Call of the Clan

by Patti Wiggington

  There was no answer. The storm continued to rage outside, and I considered snooping a little more, but didn't know when the cottage's owner would return. I was sure that whoever they were, they wouldn't appreciate me digging through their stuff. A hide-covered couch sat off to one side, so I decided to make myself at home until the rain let up. I looked around briefly for a bathroom, but didn't see one, so I kicked off my boots and relaxed a little, snuggling up under the blanket. Soon, just like Goldilocks, I was fast asleep.

  * * * *

  Dugald Murray was nineteen years old and relieved to know that he was not dying after all. Wounded, to be sure, but it looked as though he might survive long enough to get home.

  With the aid of Will Spalding—dear, loyal Will—he had stumbled off the terrible field at Culloden Moor. The field where he, like thousands of other Highlanders, had shed blood in the name of Prince Charlie. The gash in Dugald's side had begun to crust over, and he would never forget the glint of the English bayonet before it sliced into his flesh. Nor would Dugald forget the look on the English soldier's face when he cleaved the man in half with his claymore.

  He thought about his Da and his Mam, and his dear sister Catharine. Of all of them, Catharine was the one Dugald missed the most. She had wept when he and Will rode off, heeding the call of the clans. Catharine's grief was partly for Dugald, but as much for Will Spalding. She had loved him since childhood.

  Dugald wanted to put Culloden behind him. He would find a lusty wife, raise fat happy sons, and live well enough at Kilgraeme—at least until his Da passed. When Colin died, Lachlan would become the Murray.

  And when that happened—because happen it would—Dugald would have to leave his family's home.

  Otherwise, Lachlan would likely kill him.

  Chapter Five

  "So, did we have a nice wee nap, then?” said a deep, musical voice, and I sat up with a jolt. I looked around, disoriented.

  "Umm?” I peered over towards the fireplace, and saw a shadowy form crouched in front of the hearth. I swung my feet down and grabbed for my muddy boots. They were gone. I swept my hand under the couch, keeping an eye on the stranger in the shadows.

  "You won't find ‘em down there. I put them by the door. They were filthy,” he added unnecessarily.

  "Oh, okay.” I jumped up. “Look, I'm sorry for trespassing, but I got caught out in the storm, and found my way here. I was lost,” I admitted sheepishly.

  "So you're the American lass that's here for her money, then, are you?” He rose and turned to face me, and I felt my breath catch. He was tall, well over six feet, rather broad across the shoulders, with a mane of rust-colored hair that tumbled down to somewhere just past his shoulders. That wasn't what made me stare, though.

  Where Evan Muncaster looked like he belonged on the nightly news, doing the sports report, this guy looked like he could easily pillage and loot an entire city on his own.

  Damn.

  "Er, yes, the American. Right, that's me,” I replied. I hoped I wasn't drooling on myself. Scotland had just gotten a lot more appealing.

  He snorted. “I thought as much. The storm's done now, so if you like I can point you back toward Kilgraeme."

  I looked at him curiously. “Who are you?"

  He shrugged, stirring the contents of the kettle. “Doesn't matter over much, does it? You'll stay here for your twelve months and then go scamperin’ back to America, where you belong."

  "I beg your pardon,” I huffed indignantly, “but you're being kind of presumptuous, especially if you think I'd scamper anywhere. You don't even know me."

  He chuckled softly, “Aye, but I do. I know your type, anyway. Don't take it personally, aye? ‘Tis nothing wrong with wanting what's rightfully yours. It's just that Kilgraeme means more to some of us than just an income."

  I was startled by his hostility. Clearly, he didn't think too highly of me, and I had no idea why. “Look, Mister ... uh, do you have a name?"

  "Why?"

  Frustrated, I snapped, “Because I can't just call you Mr. Big Sexy Redheaded Guy, that's why!"

  Startled, he burst into laughter. “Of course, you can't. How rude of me, aye?” He extended a large hand. “Cayden Spalding."

  So this was the elusive man, the local blacksmith who managed to aggravate Evan Muncaster into fits. And the one that Trish had described as....

  I blinked. “Brynne Marlette,” I replied, shaking his hand. His grip was firm.

  He was surprised. “You don't go by Murray, then?"

  "No,” I shook my head. “It's not my legal name. My stepdad adopted me, although everyone here seems to have forgotten that. I never even heard of the Murrays until recently."

  "Ah. You never knew Jamie, then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "No."

  He looked at me sharply. “You've the look of him.” He strode to the door and pulled it open. A stream of sunlight flooded the room. “You should be getting back to Kilgraeme before it gets dark. Here're your boots."

  "Thank you. Er, which way is it? Trish left me on a horse near a lake, and I really have no sense of direction."

  "Where's the horse?"

  "I don't know, but I'll be sure to express my strong displeasure if I ever see it again,” I said with a wry smile.

  Cayden Spalding did not smile back at me. “You were out on the moors with Trish MacGregor?"

  "Well, yes, for all the good it did me."

  He thought for a moment, then seemed to make up his mind about something. “Have you learned much about Kilgraeme?"

  "No. Nobody ever tells me anything, and I've developed an alarming tendency to keep getting sidetracked."

  "It figures. Trish has done a lot of research,” he began, “on the families around here, particularly her own, the MacGregors. Donald of Glengyle, and his lot. But try to remember that she was hired by Evan Muncaster, aye?"

  Evan again. “And this is a problem somehow?"

  Cayden shook his head. “It doesn't have to be.” He stared outside for a minute. “Never you mind. It's not that important."

  "Okay."

  He was silent then, and I took it as my cue to leave. “Well, Mr. Spalding, thank you for the use of your couch. Sorry for barging in on you like this."

  "Aye, well, then, you're welcome.” He did not invite me to drop in again, or to drop the formalities and call him by his given name. So much for Highland hospitality.

  "Okay, I'll just be going now,” I offered, and slipped past him. He was blocking nearly the entire door, and as he stepped back to let me through, I caught a scent of woodsmoke, and a glimpse of eyes as gray as steel.

  I felt them on my back for a while, but there was no way I was going to turn around and look. It was not until I was almost back at Kilgraeme that I realized what had seemed wrong at the croft.

  I hadn't seen him in the house when I came in to escape the downpour. But when I woke up, Cayden Spalding had been completely dry. And the only muddy footprints on the shiny wood floor had been my own.

  * * * *

  In addition to skipping breakfast and lunch, I had missed dinner. Evan Muncaster was in a tizzy because Trish had returned alone, and no one had heard from or seen me in hours. By the time I finally wandered into the kitchen at seven thirty, Mrs. Much was ready to stick my picture on milk cartons.

  "Och, child, where on earth ha’ you been? Mr. Muncaster been worrit sick about you!” she whispered, her accent becoming thicker at every Drambuie-laced breath.

  "I'm fine, really.” Ignoring my protests, she grabbed my hand and led me to a stool beside the great kitchen fireplace.

  "Nae, lass, you sit an’ warm your feet, and let me make you a hot toddy, aye? Won't be but a few minutes, I promise,” the cook announced, bustling around the room.

  I noticed Mrs. Much's pasty, thin daughter in a corner, peeling a pile of potatoes. She wore a pair of thick, round glasses with black rims, giving her an owlish appearance. “Hello,” I said politely. “I'm sorry to admit I've forg
otten your name already."

  The girl bobbed her head awkwardly, her glasses slipping down her nose. “Yes'm,” she whispered.

  "Do you work here too? At Kilgraeme?” I had seen the girl lurking in the hallways, but had never had a chance to speak to her.

  "Aye, mum. Sometimes,” she said softly.

  "And what is it you do, er ... I'm sorry,” I said. This was like pulling teeth. “Please tell me your name."

  "Emily."

  "Emily. What do you do here, Emily?"

  The girl thought for a moment. “Sometimes, I help me Mam with cleanin’ up after dinner. Miss MacGregor likes me to dust out the library every week."

  I was hit with a flash of inspiration. “Would you like to earn a bit of money?"

  The girl looked at me skeptically. “Doin’ what sort of thing?"

  Shrugging, I replied, “Well, it doesn't look as though the Murray men were ever really big on cleanliness. Other than this kitchen and the dining room, and of course the library, most of the house is a disaster."

  "You want me to clean all o’ Kilgraeme?” the girl frowned. “It's a rambly big house, ain't it?"

  There had to be a few other young women about Emily's age in the area, and I had an idea. “You wouldn't have to do it all yourself. You could be in charge of a whole team of cleaners. I bet there are other girls around here who could use some extra cash, aren't there?"

  Emily pondered for a moment. “How much would you pay them?"

  I had no idea what the going rate was in Scotland for a cleaning lady. “What's fair?” I asked. The girl named a price which seemed reasonable, and I agreed immediately, although she could have been overcharging me. I'd have never known. “Find two or three other girls who are willing to work, and I'll pay you fifty percent more just for being in charge of them."

  Emily beamed. “I can think o’ two in the village, and my friend Sandie lives over in Arrochar."

  Before I could reply, Mrs. Much brought me a huge mug of something hot, smelling of honey and whiskey. The cook patted Emily on the rump and sent her on her way. “Go on, lass, an’ tell Mr. Muncaster that the lady's returned to us safe and sound. He's been near out of his head."

  Evan arrived moments later, and I smiled at the sight of him, looking like a big, anxious dog. I decided that he was probably more of a Labrador than a bulldog. “I'm okay,” I laughed. “Really. I just got lost in the storm, that's all."

  "Well, your horse came back hours ago. You seem fairly dry, all things considered,” he said. He was dressed in a blue denim work shirt and looked very unlawyerly. “I was about to call the police."

  "I'm fine, Evan, really. I had the good fortune of stumbling through our local blacksmith's front door in the middle of the downpour,” I replied, and saw his face turned grim.

  "Spalding? What did you think of him?” he asked.

  I thought for a moment, and decided it would be prudent not to mention that Cayden Spalding was a complete hottie. “I'm not sure,” I said slowly. “At first I thought he definitely disliked me. Then he seemed like he wanted me to be careful."

  "Of what?” scowled Evan.

  "I don't know. Probably nothing. He's kind of ... intense, isn't he?” It hit me that Gil had once used that same word to apply to me. I missed Gil terribly, even though I had been away from home just two weeks. I made a mental note to call him soon.

  "Aye, I suppose, if bad-tempered and illiterate count as your idea of intense,” he grumbled.

  I frowned. There was no reason I should feel obligated to defend Cayden Spalding, but just the same I resented Evan's attack on the man who had helped me. Or if not exactly helped, at least he let me take a nap and hadn't tossed me back out in the storm. I decided to drop the subject altogether. “Have you seen Trish anywhere?"

  "I saw her when she got home. She was quite upset that you had disappeared on her out there."

  "Disappeared? She left me, not the other way around,” I said.

  "She said she returned to where she left you, and you were gone,” Evan explained. “She rode around calling for you, but you never answered so she figured you'd come back to the house. By the time we realized you were still missing, the storm was in full swing."

  That was strange. I'd never heard Trish calling me in the two hours I was riding around in circles. It didn't matter. Mrs. Much handed me a plate of cookies, and I wolfed them down eagerly. “I'm going to bed,” I announced. I was tired and it was dark. “Good night, Evan."

  "I'll walk you up,” he offered. Before I had a chance to agree or disagree, he was steering me out of the kitchen by the elbow.

  "Evan, I'm fine,” I argued, puzzled by his sudden proprietary manner. “I'm not five, you know. I'm a big girl. I can find my own way to my room. I can even tie my shoes by myself these days."

  He ignored me and guided me upstairs. “You've had a long day. I just want to know you're all right."

  I stopped, frustrated, at the door to the third floor. “Evan, it's no big deal. I just got lost but I'm back, and I'm fine. You're acting very strangely."

  He leaned against the wall. “I'm sorry, Brynne, I am. I'm not trying to be pushy. It's just that ... I don't know."

  I wanted to sleep, but I tried to be polite. “You want to come up, and talk about it?"

  "No, thanks. I'd better stay out here.” I gave him a quizzical look, and he said, “This is going to sound a wee bit ... well, just hear me out, would you?"

  I nodded, and propped myself up against the oak door. If he wouldn't come in, at least I would be comfortable. I hoped this wasn't going to take long. “Fire away."

  He shifted awkwardly, and when he finally spoke, I noticed his accent again. “This afternoon, when you were missing. I was worried about you, Brynne. It struck me as odd at the time, but then I realized something.” He moved closer to me, and grabbed my hand. “I realized that I care about you a great deal,” he admitted slowly.

  Well, I thought. This was a surprise. I really didn't know what to say. He leaned into the doorway, and kissed me on the lips. It wasn't a passionate kiss, but a soft, gentle one. I was startled, but didn't resist. His mouth was warm and soft, and I tried to remember the last time I had actually been kissed. Suddenly, Evan pulled away.

  "I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “I've no right. I apologize if I've offended you."

  "No, no,” I said, still baffled by this turn of events. Admittedly, I found Evan attractive, and I had suspected he thought the same of me, but I had assumed it was simply on a physical level. I hadn't expected him to actually start caring about me, of all things. “You don't have to apologize, Evan. I just didn't realize how you felt about me.” I smiled at him. “You're very sweet, you know."

  He brightened then, and let go of my hand. “Aye, well, then. All right,” he looked relieved, and backed out of the doorway. “I'll see you in the morning?” he asked hopefully.

  Not sure how to respond, I nodded. “You bet.” I shut the door and leaned against it, exhaling deeply. Wonder what Trish would think of this? Her warning about Evan came to mind unbidden, but I pushed it away.

  While I got ready for bed, I thought about Evan some more, and realized I'd been totally clueless. He'd been trying so hard to help out around here, and I had practically ignored him. On the other hand, he was definitely good-looking, and I could do a lot worse. Hell, I had done a lot worse.

  But I had to admit to myself that although on the surface I found him appealing, I wasn't sure Evan was really my type, personality-wise. He was a bit on the arrogant side, leaned towards the superficial end of the spectrum, and seemed to have an aversion towards anyone from a lower economic background, in other words, the kind of guy I'd always dated in the past. Oh well. I had a year before I could leave, so who knew what could develop? Maybe I'd find him more stimulating after I had been at Kilgraeme for a while.

  It disturbed me more than a little to realize that, as I fell asleep, the face that flashed in my mind had steel-gray eyes, not brown ones.
<
br />   * * * *

  I woke up in the darkness, some time in the middle of the night. There had been a sound....

  There it was again. Footsteps, softly moving on the stairs outside the library. For a moment, I froze. Who on earth would be coming up here in the middle of the night?

  I reached over to the nightstand, and closed my hand around a heavy object. It was a brass statuette of a swan, a hideous thing really, but right now I wasn't concerned with appearances.

  Ugly swan in hand, I climbed slowly out of bed and moved to the door. I tiptoed over, bare feet crossing the cool wooden floor silently. Outside my room, the library was dark and quiet, and I kept my eye on the top of the stairs. I held my breath, waiting.

  A book fell from a shelf just a few feet away from me and I leaped forward, one hand clutching the ugly swan like a deadly weapon, as I flicked on the light switch with the other. “Ha! Gotcha!” I yelled.

  There was no one there.

  I slid to the floor, panting in relief. The exhaustion of getting lost on the moors had finally caught up with me, and now I was hearing things go bump in the night. I slithered back to my four-poster, and eventually fell asleep.

  Chapter Six

  When I arose late the next morning, it was to the sound of singing. I was still a bit twitchy from the events of the night before, so I crept down my steps and listened carefully. There were definitely people singing in the hallway.

  By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes,

  Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomon'.

  Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae

  On the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomon'.

  I pulled my clothes on in a hurry, and cracked the door open. There, in the corridor, were three teenage girls armed with mops, dust rags, and several cans of cleaning products. I watched them in awe as they polished their way down the hall.

  To my utter amazement, mousy little Emily Much pushed her Harry Potter glasses into place, then opened her mouth and began to sing in the clearest, most beautiful voice I had ever heard.