Straightening my frock coat for the second time. I grabbed the handle to the door firmly, took a deep breath and opened it, letting the light. Laughter and joy roll over me for a minute before stepping through. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the brightness, candles lit the room at intervals and peopled milled around in groups of two or more, eating and drinking. Children dodged through the crowd with Christmas treats, upsetting the older folk and amusing the rest.
“Captain, I began tae worry ye might try and cry off this evening.” Phil came to stand before me. Hands held out, her hair pulled back in its usual bun, yet her eyes held a merriment not seen before.
Perhaps it was the scene playing out behind her, or her warm greeting after our recent disagreement. When I looked down into her face, I thought she could possibly be the most beautiful woman I had ever encountered. I needed to clear my throat before answering. “How could I miss the opportunity to finally see you? Merry Christmas.”
A light blush infused her cheeks. “Well everyone is welcome, Captain. A Merry Christmas tae ye, let me help ye with yer coat.” Phil fussed with the heavy garment and handed it to a girl standing next to her. “Mind, take care of the captain’s coat.”
“You have done a remarkable job with the place. The last time I walked in here, the grain bags were piled high.” I wanted to make conversation in order to keep her by my side for longer. I could think of nothing more to say.
“Well, the ladies from the village do most of the work. I am forced tae admit.” She looked around the crowd and back at me. “It is the one time of year everyone puts their differences aside tae come together.” In a lower voice, “I hae been wanting tae ask ye. If ye found anything in Mr Turner’s diaries.”
The mention of the diary brought my focus back onto the task I had set myself for the evening. I scanned the room and found Logan scolding Kieran in a corner. I dragged my eyes away from the scene. “Nothing of significance. I am afraid it has raised more questions than it has answered.”
A frown appeared on Phil’s face. “I admit tae feeling some disappointment with the news. I thought he might have written of his feelings, or . . .” She let her voice drift and dissolve in the crowd.
“I had the same notion.” I needed to bring her attention back to me, if only for a minute longer. “Yet he speaks only of mundane happenings around the village and some personal mathematics projects. Nothing to indicate there might be truth in the rumours.”
“And what rumours might those be? The two of ye are certainly having a couthy chat.” Beathan’s large frame blocked the rest of the crowd. He handed me a drink and looked sternly at his sister. “I hope ye are making couthy with the captain, Phil. It is Christmas, holiday spirit and all.”
Phil glowered up at her younger brother. “I will hae ye know, I am always friendly. If the two of ye will excuse me, I hae guests tae speak with, Merry Christmas, Captain.” I watched her melt into the crowd with disappointment.
Saluting Beathan with my glass, “Merry Christmas.” I took a sip of the Scotch and gave an appreciative smile. “The party appears to be a success.”
Indicating a less obtrusive place to stand other than in front of the door. I followed Beathan further into the room. He stopped and watched the crowd. “It’s been exactly the same since I was a lad, running through people’s ankles.” He chuckled. “The only difference, the faces get older and the young hae more energy.”
People began to clear a space in the centre of the room. The fiddle players honed their instruments before striking up a jig. The villagers swayed with the sound and after a couple of seconds, Tavish took to the floor. His wild hair sticking up at odd angles, he pulled his kilt up over his knobby knees in order to move his legs faster with the beat of the music. The whole effect made it appear the lower half of his body was trying its best to escape the upper half.
Angus took to the floor and commenced dancing even faster than his brother. I could not believe possible. The duo eliciting shouts of drunken encouragement from the rest of the crowd. The frenzy of the jig made both men red in the face, and they took great gulping breaths by the last of the notes, each clutching their sides and giving the other wary looks. The band struck up a slower song, and couples invaded the dance floor, giving the brothers no room to continue their feud.
I watched as everyone enjoyed themselves, unaware of the threat hovering over them. I looked to Beathan who watched his father on the other side of the room speaking with some of the older men. I needed to warn him, he might not be the Laird over Markinch, but he took care of its people.
“Beathan.” I said in a low tone. “I could be severely reprimanded for what I am going to divulge to you.” He looked over at me curiously. His bland smile an indication to carry on. “I received some disturbing news from the south today. The Colonel who oversees the excise in the Highlands has become concerned with recent events.” I decided not mention there must be a spy amongst the villagers or someone who passed through feeding Manners information. “He has charged me with finding the McKinneys’ murderers as well as searching out the illegal still.”
Nodding. “The presence of an illegal still is part of yer job tae find. I dinnae understand why he is so concerned with the McKinneys’ deaths. It is a village matter and will be solved by its folk.”
Sensing Beathan’s increasing temper, “Colonel Manners is a cautious man. He needs to know all is well in Markinch.” After watching the dancers for a minute, I turned back to Beathan. “It is no secret the old pretender intends to cause trouble in Scotland. If I cannot be seen to put the matter of the still and the McKinneys’ deaths to rest, you can be sure Manners will send someone who can, perhaps using force.”
As he narrowed his eyes, I felt controlled anger roll from Beathan. He did not keep the contempt from his voice. “I hope ye dinnae mean tae threaten me, Captain, or the people of Markinch with a militia? Such a thing could only cause problems fur everyone. I hae a business tae run, a business whose employment keeps this village from sinking intae a poverty most of the Highlands hae experienced!”
Holding my hands out in front of me. I tried to placate the other man, who finished the rest of his Scotch in one mouthful. “I am the last man, English or otherwise. Who would want to see a militia from the south come and camp in Markinch, for all their duty to keep the peace, they cause more trouble than not.” I thought of the Boston Militia. I may have been part of some brutal acts as a soldier, yet I never took pleasure in it as some of the militia, men who live outside society, unaffected by their rules. “Please know I will do everything in my power to keep the militia away. You have my word.”
Beathan snorted. “The word of a damned Englishman, and a soldier to boot, I will believe in it the day I catch a damned haggis out in the fens.” With the insult delivered, Beathan moved away into the crowd towards the drinks table, taut fury making his movements jerky.
Finishing the rest of my Scotch in one, I winced as it burned down my throat, almost making me choke. I tried to rearrange my face as I watched Logan make his way through the crowd. Seemingly speaking with every person, yet watching my expression. When he finally stepped next to me and filled my empty glass. I felt wary, rather than excited to put my previous plan into action.
“The Laird of the Manor appears tae be a bit out of sorts.” Logan nodded a chin to Beathan, whose face appeared strained. “Funny, but he looked in perfectly good spirits until he spoke with ye. I hope there is nae bad news from the south, especially during this festive time.”
I thought Mr Turner’s assessment of Logan’s character correct. Certainly I knew not to trust the other man. I needed to take charge of the conversation before I missed another opportunity to confirm my suspicions over the deaths of the McKinneys. “I think Beathan is struggling with stress from Deoch.” After making the excuse. “You appear to be in a festive mood yourself. Where has Kieran run off? I have not seen him since my short journey up to visit with poor Mrs McKinney. I felt it my duty to check on h
er well being. After all, I did find her husband and son.”
“I thought it might be yer duty since the dead man, whose boots ye hae filled. Is the probable murderer?" Logan stared at me full in the face. His mouth lifted at one corner. I forced myself not to act surprised over his bold statement.
“Rumours and will o’ the wisps, only, Logan.” It was my turn to try and put the other man on edge. “If one could be charged with the offences of every rumour. I have no doubt one of us would be swinging from a short rope. From a high branch right at this moment, yet the Crown still requires proof in the order of the law.”
The mention of his activities and known feelings towards the English only made the man smile, showing perfectly straight white teeth. In a low tone, he glanced around once to make sure none might overhear. “Och, we both know, rumour is one thing, actual deed is another. I would be careful, ye wouldnae want the indiscretion ye committed tae land yerself up here in Markinch making the rounds of civilised drawing rooms.”
He knew of my attack on the Boston Militia. The only way he might have heard the story was through Beathan or the hired cart driver. I smiled grimly. “You enjoy speaking with people, especially those from outside Markinch. I do wonder what the McKinneys’ new grain suppliers might have said to you, all those weeks ago.”
Finally the other man’s smile faded and he peered at me curiously. “I would like tae know where yer information might hae come from, Captain. Tis nae secret I questioned the farmers. It’s my job tae look after the interests of Deoch. One I take seriously.”
Here an opportunity lay. “Seriously enough to kill for?” I watched closely as the accusation slammed into the other man’s face. He stared at me incredulously, his meticulously built composure finally unravelling. I admit to feeling a bit of triumph at breaking the other man.
Squaring his shoulders, he stepped uncomfortably close. His index finger rose until it hovered under my nose, all vestiges of acted friendliness drained from his expression, replaced by cold anger. “Ye best hae a guid reason for accusing me of any crime, Captain, especially the murder of two of my folk.” Logan pointed across the room at Beathan without turning his face from mine. “He is nae the Laird of this land. I am the Laird of Markinch. Whether these people recognise it or nae, and it is my duty tae see them safe through the coming troubles. I suggest ye take care in insulting me again.” He turned on his heel and walked away through the crowd.
I took a deep breath and watched the dancers as they went through the steps of a country reel. Remembering the glass in my hand. I took a drink and found Beathan in the crowd. He appeared to have regained some of his earlier good humour and I felt thankful for not ruining his whole evening.
From Logan’s violent reaction to my accusation, I could not guess if he might be guilty or not. Many men use anger to hide their guilt. It was possible his reaction was only over the insinuation he murdered the McKinneys. Either way, I did not trust him and neither did Mr Turner, two good reasons not to quit my watch. My suspicions he may have murdered Mr Turner only strengthened. Beathan’s reaction to my news was not unreasonable. He felt protective of Markinch and its inhabitants. It appeared to be an easy state to fall into. The village also grew on me, prodding me to keep information from my superiors, and risk treason.
Even alone at the side of the room, casually observing people mingle and celebrate another Christmas. I felt part of them. A living family, much the same way as I felt when Hania brought me to the camp for the first time and I met Onatah. Here people cared for one another.
Phil looked up from a conversation with a matronly-looking woman. She frowned and excused herself. She picked up her skirts and weaved through the increasingly drunken revellers, at one point, righting herself after a man ran past with a gaggle of children laughing and chasing him. Drinking the last of the Scotch, I set the cup on the nearest table and waited until Phil’s long skirts brushed over my boots. She looked immensely charming with her bright eyes and slightly flushed cheeks.
Holding out her hands, “Captain. Ye can nae stay all alone in the corner. Ye must come and socialise. It is a time for making new friends.” Phil lightly clasped my hands and tried to pull me from my place.
Her strength no match for my own, I easily pulled against her, making her take a clumsy step forward in order to keep her balance. “Phil, I have spoken to everyone in this room I intended to this evening. The only task left on the list is sharing a dance with a beautiful woman.”
Eyes questioning, she searched my face. “Ye are making sport with me, Captain. Ye know I dinnae like it when people make fun of me.” She tried to pull her hands from mine.
Grinning broadly, I held my grip and lowered my face, so it hovered only a few breaths above hers. I listened to her breath hitch, as she peered up. Perhaps I had not lost all my luck with the fairer sex. “Would you please allow me to escort you in the next dance?”
“I never dance, Captain. As a confirmed blue stocking I will hae ye know. I am terrible and all my partners limp away with sore feet.” Phil giggled. It was the first time I had heard her laugh and it forced me to do something impulsive.
“We shall make a pair. For I hardly dance a reel myself, we will be even.” I straightened and pulled Phil onto the dance floor, and forgot my mission. The anger at my diminishing sorrow and the potential for calamity should the militia be sent north for the space of the next dance.
Chapter 13
I watched out the window as darkness fell over Markinch in the early evening. The birds hopped around, looking for scraps of seeds. The branches on the trees held still with the wind letting up for once, as Freya had informed me several times since Christmas. New Year or Hogmanay had only recently begun again. Old customs coming back into favour, she said. I needed to observe them as much as anyone else in the village, or suffer the dire consequences of bad luck for the rest of the year. She firmly believed that, as part of my household, she would suffer a poor year if I did something to upset the careful balance of right and wrong in the Highlands. It was my duty to go around with the rest of the villagers and drink people’s Scotch and ale. Since the prospect of ringing in the New Year in such a manner did not offend my sensibilities. I had the added incentive of once again seeing Phil up at the castle. I agreed to do my best.
Which is why I stood staring out of the windows, waiting for Freya to come and fetch me. We would visit the first couple of houses together until she decided I could be trusted to drink and wander through Markinch on my own. Ever since the near drowning and the gunshot wound. I felt as if I had a target placed on my back.
Beathan informed me Deoch closed for the holidays and would not reopen until the day after Hogmanay. As generous employers, the Clunes respected workers’ families and tradition in a way I had never seen before in the south. Family meant a great deal to them and they wanted it to mean a great deal to the people who worked for them. The days away from work meant men with families spent the time at home. Engaged in any number of activities. I watched as fathers taught their sons to hunt, while the smaller children sledged over the hills. The whole week brought memories of my own lonely childhood. Coupled with the excitement I felt when Onatah told me I would be a father. The excitement, the worry I could never measure up to be the man I wanted a child to be proud of knowing.
Though I had been excited over the prospect of having a family of my own. At the time it was not something I yearned for. Now, however, I wanted to make this happen more than anything else. I wanted to carry a rosy-cheeked son or daughter on my shoulders, hear them laugh.
My eyes caught movement at the gate. Freya’s wide frame came through and she huffed her way to the front door. I quickly quit the drawing room and ran to the front door in order to save her from opening it. “Good Evening, Madam, a Happy New Year to you.”
“And a Happy Hogmanay tae ye, Captain.” Freya stepped through the door and inspected my clothing. “Dinnae ye look fine in yer new clothes. Trying tae impress a certain young lady,
eh?”
News of the dance I shared with Phil on Christmas Eve spread through the village like a pox in a whorehouse. The self confessed spinster of the village standing up for a reel with the English excise officer made a good story. “Madam, as you said it is the New Year and as a representative of Her Majesty. It is my duty to be presentable.”
“Och, well, ye look presentable enough. On with yer coat, we’ll visit auld Tavish before heading up to the castle.” Freya adjusted the heavy scarf around her neck and stamped some of the snow from her boots.
After waiting all day, I felt keen to socialise and wasted no time in throwing my frockcoat over my shoulders and pulling my gloves on. I stepped through the open door still buttoning up the front of my jacket as Freya closed the door firmly behind her.
The snow crunched beneath our boots and Freya remained unusually quiet. A family of four, mother, father and two children, trudged up the road ahead of us and I searched for a topic of conversation. “I thought your boys would be joining us. I have not met any of them yet.”
Huffing a bit with the exercise, Freya shrugged under her layers. “Informed me this morn they were tae auld tae be seen on Hogmanay with their mother. They have gone off with Kieran.” She blew air out of her mouth harshly. “I warned them, if they caused any trouble I would get the belt out and give them a good creesh. It’s a disgrace the way Logan lets the boy run around Markinch. He is more wild than nae. It gives the other boys a poor example.”
I could tell from the tone of her voice Kieran’s freedom was a sticking point between mother and sons. Probably used on numerous occasions to justify their actions. Loath as I was to defend Logan, I wanted to placate Freya more. “I am sure Logan does the best he can with the child. It is not easy without the presence of a mother with a guiding hand.”
Scotch Rising Page 18
