Page 60 of Laird of Secrets
She frowned. “Still you do not trust me.”
“Caution is best.”
“And this from a man who likes a risk himself?”
“Some risks are safer than others,” he said, turning with her as they hurried along after Hamish.
“Do you still think me a threat because of my kinsmen? None of us would bring harm to you or yours, Kinloch. I can speak for all of us.”
“It is just that I do not trust easily.”
“I pose no danger to you, Kinloch.”
He did not look at her, walking quickly while she kept pace. “You are a danger to me all on your own, lass. I dare not trust myself near you. Do you know it?”
Fiona glanced toward him, seeing the profile, the sweep of dark hair, the guarded expression. What he said had a simple honesty that made her heart beat faster. “You need not be wary of me.”
“Tinneas-an-gradh-dubh,”he said after a moment. “The black lovesickness is not easily cured. Hurry now. Hamish is well ahead of us.”
Lovesickness. Her heart leaped. Rushing along with little time to think, she knew she had a touch of the same ailment. No easy cure indeed.
Where the path narrowed and wound through trees and up a slope, the laird of Kinloch touched her arm to guide her. The light was dim where the way cut up and then down the hill’s angle, studded with roots and tangles of bracken. Stumbling, Fiona reached out to keep her balance. He took her hand, fingers warm and sure, and kept it in his. The clasping felt so good that she did not want to let go. He did not release her hand as he stretched out his free hand to push away overhanging branches as they passed through together.
“Hamish is far away now,” she said. “Do you know where he is headed?”
“I do. Promise me you will not tell anyone what you may see.” They left the shelter of trees for the open sweep of the glen floor.
He meant her brother, she realized. “You have my word. Why do we go this way? Crossing along the shoulder of the hill would be faster.”
“Too open. We cannot risk being seen and leading gaugers to this place.”
They reached the valley floor and stepped out into the glen. Approaching a narrow stream that cut through the valley floor, they crossed its rushing waters by stepping rock to rock. Dougal MacGregor took her hand again.
Beside them, the massive, rounded hills rose upward. Perched on the sturdy, rounded shoulders of the hills were a few cottages. Sheep scattered, grazing, along the slopes—herders and dogs had not yet brought them in, perhaps summoned away by the fire. Ahead, another stream rushed down through a rocky passage on the hill. Beyond the cluster of homes, pine groves thrust skyward in rich dark patches all along the hillside.
Above the trees, she saw the smoke, curling thick and dark, too much so for a home’s chimney. It rose up from a great thicket of pines that crested one of the lower hills. A little below the pine grove, she saw Hamish in the distance, hastening upward and between the trees.
“There,” Dougal said, pointing. He lengthened his stride, and Fiona hurried to keep up. Overhead, smoke billowed. She could smell its pungency growing stronger. As she ran, her bonnet ribbons loosened and her hat dropped to her shoulders, then blew away, skittering downward toward the meadow. Gasping, she spun, but could not catch it. Therewere far more important matters to hand.
Lifting her skirts to catch up with Dougal, who strode far ahead now, she noticed small lights flitting over the glen and hillsides, like dust motes glimmering in sunlight, even as dusk gathered and the light of the fire bloomed, brightening one part of the sky. She ran on.
Ahead, she saw Hamish MacGregor with two other men. The laird joined them, then turned to wait for Fiona. The others, she saw as she approached, were her student, Pol MacDonald, and his father, Thomas.
“It is Neill’spoit dubhon fire,” MacDonald was saying.
“Is the lad hurt?” Kinloch asked.
“He is fine, and the fire is lessening now, thanking the Lord. But the hut is destroyed, and a good copper still has blown apart. We moved the casks away, but until the rest burns off, we can do nothing.”
Dougal nodded. “Gaugers about?”
“Not yet, but there is a risk,” Hamish said. “Thomas sent his older sons out to look around. We are off to examine what is left of the still.”
They walked onward, Fiona hastening after, unsure she was welcome. Dougal slowed to fall into step beside her.
“Neill was testing the proof?” He directed this to Thomas MacDonald.
“He lit the sample, but it blew. Too strong,” Thomas grunted.
