a spot for yer kin.”

  Katherine stood silently, a patient expression on her face.

  Why had she been so harsh in her response? Her friend was only trying to help needy relatives. Had she not also recently benefited from Katherine’s kindness and generosity? She offered a meek smile. “I’m sorry I didna mean to be unkind.”

  “Ye inherited yer pa’s prejudice for Highlanders, lass. They are not oafs. They seem respectable, and the older one left a good job to take responsibility for his younger brother.” Katherine pulled her shawl tight across her chest. “’Tis cold in here. Ye need more peat or ye shall take ill. The lad is about the same age as Scott. My nephews have little resources, and ye has a hut to let. Besides addin to yer funds, they could help around here, cuttin peat and workin the plot o land so ye could keep sewin and spinnin.”