“Ha! There’s my plain spoken lass.” Calum gathered his reins. “Let’s see who gets to that crop of trees first. Ready?” He leaned over his horse’s muscled neck. “Go!”
Alisabeth let out a squeal as she dug her heels into Faerie’s sides. Gideon barely touched his gelding, and the horse took off like a fox chased by hounds. He easily won and all three were panting when they halted at the pines.
“Ye ride well, my lord,” she admitted as she caught her breath. “Calum doesna like to lose.”
Gideon shook his head. “I must say, I’m surprised, Grandfather. You’re more fit than most of the gentlemen at Hyde Park. That was quite a lengthy gallop.”
“And that’s meant to be a compliment?” He reached over and slapped his grandson on the back. “Those dandies wouldna last a week here. I’d make sure of it.”
The carriage rumbled up behind them, and the women got out to stretch their legs and take care of necessities. Calum whistled again and the dogs jumped off the back of the carriage. Gideon thought of the tigers, or rear coachmen, often employed in England.
“So Scottish tigers have fur and tails. I imagine they settle for scraps instead of a wage?”
“And much more dependable,” added Glynis. “If we were set upon, those scraggly dogs would die for us. A paid hand may run to save his own skin. If only they’d get the knack of opening a door.”
They spread out a blanket and opened the basket. Maeve passed a small mutton pie to Gideon, who turned it over and gave it a sniff. His mother giggled and nibbled at her own. He watched her and did the same, followed by a healthy bite. “This is delicious,” he mumbled as he chewed. “Are there more?”
Peigi handed him another then pulled out a blade and cut hunks of cheese and bread. The deerhounds stayed at the edge of the picnic, snatching scraps tossed their way. Two skins of wine were passed around and Alisabeth lay back, closing her eyes. Ian would have enjoyed this day. And with that one thought, her heart hurt again. No crying, ye silly ninny. It’s a bonny day and he’d be cross if ye didna enjoy it, she told herself.
As they packed up, Gideon offered to water the horses. Maeve waved a hand at both Lissie and her son. “Why dinna ye both take the horses down to the brook. There’s a bonny view.”
The water gurgled and splattered, rushing over mossy boulders, tadpoles shooting this way and that. The horses lowered their heads, slurping at the cold water. Alisabeth shielded her eyes then handed him her horse’s lead rope. She stepped out onto a flat stone and pointed out the holly and hazel that grew on the fertile slopes to the east.
“The beauty of this land surprises me. I had expected the landscape to be rugged, but not this unique combination of lush green and jagged rock.” He transferred both ropes to one hand and held the other out as she turned to jump back onto the grass. “Let me help you. It looks slick—”
At that moment, her boot slipped from under her. He grabbed her arm with strong fingers and pulled her toward him, her body slamming into his. Lissie’s fingers grasped at his tailcoat as she struggled to regain her balance. The butterflies in her stomach flittered dangerously as the lean, hard muscles of his thighs pressed against her. The top of her head reached just under his chin. His chest rose and fell, his breath stirring her hair. She lifted her head just as he was looking down. Their faces were so close, she could have kissed his chin.
The crystal blue eyes darkened and his gaze lowered. Lissie’s breath caught in her throat, her body frozen. Saints and sinners, he’s going to kiss me. One of the horses pulled on its lead to reach a clump of grass. Gideon turned his head for a brief moment. Just enough time to step back and put distance between them. “Thank ye for saving me from a fall. It’s a warm day, but I wouldna have liked being sodden the rest of the ride.”
He bowed, a playful grin on his face, but his eyes were serious and dark with an emotion she didn’t understand yet shared. With a hand to her stomach, Alisabeth picked up the stray rope and led the horse back to the clearing.
The sun cast its warm rays upon the party and the rest of the trip passed quickly. From the carriage, Peigi told Gideon her favorite Scottish lore. Calum explained how the landscape had changed from crofting to livestock during the Highland Clearances. The crofters had forfeited their land to the rich, who had combined the small parcels into large grazing pastures. Sheep now dotted the rocky green hills instead of grain.
“This is why weaving is so vital to us. Our wool is sent to the factory in Glasgow, where it’s cheaper to have it turned into cloth. We still have some that work in their home, to provide us with our tartans and plaids, but the majority is done in the weaving shed with 18 water looms.” The old man looked up at the sky. “I had chosen a different site for the mill but yer father insisted on Glasgow with the influx of Irish immigrants, many of them weavers. Water was another of his mandates so we built along the Clyde. He said power looms would replace handlooms some day. The earl had a sense for business, I’ll give him that.”
Lady Stanfeld told several stories of when she was a girl, and Lissie realized Gideon was hearing them for the first time. It struck her odd that his mother would not have shared childhood memories with her son.
“Didna yer mother tell ye stories when ye were a boy?” she asked.
“No, my father didn’t like her to talk about her childhood. I know it sounds harsh, but he didn’t want our heads filled with fantasy and legends.” He sighed. “I’m learning his decisions weren’t always in our best interest.”
“She must have truly loved him to give so up so much. I dinna ken if I could do that.”
He was thoughtful before he answered. “Yes, she loved him deeply—stayed in full mourning for a year. Said it was to respect his English rules, but I think it took that long for her to grieve.”
“I can understand that.”
Gideon reached over and laid his hand over hers. “My apologies. That was thoughtless of me.”
“We all are grieving so I am in good company.”
“I’m sure the babe is a comfort.”
Confused, she pulled up the reins. “What babe?”
“I thought you”—his face grew red—“were with child?”
A second stab to her heart. She shook her head, unable to form the words.
He rubbed a palm over his face. “Forgive me, I did not mean to cause you more pain. I assumed that was why you had stayed with my grandparents.”
“Don’t blame yerself. I’m just a wee sensitive. It was a disappointment not only for me but the clan. And I stayed because… Glynis wasna ready to be alone, and I hadna decided what to do.” She wiped at the tear that slipped out the corner of one eye.
“That explains the look on your face this morning when Grandfather held the baby.”
His intuitiveness surprised her. He had more of the MacNaughton blood in him than he thought. “Being with Ian is the only future I’ve ever known. It was snatched from me so suddenly, I’m still…”
“Struggling to find your place?” He nodded in understanding. “Why not go home?”
“My family would welcome me, to be sure. Yet it seems as if I’d be walking backwards into the past rather than forward into the future.” She shrugged. “Sounds foolish, I know.”
He shook his head. “Not at all. Your world spun upside down in an instant. While I feel an emptiness from his loss, it doesn’t change my life. But you are a strong woman. You’ll find the answers.”
They continued in companionable silence, while she pondered this unexpected empathy in Gideon Stanfeld. By early afternoon, they reached Dunderave. More dry stone houses and thatched roofs lined the main street. At one end of the village was a blacksmith and small dry goods and specialty store, at the other was a kirk, or church. A crowd had gathered and the minister, Reverend Robertson, stepped forward to greet them. “It is good to see ye, Calum. We heard Maeve found her way home again.”
The person in question flung open the carriage door. An older woman with streaks of white in he
r orange hair pushed through the throng. “My sweet Maeve, let me look at ye.”
“Oh, Moira, ye havena changed a bit,” cried the countess as she threw her arms around the tiny woman in a fierce hug. “Where are yer children and grandchildren?”
“All here. Ye’ll come to the house and sit a spell?”
The voices rose as Lady Stanfeld recognized each villager and was introduced to family members. Calum bellowed at a lad to take the horses, flapped an arm at the ruckus, and pulled Gideon and the minister away from the group. The villagers had been to Naught Castle for the funeral, so the MacNaughton did not need to stay for the gossip. Lissie watched the men disappear into the minister’s house, knowing whiskey would be part of their conversation.
“Lissie, come with us,” called the countess. “Help me remember all the new names.”
“Yes, my lady.” Alisabeth picked up her skirts and moved to her side.
“Please, call me Maeve. Do I still look like Lady Stanfeld?”
She took in the local material and familiar plaid adorning Maeve’s shoulders. “No, my lady, ye dinna.” Taking her elbow, she led the older woman toward the row of houses. “Where shall we begin?”
***
Gideon took his second “wee” dram of scotch whiskey and held back the shudder. Robust spirits for a stout people. He looked around the modest home and thought of the elegant home of the bishop near his English estate. A small hearth graced the far wall, peat glowing in the grate. The walls were layers of stone, and flagstone had been dug into the packed dirt floor. Material wealth did not seem a priority in this strange land.
They sat at a small wooden table, scarred and stained from years of use, with two back chairs and a stool. The minister had insisted his guest take the chairs while he cheerfully perched his thin frame on the three-legged stool. The hounds lounged near the door. Gideon again found himself socializing in peculiar surroundings. Squalor, his father would have called these conditions. Yet here in the Highlands, these men were his equal.
The minister had taken the stool to be hospitable toward his new guest. He offered the chair to his grandfather in deference to his position and reputation, which the chieftain had earned. Gideon realized he wanted that type of esteem, not the kind one was born to and given without thought. His privileged life had created a selfish man with a high opinion of himself. It jarred him. He was his father, pompous and proud. But he wanted to be like his grandfather.
“There’s a bit of an issue that will need yer attention before ye go, Calum.” Reverend Robertson poured more of the fiery liquid into Calum’s glass. “It seems a few of Rory MacDunn’s sheep got mixed in with another flock, or didna, according to Ross Craigg. He says MacDunn stole them. As ye ken, MacDunn’s elder son was flogged several years ago for stealing a prize rooster, and Craigg has since blamed the clan for mishaps not of their doing. To keep the peace, I took the sheep until ye arrived. They will abide by whatever ye say.”
“They are both family. MacDunns are part of the MacNaugton clan and the Craiggs are Lissie’s family.” Calum nodded at Gideon. “Not much different than yer responsibilities as an earl. It’s the hardest part of my position, deciding who lies or exaggerates. The lines of truth are not always clear.”
“I disagree. It can always be found in a man’s eyes if you look deep enough.”
The minister arched an eyebrow. “An English philosopher, eh? Ye may come in verra handy for these proceedings.”
Gideon opened his mouth to decline but a pounding from outside had the minister trotting for the door. Two men walked in, pulled their caps, and tried to smooth their tousled hair. With a bow of their heads, they greeted Calum.
“I hear there’s a difference of opinion,” began Calum. “Why do yer sheep not have a keel or lug mark?”
The minister whispered to Gideon, “We use common pasture. Keeling is a paint that tells us from a distance who the beasties belong to. Or marks are cut into their ears. Each farmer has his own particular notch.”
Since he had recently invested in sheep, Gideon found this all fascinating. As the men explained how these three sheep might have escaped the keeling, it seemed the sheep did have lug marks. As they made their way around the back, Calum ordered the dogs to stay a respectable distance from the group. The men examined the animals loaded in a wagon. The Craiggs used a single V notch, and the MacDunns used two Vs. All the sheep had the MacDunn marking.
Calum frowned. “It’s no mystery to me. They all have the MacDunn lug marks.”
“The second mark has been added,” said Ross Craigg accusingly. “Look closer, ye’ll see one of the Vs is more recent.”
Calum rubbed one ewe’s ear, his eyes narrow. “MacDunn, what kind of thievery is this? Do ye think my brain’s no bigger than this sheep?”
“I swear to ye by all that’s holy, I didna add that mark.” MacDunn bellowed, panic in his voice.
It was one thing to argue over livestock that had been mixed together. It was another to steal. If the marks had been added, it was proof of deceit. In England, men were hanged for such an offense. The best-case scenario was another flogging. Either way, the atmosphere had gone from bright to dark.
Gideon stared at the man. “You’re saying you never tampered with those ewes, and no one under your employ touched them to add a mark?”
The man shook his head adamantly. He was telling the truth, it showed in his countenance. He’d gamble that MacDunn had not been in on this plot.
“Liar! Ye did and ye’ll hang for it,” cried Craigg. His dark coloring and light brown eyes resembled Alisabeth, but the similarity ended there. He had a bulbous nose with blue veins running through it—a sign of a heavy drinker. The deep lines across his forehead and around his eyes gave the appearance of a permanent scowl. This man had a malicious countenance, and Gideon did not trust him.
Calum towered over the men, his presence demanding and his voice deadly quiet. “I will make the judgments here. We are in Scotland not England. I’ll not hang a man for a bit of wool. But I’ll flog him myself if he’s guilty of lying.”
Craigg glared at Calum, and as the irate man balled his hands into fists, Gideon saw it. The hatred and the deceit in his eyes. Without a doubt, he knew the man had added a mark to his own sheep. But why?
“The MacDunns have a reputation for pilfering. Ye would take his word over mine? My cousin Alisabeth lives under yer roof, and ye side with this common criminal?” Craigg sneered. “Or are ye getting weak in yer old age and afraid the MacDunns will retaliate?”
“I take offense on both counts, Ross. Our clans have been at peace for too long for ye to speak such filth.”
Calum’s neck went red. Gideon could see the tick in his jaw. This confrontation was turning dangerous. His father had told Gideon of the constant blood feuds and raiding between the clans. But he suddenly knew there was more to this than the theft of sheep. He looked into Craigg’s eyes and held his gaze. The other man grew more uncomfortable the longer Gideon stared. And then he knew. The Truth slapped him in the face and shook him to the core. There was a girl and boy involved, a young couple. They had fled from their parents. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. This was not information one could guess or assume without knowing the people involved. Good God, he did have an ability. How would he explain it?
He cleared his throat. “Grandfather, could I speak to you and Reverend Robertson for a moment? I might be able to help but would like to confer in private.”
The minister nodded, relief in his eyes. “Craigg, stay here with the ewes while we go inside. MacDunn, ye can wait out front.”
Calum beckoned Black Angus, pointed to Ross Craigg and ordered, “Fuirich!” The dog moved next to the other man, standing sentry.
They walked around the cottage once again. Behind them, Craigg bellowed, “What kind of trickery is this?” Angus growled low, stopping any further complaints.
Before entering the house, Calum left Brownie with the other man. Reverend Robertson wiped his fo
rehead with his sleeve. “This is not what I expected, Calum. I apologize when ye’ve come to issue invitations and bring Maeve here for a visit.”
“Och, it’s no one’s fault. And it’s my duty as chieftain. So, let’s see what my grandson has to say.”
Gideon wasted no time. “The man named Craigg is lying. He added those marks to incriminate MacDunn.”
Calum rubbed his jaw. “Ye are sure?”
Reverend Robertson seemed leery. “We’re to convict a man because ye have a feeling about one of them? I canna say this is a good idea, Calum.”
He wiped his sweaty palms against his breeches. “No, it’s more than that. It’s”—an imperceptible move of his grandfather’s head told him others did not know—“a skill I possess. I can read a man and tell if he’s cutting a sham.” He turned back to Calum. “He wants revenge because… I’d wager it has to do with his daughter and MacDunn’s son.”
“The thief? I can understand Craigg’s ire,” admitted Calum.
The minister stroked his chin. “No, MacDunn’s youngest boy was courting the Craigg girl. He claimed they were handfasted. When Craigg found out, he beat her until she denied giving her consent then forbade her to see the lad again. They tried to elope but MacDunn caught them, sent the girl back, and locked his boy in the cellar for a week. But that was last spring.”
Gideon’s pulse thudded in his neck. He’d been right. How the hell had he managed it?
“Early spring or late spring?” asked his grandfather.
“May Day when they eloped. Why?”
Calum’s face split into a wide grin. He slapped Gideon on the back. “God’s teeth, lad. Ye’re brilliant.”
He went to the door. “MacDunn, get that boy of yers over here. The one who’s sweet on the Craigg girl. He marched to the back. “Ross, ye bring yer daughter here within the hour. If ye dinna, I’ll come and find ye and flog ye myself.”
An hour later, father and son and father and daughter stood in the minister’s house. The fathers looked murderous. The children looked nervous.
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