The Witch Of Clan Sinclair

by Ranney, Karen

  “I also decided that I should become more active in society,” she said.

  “Which probably doesn’t mean attending more balls,” he said dryly.

  “I gave a speech about my thoughts at the SLNA. I think women should be given the vote.”

  He didn’t say anything, which made her glance at him. He was still smiling, that contented expression making her partly happy, partly envious.

  “I don’t think it’s fair that women are treated a certain way because they’re female. Or being told that it’s none of my concern because I’m a woman. I detest being patronized.”

  “Have I ever patronized you?”

  She shook her head. “You’re remarkably fair,” she said. “Marriage has mellowed you.”

  “I was fair before I married Virginia.”

  “You’re calmer since you’ve been married. Not as driven.”

  “Oh, I’m as driven,” he said. “I’m just happier.” He smiled at her. “You should try it.”

  She blew out a breath. “To care for a male is not my sole concern in life.”

  “Is there something wrong with caring for a male?”

  Since his question was so blandly voiced, she answered him.

  “No, not in the context of a rich, full life. But not in lieu of having a life. Can you imagine me doing nothing more than being a wife? ‘Would you like more potatoes, husband? Could I bring you some whiskey, dear?’ I’d be bored in a day.”

  “No doubt you’d be printing broadsides in your attic and distributing them when you hung the clothes out to dry.”

  His crooked grin sparked her laugh.

  “Don’t you ever want to fall in love, Mairi?”

  The fact that her brother was asking her about love was strange enough. That she wanted to answer him added to the discordant feeling.

  “Love seems a fine thing for men. Less so for women. Take servitude to a man and wrap love around it, and it seems justifiable and even pretty.”

  “A man cares for a woman, protects her, shares what he has with her. Wrap love around it, and that, too, seems justifiable. Or maybe it’s enough to simply love with no thought to anything else. Is love strong enough to stand on its own and exist for no other purpose but to be itself?”

  “How philosophical we’ve gotten, Macrath, and I don’t have the answer for you. All I do know is that love is probably not for me. Purpose is.”

  He didn’t speak.

  She turned and faced him. “I’ve always been able to do what I wanted to do, but I had to resort to subterfuge or outright lies in order to do it. Maybe I’m tired of not being myself. Or of hiding behind you.”

  “Then do it.”

  Annoyed, she stared at him. “It’s not quite that easy,” she said.

  “Or maybe it’s easier than you know. Make the Gazette yours completely, Mairi. Change it to fit you. Stop hiding behind my name. You’ve done a phenomenal job with the newspaper. You always have. You cared more about it than I did. Sometimes, I think you cared more about it than Father.”

  “Don’t say that, Macrath.”

  “Why not? If he were here, I think he’d say the same thing. You have almost a missionary zeal, Mairi.”

  She felt her face warm at his praise.

  “You’ve always been the very best brother,” she said.

  “I’m not trying to flatter you. I’m telling the truth. But the same zeal that makes you so good at your job, Mairi, can also narrow your judgment. Take a step back from time to time and reevaluate why you’re doing something.”

  “Are you talking about the broadside now?”

  “And other things.”

  “Like love?” she asked. She shook her head.

  He smiled. “The broadside was an error in judgment, Mairi. But errors like that can be fixed. Just don’t make the same errors about your life. Permanent mistakes.”

  She stood again, walking to the window. “Sometimes I let my emotions get the best of me. Before I know it, I’m in the middle of another situation of my own making.”

  Turning, she faced him. “Do you ever question yourself, Macrath? Did you ever think you weren’t good enough for all the things you wanted to do? Or not up to the challenge?”

  “No,” he said with a smile. “They were my dreams. They fit me. Yours will fit you.”

  “Will they? I wonder. I want people to know the name of the Gazette. I want to have influence.”

  He stretched out his feet. His boots weren’t the cleanest, but this was his house. If Macrath wanted to track mud through Drumvagen, that was his business. She would have done anything other than incur Brianag’s wrath.

  “Then do so,” he said.

  “I always thought I was brave,” she said.

  “You are.”

  She shook her head. “No, Macrath, I’m not.”

  She wasn’t going to tell him about the attack on her.

  “I know that women who have spoken out have been the targets of violence. I don’t want to be singled out in that way.”

  “Nor do I want you to be. Can you not do something else equally as important, but be less visible?”

  “I’ve been printing thousands of brochures and announcements for the SLNA,” she said. Would he criticize her for that? Would he question her expenditures as vigorously as Robert had?

  When he didn’t, she asked, “Why did you hire Robert? Was there no one else you could have installed in the house to oversee my expenses? Someone who was less dour, who smiled from time to time?”

  “I thought he would be of help to you. Give you advice when you needed it.”

  Surprised, she glanced at him. “Well, he doesn’t give me any advice. He does, however, make me explain every time I’ve purchased something.”

  Macrath’s eyes narrowed. “I never asked him to do that, Mairi. He sends me a monthly accounting, but I never asked him to put you in that position. Why don’t you just tell him it’s none of his concern?”

  She threw her hands up in the air. “Because I thought that’s exactly what you wanted him to do.”

  “I have more faith in you than that,” he said. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have left you and Fenella in Edinburgh.”

  “You wouldn’t have gotten us out of Edinburgh,” she said. She folded her arms, and tapping her foot against the wood floor, pretended an interest in the view.

  Winter had a grip on Edinburgh, but here it was still waging a war for dominance. The waves were foamed with white to mirror the sky. A snow sky, most people would say. Would she be snowed in at Drumvagen? Perhaps it would be a blessing if she were.

  “You’ve created a home here. Drumvagen’s a magnificent creation, and you did it.”

  “Not alone, Mairi. Any more than you create the paper alone. You need help.”

  “Speaking of which,” she said, sighing deeply, “Fenella’s in love with Allan, my pressman, and the best one I’ve ever seen.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “No, I guess not. I just hate to see a man turned to idiocy because of love.”

  He laughed, startling a smile from her. “Are you saying that because of me? Was I an idiot? Am I still?”

  She turned and faced him, dropping her arms. “No, you weren’t. And he isn’t, either.”

  Perhaps she was the only one in the family who was idiotic about love. That thought was so startling she decided to push it aside to think about later.

  “Fenella said she had written you. Did you get her letter?”

  Macrath sat back, sipping his whiskey leisurely. If a question confused him or he wanted time to think about it, he simply didn’t answer. She didn’t think he ever lied, and wished she could say the same. He simply didn’t speak until his thoughts were arranged in a certain fashion.

  The only person who could alter his habit of being a stone wall was Virginia. With her, he was impulsive and sometimes rash. Look how quickly they had married. For that matter, look at Alistair. He was most definitely Macrath’s son, born a year bef
ore their wedding.

  “I haven’t received hers,” he finally said. “But I did get a letter from Allan. I’ve no objection to them marrying. Do you?”

  “No,” she said. “He’s been an excellent employee. Fenella is in love and he seems to feel the same.”

  “Yet you still have reservations.”

  Surprised, she glanced at him.

  “It isn’t about Allan and Fenella,” she said, determined to tell him the rest of it.

  She pulled the letter from her pocket.

  “I received this the other day,” she said, handing the letter to Macrath. “It’s one of two. Abigail threw out the first.”

  He read it through, then folded it.

  “May I have it?”

  “Why? I don’t want it,” she hastened to explain, “I’m just curious why you do.”

  “Something about it bothers me. Either the way it’s written or the handwriting.”

  She nodded, watching him tuck it into his pocket.

  She didn’t have any objection to him taking the letter. She wished she could hand off the rest of her problems to someone else.

  “You have a nest of wasps in your home, Macrath,” she said, staring out the window.

  Below them, on the headland, Brianag and Enid were at it again, shouting at each other so loudly their words could be heard through the windows.

  “Or maybe not a nest. Two very loud wasps. Do they think no one can hear them?”

  “Yes,” Macrath said, coming to stand beside her. They also think Virginia and I don’t know about the discord they cause. “I’ve had visits from every inhabitant of Drumvagen at one time or another. When I’m not here, Jack and Sam inform me of what’s going on. It seems we have a war at Drumvagen.”

  She nodded. “You need to do something about them.”

  He nodded. “I do, as you need to do something about your own situation.” He patted his pocket. “I don’t like this.”

  “Neither do I,” she said, compelled to agree.

  “Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

  She nodded. “But I won’t be a hermit, Macrath, and I won’t be boxed up in the paper’s offices.”

  He grinned at her. “But you will continue to let James accompany you wherever you go.”

  She nodded. Her brother didn’t need to know about her concerns about Allan. Nor did he need to know anything about Logan Harrison.

  Since he didn’t want to bother Mairi’s cousin again, Logan stopped in at the Sinclair Printing Company a few days later.

  The young man manning the press was a surly sort. At first he refused to tell him anything except that Mairi wasn’t in the building.

  They faced each other, Logan standing in the doorway, the other man with a wrench in his hand, glaring alternately at him and the press.

  “Are you in charge when Miss Sinclair is not here?” Logan asked.

  “I’d be asking why you want to know.”

  He would have to tell Mairi how loyal her employee was and how annoying. But a Scot was often like that, suspicious until coaxed into friendship.

  “I don’t wish her ill,” Logan said. “I just want to know if she’s returned to Edinburgh.”

  Allan didn’t say anything for a few moments, intent on removing something from the press. When the gear clattered to the floor, Logan retrieved it, noting that one of the teeth had broken.

  He handed the gear to Allan, who glared at it with the same ferocity he’d turned on Logan.

  “I’ll have to send for the part,” he said, looking as if he wanted to kick the press. “It was old twenty years ago. We need a rotary press, not this ancient thing. I’ve been putting it back together every day for the last seven months.”

  “You’re new here, then?” Logan asked. “Are you new to Edinburgh, too?”

  Allan scowled at him. “Again, why would you be wanting to know?”

  Logan debated for a moment, then gave the man the truth. “I find I’m interested in what Miss Sinclair does. Since you work here, I’m also interested in you.”

  “Yes, I am new to Edinburgh,” Allan said, grabbing a rag and wiping his hands. “It’s a good place for a pressman to work.”

  “They call us the Athens of the North,” Logan said, smiling. “We’ve a great many newspapers and publishers.”

  Allan nodded. A moment later he lifted his head and stared straight at him.

  “I know who you are, Lord Provost. I remember the first time you were here, trying to put the fear of God in her. I’m thinking it’s a good thing she left Edinburgh for a while, and I’m thinking it would be a good thing for you to stop inquiring about her.”

  “And I’m thinking it would be a good thing if you kept your advice to yourself,” Logan said, taking a few steps toward the man until he faced him across the press.

  Allan threw the rag on a nearby table and rested his hands against one of the supporting bars.

  “I’m in love with her cousin,” Allan said. “I’m stupid with it. Enough to see it in the face of another man.”

  Logan didn’t respond. Politics had taught him the value of silence. Never more important than now, when words had been stripped from him by surprise.

  “She’s not here, and I don’t expect her today,” Allan said, directing his attention to the press once more. “If you come tomorrow, I might be giving you the same answer.” He looked up. “Or maybe not.”

  Logan ran his hand over the large wheel. The cool metal beneath his fingers seemed to warm to his touch, as if the press were a living creature, one seeking a source of heat.

  He could almost feel her hands here, remembering when he entered the press room that first day and she’d been attired in a leather apron and a scowl.

  “How long?” he asked. “How long do you think she’ll be gone?”

  Allan straightened. “However long Mairi wants.”

  The answer was right before his face. If he wanted to see Mairi, he’d have to find her first.

  Chapter 22

  “There’s a carriage coming up the drive,” Brianag said at the door of the parlor.

  “A visitor? Who?”

  “Are you the Queen of England now? If you want to know who it is, go to the door yourself.”

  Mairi closed her book, praying for patience. With each passing day, Brianag grew even more disagreeable.

  Or perhaps it was because she was bored beyond belief. The time away from Edinburgh dragged. She’d caught up on all her reading, spent hours in contemplation of what Macrath had said, and exhausted entirely too much time thinking about Logan.

  Every time she tried to write, she’d find herself staring off into space. She found it difficult to keep her train of thought. She was forgetting tasks, names, and other information that she normally remembered with ease.

  She noticed the looks between Macrath and Virginia and was so envious her stomach hurt.

  She put down her book and stood. Maybe a visitor was just what she needed.

  When Brianag left the room, stomping down the hall, Mairi stared after her. How did Macrath tolerate the woman?

  Drumvagen startled him. Logan had known Macrath Sinclair was a wealthy man. He just hadn’t expected a mansion in the wilderness. Set among the pines, hugging the cliff above the ocean, Drumvagen was a masterful piece of architecture, the equal to anything he’d seen in Scotland or England.

  The sweeping grand staircases were no doubt meant to impress. Here, you are in the presence of power, they seemed to say. Or money. Or taste. Or a dozen different attributes, all designed to awe.

  He was, but he wasn’t cowed. When his driver entered the circular drive, the oyster shells crunching beneath the wheels, he only felt anticipation.

  At the door, instead of a majordomo, a woman with a regal bearing greeted him. She was attired in a long skirt of tartan wool, a white blouse with a clan brooch pinned on her chest.

  When he asked for Mairi, she made a sign with her fingers, grumbled something, and turned to stomp off into th
e house. When she didn’t come back, he entered and shut the door behind him, only to hear her return.

  “Well, are you coming?” she asked.

  Now, there was a woman who could intimidate him.

  He bit back his grin and followed her.

  A few minutes later Brianag returned to the parlor with the very last person Mairi expected to see at Drumvagen.

  Logan stood there attired in a black coat, his hair mussed by the wind, his cheeks ruddy from the cold.

  “You can’t be here,” she said.

  “Why can’t I?”

  “You’re the Lord Provost. You can’t go sallying forth all over Scotland.”

  “Sallying forth?” he asked, his grin too white and charming.

  “Who is doing your job?”

  “I’m allowed a few days to myself from time to time,” he said.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Perhaps there were things I needed to see near here.”

  “Name one.”

  “Kinloch Village,” he said easily. “The villagers have made significant inroads in correcting the erosion on the cliff side.”

  He had to have done some research to know that. Or he could simply be lying. She didn’t know what the villagers were doing.

  “I could go on and on about the fishing trade, if you wish, or perhaps I simply felt the need for a drive.”

  “A four hour drive in the winter?”

  His grin faded. “I came to see you, Mairi.”

  Her heart was beating a rhythm that was alien to it, making her breathless.

  “Again, why?”

  “Perhaps I missed you.”

  She folded her arms and glared at him. Quite easy to do, since she was frightened by his appearance and it was easier to be angry than afraid.

  He speared his hands through his hair. Logan was as adverse to headwear as she. He really should take more care, however, since he was often out of doors. He’d be warmer wearing a hat.

  She stopped herself in mid-thought, turned and walked toward the windows.

  He would meet Macrath and Virginia. He would effortlessly charm them, she was sure. She had to explain his presence somehow, and she knew Macrath would never accept that the Lord Provost of Edinburgh was simply driving round Scotland in the snow and ice.