The smile lighting Freya’s face and her nod meant I might have said the right thing for once. Maybe this signalled a change for the better in the New Year? The buildings at Deoch loomed ahead of us. Sconces lit on either side of the road welcoming the villagers to pass through.
Waving a hand to the left, where a small road veered before the first main building. “Tavish’s workman’s cottage is this way.” Several villagers stepped off the main road and followed the path ahead of us. “He hosts one of the more popular at homes before midnight. His brother hosts the other.”
I nodded as the first notes of a song played on bagpipes shattered the night and we found Tavish’s cottage. A queue greeted us outside and we joined the end. I looked around trying to get my bearings. “Who lives in the other cottage?”
“Logan and Kieran.” Freya studied the other dwelling with a critical, matronly eye. “It is up tae each of the cottage dwellers tae maintain their premises.” She sniffed at the peeling paint on the door.
Not wanting to defend Logan twice in one evening and hoping to keep the good bonhomie with Freya. “It looks and sounds as though they made the right decision to be away for the evening.” I winced as the bagpiper played a high note. Even Freya shivered under her coats.
Stamping our feet for warmth, we finally rose to the front of the line. The door shut, Freya looked at my curious face before she knocked and said in a whisper. “It is tradition fur each person tae knock at the door. Whether the homeowner knows they are there or nae. This way everyone is greeted in the same manner.”
Narrowing my eyes, I was going to ask why it mattered when the temperature felt as though it dropped every minute we stood outside, when the door opened to reveal Tavish, a spring in his step, cap askew and merry glint in his eye.
“Welcome, welcome,” Tavish shouted as if we stood several yards away. He grabbed my arm and shoved me inside with a half hug and did the same to Freya before planting a wet kiss on her cheeks, making her blush to the roots of her red hair. I thought it looked disgusting.
Inside the small cottage all was chaos. The people who had waited ahead of us in the queue drank from small earthenware cups. Several others sat or stood in groups with their coats and caps in a pile in the corner. While the piper tried to maintain his bearings in a drunken stupor and play a correct note.
Tavish thrust two small cups into our hands. “Here ye are, and Happy Hogmanay tae ye both.” He downed the contents of his cup in one and poured another libation from the bottle in his other hand.
“Good health tae ye, Tavish.” Freya took a dainty sip of the Scotch and with some encouragement finished the rest of the cup. Only to be refilled by our generous host.
“Happy New Year, the best to you and yours,” I downed mine in one and, through watering eyes, watched as Tavish refilled the cup.
A knock on the door diverted Tavish’s attention for a minute, turning to us. “Looks like this is going tae be my busiest Hogmanay so far. With these numbers I shouldnae wonder if any soul turned up at my brither’s place.” He cackled evilly and went to answer the second knock.
At Freya’s insistence, we stepped further into the room, in order to give the new arrivals some space. In as low a voice as she could manage. “Most folk go tae both at homes. The brothers never talk so its easy tae nae offend either one.”
Taking a sip of the Scotch, I let it roll down my throat without breathing. The concoction much stronger than anything I had yet tasted in Markinch, even the vile stuff at the McGreevys’ tasted better. Curiosity drove me to ask. “Why do the Tavish brothers quarrel?”
Coughing on her own drink, Freya peered up at me with watery eyes and a smile. “Och, Captain, it’s like asking why the gowans bloom in spring, or why the mavis song is so sweet in the morn. They hae always been at odds, since boyhood, I heard tell. Over their mother’s affections and later over a woman’s.”
“Yet I thought them both confirmed bachelors.” I looked around the cottage at the sparse belongings organised into their proper places without one furbelow or frill in sight. The place definitely lacked a woman’s touch.
“It’s a sad story.” Freya glanced around her and surreptitiously moved to one side. Out of earshot the rest of the group. “I was only a lass when it happened. Both Tavish’s fell madly in love with the same girl. They competed fur her at every chance. Made a right spectacle of themselves. Finally the young lass announced she would make a decision and chose one or the other brither. At the time, mind, I thought she acted a bit of a strumpet.” Freya crossed herself. “The night before she made her choice. She caught a fever, fell asleep and died shortly after.” She made he sign of the cross again.
“If they were both young lads at the time, neither could be tempted from the grief to bestow their affections on another young lady?” I furrowed by brow. I did not want to be indelicate over the tragic death of the young lady. “Many years have passed since the young lady’s tragic death, and neither of them ever courted another?”
Freya drank the rest of her Scotch and set the cup down on a table laden with shortcake. She chose a fat piece and chewed it appreciatively. “It is only natural for people to move on, memories fade and the survivors must get on with the business of life.” She sighed deeply. “The problem lay in the brithers competitive spirit. Each vowed they could out-grieve the other. As a result if either of them ever tried tae court another lass. All thought of moving on pushed aside in order tae beat the other brither.”
I took Freya’s lead and finished off the rest of my Scotch. The Tavish’s story might possibly be one of the saddest I had ever heard. Not to mention the fact I contemplated doing the same thing. Mourn a woman for the rest of my days. Glancing around the cottage, I felt convinced men were not meant to live this way.
Bowling over to the host, Freya planted a kiss on his cheek. “We are off. Tavish, we hae a couple of rounds tae make before the New Year’s bell. Hope tae see ye up at the keep.” Freya waved me along and I followed her after giving the old man a pat on his shoulder.
Back out in the cold, Freya huddled into her wraps further and I quickly pulled my gloves on. She looked up at the star-filled sky. “It is a cold one, Captain. I suggest we finish with the tour and walk straight up tae the keep. Most folk will wander up before the midnight chime, it is tradition.”
“Lead the way, Madam.” I tucked Freya’s hand over my arm and the two of us walked back onto the main road where we found more people walking to their Hogmanay destinations. Freya waved to several people and shouted greetings. She kept us moving at a brisk pace.
“Nae need to brave the winter chill more than necessary.” Freya picked up the pace as much as her short legs would allow.
I agreed whole-heartedly, the night might be clear and beautiful with the sky twinkling above. The moon lighting the fens on either side, making the whole landscape appear ethereal in blue and silver, but it remained cold and biting. The last rise revealed the familiar shape of the castle standing with quiet dignity over the surrounding harshness. Large cauldrons of peat glowed at intervals along the path, giving light, and a wreath of evergreen decorated the main gate. Inside the courtyard, more fires warmed the evening air and a couple of ladies in servant’s livery roasted chestnuts over the open flames.
With a smile of anticipation, Freya pulled more than lead me over to one of the ladies and asked for a couple of the warmed nuts. I smiled as she handed one over to me. “There ye are, Captain, a real treat.” She quickly peeled the brown skin away and popped the mushy flesh into her mouth.
I tried to smile. However in truth I hated the damned things. On one of my trips into London for the holidays the Thames froze enough for my uncle to host an impromptu small Frost Fair at his home on the Thames, where I was force-fed roasted chestnuts. I could still remember the earthy potato taste. I peeled mine and popped it into my mouth, smiling, as Freya looked on with excitement. “Delicious.” I managed, trying not to gag. In a few moments we would enter the keep and I wou
ld be free to follow my own company.
Beaming, Freya marched to the door and banged the knocker several times. “Much better chestnuts here in the Highlands, than ye could ever get in London, Captain. I hae always believed we hae the better produce, it’s the weather.”
Saved by the taciturn butler, I followed Freya inside where more servants divested us of our outer coats. The butler indicated we should enter the drawing room where Beathan, Phil and Magnus all resided, speaking with other guests. The butler did not announce us. Instead he gave Freya a warm smile and myself a look indicating he would be counting the silverware. Slightly affronted by the rude man. I turned back to watch Freya join a group of ladies in one corner, as found Phil speaking with her father and felt pulled forward, wanting to join her.
After a few steps, Beathan stood in front of me. We had not spoken to one another since our argument on Christmas Eve and I did not want to engage in a scene here in his own home. I thought he might ask me to leave and I braced for it.
Instead the other man extended a large hand and grimaced. “I dinnae say this often, Captain. So ye better take heed, I may hae been hasty in accusing ye of threats and I am sorry fur it. I know it isnae ye meddling intae Markinch. Yer only the messenger and ye took a chance at telling me secret information.”
I took the other man’s hand and smiled with relief. “I should apologise too, the Christmas Eve gathering at Deoch may not have been the best time to reveal the English military were breathing down my neck. I often speak on impulse. It is a trait I have never learned from, it appears.” Grinning with relief. “I thought you might be coming over to remove my English presence from your house.”
Beathan waved a hand. “I realised the next day what I fool I made of myself. The Scots temper gets the better of me on occasion.” I stared at him incredulously. In all the time I had spent in Markinch I never once saw him angry. “Ye might be surprised, Captain. I can throw an impressive fit of temper. I know ye hae nae love for the militia, past experiences make fur the harshest of lessons.” Beathan caught the attention of a server and handed a glass of Scotch to me. “Hae ye made any progress since we last met?”
“Progress on what?” Phil joined us, something looked softer in her appearance. Her hair arranged in a much more fashionable style, the cut of her dress more current. Under the watchful gaze of Beathan, I sketched a bow and took her hand for a quick kiss. “Happy New Year to you, Philomena.”
She blushed and gave me a quick curtsey. “And tae ye a Happy Hogmanay, Captain. I hope the next year brings ye only joy.”
“The next year inevitably will if ye keep up with yer new beauty regime, sister.” Beathan received an ugly frown from his sibling. “Och, come on, I am happy tae see ye take such an interest in these things. A lass of yer great age must take care of her looks.”
Punching him in the side as children might, Phil shook her hand. Beathan looked as hard as a tree trunk. In an effort to steer conversation away from her appearance, she asked. “What is this talk of progress, Captain? Hae ye got any further with Turner’s diary?”
I tried to fill the awkward silence. Beathan stared at me. Phil looked between the two of us with a sheepish expression. I felt stupid for keeping the diary a secret in the first place. Shrugging casually. “I found Mr Turner’s diary while I recuperated from my accident in the fens. The contents a mystery, written in code.” I watched Beathan’s eyes widen and his expression show interest. I sighed heavily. “Phil helped me finally crack the cipher.” I smiled at her. “And I read through most of it, but I know what you are thinking, and you will be as disappointed as I. Turner makes no mention of any motives behind his death, only a bit of suspicion against the McKinneys.”
Beathan’s shoulder’s sagged, he cleared his throat, “Well, I can nae say as I’m nae frustrated Turner kept a diary and it holds nae answers tae any of the mysteries. Especially with the English breathing down our necks and threatening us with violence.”
A sharp intake of breath brought my attention to Phil. One of her hands pressed to her lower neck and the blood draining from her face. “What is this talk of the English threatening violence? Surely they can nae believe we caused Mr Turner’s demise?” The words tugged from her throat.
Unmindful of Beathan’s presence, I took Phil’s other hand to comfort her. The fingers felt small, vulnerable, not the capable hands I watched write with confidence. “There is no need to worry. Once I find who is responsible for the McKinneys’ deaths. All will be well, I have a good lead on someone who might have some valuable information.”
Phil shook my hand from hers. I felt stung at the rejection and tried to hide the reaction. It was foolish. She looked up at me with an unreadable expression. “The deaths of the McKinney’s are nae concern fur the English, and nae concern of yours. Yer only the damned gauger.”
I never minded the term used by others towards me. Yet when it spilled from Phil’s mouth. It took on a meaning of its own. For her to see me as someone who relentlessly ripped money from the mouths of her people, it felt as if a bullet entered my chest. My only refuge lay in civility. “Mistress Philomena, as I am sure you are aware. Mr Turner has been linked to their deaths and this rumour makes it my business.”
Whether my tone or the use of her proper name disturbed her the more, Phil physically stepped back, looked to her brother who wore an expression of non-commitment. I knew he would not fight her battles for her, as so many siblings did, as I had wanted someone do for me as a child. The urge to apologise immediately welled inside however, the clock chimed saving me from making a fool of myself. The three of us looked over and watched woodenly as the rest of the room counted down to the New Year. Smiles and good wishes exchanged, the chimes ended and everyone gave a great cheer.
A brief silence ensued, everyone turned to stare at the three of us, still near the entranceway. A firm knock on the door relieved us of any further awkwardness. Phil sprang into action and walked briskly to the door where a second round of knocking commenced. Pushed along by Beathan and the rest of the small crowd. We made a semi-circle around the door, with a breath of anticipation. Phil opened the portal for the first visitor of the New Year. The one who would bring good fortune to the occupants of the house.
With a mild grimace, I recognised Logan standing in the threshold of the door. To what might have been his own castle had his family’s fortunes been different. Offering a black bun on a silver plate to Phil, the mistress of the house. She accepted gracefully and invited Logan inside. Kieran followed closely behind him. He looked through the crowd and winked at me. His cheeks indicating he may not have taken my advice over the consumption of alcohol.
Beathan held the plate while Phil used a knife to cut into the cake. Took a small piece and ate it, smiling. I watched her thank Logan. He replied with a gracious nod and everyone crowded around for a piece of the cake. Instead of returning to the small drawing room, the butler ushered us through the opposite door, into a grand ballroom. Decked out with festive decorations, tables of food and drink and the same musicians from the village as were at the Christmas Eve party.
Relieving one of the waiters of a Scotch. I walked into the room. It must have been the castle’s old hall. The windows set high in the walls for defence. The ceiling held up with enormous beams of wood, a platform still stood at one end of the room. Where those who dined above the salt would have enjoyed their meals. Not having a coat of arms, the Clunes decorated the walls with antlers and swords. The effect might have been slightly over-dramatic if the great fires did not burn merrily, bringing warmth to the whole room.
Phil and Beathan eased their way through the growing crowd. Tavish took up a place next to Magnus who sat near one of the roaring fires. Looking as if he might not be able to stand for much longer, with a thought to walk over and thank my host. I commenced walking across the room and halted when I noticed Logan standing near the other end of the hall. He stood for a moment searching through the crowd and disappeared through a doorway.
I immediately changed tack through the crowd. I nodded to a couple of people I recognised. One man I was sure I had never met gave me a hard pat on the back and a drunken smile. The other guests would not miss me. Gaining the end of the hall. I faced a set of old flintlocks, organised in the shape of a starburst on the wall, muzzles pointed to the centre. I spied a small service door, probably used by the servants to bring food and drink into the great room without disrupting the main hallways. I slipped through the door and waited a full minute in the darkness on the other side. I needed to be sure none of the guests had watched me pass through and would come to investigate. I could not explain I was following Logan whom I believed to be a murderer or at least held potentially damning information.
Eyes adjusting to the dimness, I found a staircase immediately in front of me. It led both up and down the stairs. A quick search of the wall revealed no handrail and I descended a few steps keeping my ears strained for any noises. After only a couple flights I could here banging and shouted orders. The kitchen lay below stairs. Deciding Logan would not have bothered to make his quiet exit if he meant only to visit the kitchen. I cautiously headed back up the steps, the stones felt old and dangerous underfoot. I tried to make as little sound as possible.
A door abruptly swam before me and I took care to ease it open, revealing a long hallway. It looked empty save for a luxurious carpet running the length and several high tables along the sides. Standing between several doors, all of which could be hiding Logan. Making my mind up to keep following the trail, I stepped from my hiding place. Closed the hidden door with a click and walked down the middle of the hall, using the carpet to mask my footsteps. Six doors faced the middle of the corridor, two by two. I stopped in front of the first one on the right, and listened carefully, ear pressed to the wood, and no sounds emerged.
I went across the hall and used the same technique. Still nothing, the two middle doors also hid their occupants. Finally without much hope I listened to the second to last door. Before pressing my ear to the wood, heard a chair scraping the floor. Peering back down the hall I realised nothing could hide my large frame, and I quickly and quietly rushed the opposite door. Thankfully finding it unlocked, I stepped through into darkness.
Scotch Rising Page 19
