Page 84 of Laird of Secrets
“Greetings, Kinloch. Reverend MacIan and I came out for a bit of hunting. I thought you would not mind.”
Hugh, dressed as usual in a plain black suit, looked uncomfortable, neck reddening above his collar. “Eldin took down a couple of hares and some birds, but that is all,” he explained. “The curlew are flying today, returning for the summer, nesting in the hills. He got two already. A wicked shot, is the earl.” Hugh’s frown and sidelong glance seemed to convey distrust.
Nodding slowly, Dougal thought perhaps Hugh only disliked the earl, not in itself surprising. “Here on my land, in my glen,” he told Eldin , low and fierce, “my permission is needed for hunting.”
“Is it? The lower section of the glen is mine now,” Eldin said. “I am purchasing the government deed to the southern end of Glen Kinloch. As you must know, it is now available.”
“Not yours yet. The deed will not be released until next month, to be exact,” Dougal said tightly. “This Kinloch is a peaceful glen, sir, and we do not condone hunting for sport. The glen folk are going about their daily work, and no warning was given that there might be shooting in the hills.”
“I explained that to Lord Eldin, and suggested we ask your permission,” Hugh said.
Dougal was familiar with Eldin’s arrogance, and knew the haughty barrier Hugh must have faced. “I have to deny it today.”
“A pity. I have enjoyed the day so far. Glen Kinloch has such an idyllic atmosphere,” Eldin drawled. “It will be so pleasing to tourists who come up to see the famous loch. Though I understand that in the dead of night,” he continued, “it is not so peaceful here as one might hope.”
“Tourists will not be about in this glen, day or night, if I have anything to say about it,” Dougal replied.
“Is it so? By the way, I applied for the full deed rights. Since there has been no offer made from any other quarter, they will certainly come to me. I assume you have not yet applied to buy back your own deed?”
“There is time yet,” Dougal growled. Truth was, he needed to wait for funds from a profitable source once the ship picked up threescore and ten kegs of whisky to be sold at a generous price.
“I offered to buy a portion of your excellent whisky for a good sum,” Eldin said, as if he had read Dougal’s thoughts. “Had you accepted, you might have bought the deed back already. So I can now lay claim to it. You were to send word about selling some valuable casks to me, but as I did not hear, I presumed your refusal.”
“You will hear my decision soon enough,” Dougal said, drawing a breath to cool his temper. “Here and now, this is still my land. And there will be no hunting today. Good day, gentleman.” He turned and walked away.
* * *
Mary’s house was quiet at night, the little mantel clock ticking, fire crackling, soft rain falling outside. Fiona enjoyed the peacefulness as she sat at the table, leaning forward, pencil to paper. Her braid slid loose over her shoulder as she tapped the pencil thoughtfully against the table, studying her work. Rubbing at the drawing with a fingertip, smudging here, adding a light, airy line and then darker line, she made small changes.
The image looked nearly like the fairy she had seen in Kinloch House. Yet something was missing. She was drawing from memory, trying to capture in pencil tones that sparkling, delicate, translucent lady she had seen in Kinloch’s library.
She sighed, setting the page aside for a fresh sheet, sketching loosely, quickly, coaxing the image out with strokes of the pencil. Still, it was not quite right. Over a few days she had made several sketches, drawing the fairy lights as bright bits in pale watercolor and pencil, dabs of gentle color floating over flowers and streams. And she had attempted to create the beautiful, ethereal creature from the library.
Thoughtful, she set her pencil down and picked up the folded letter that lay on the table. Opening Patrick’s letter, she read it again.
Her brother was glad to know that life in Glen Kinloch agreed with her—she chuckled at that—and he was reassured that she had not reported untoward activities in the glen.The laird of the glen seems sincere in his desire to protect you, he wrote.He is a good fellow from what I hear, despite wandering the hills at night in ways that raise suspicion. Nor is he alone in that activity.
Nodding, Fiona read on as her brother explained that he and Mr. MacIntyre would patrol the north end of the loch, including Glen Kinloch, regularly.Tell the laird that the only evening star he should view is his own hearth.
A clear warning. Frowning, she read the rest quickly. Patrick explained that he had no success so far in contesting Lady Struan’s will, which meant that they would all need to meet her conditions, no matter how odd or impossible.As for the husband you are tasked to find, Kinloch is a poor glen, and so your chances are better elsewhere. I am sure our brothers will agree that you should come home soon.
Fiona set the letter down, shaking her head gently. “Not just yet, Patrick,” she murmured.
Maggie, sleeping by the fireside, lifted her head suddenly and woofed, then stood just as tapping sounded at the door. Startled, Fiona went to the door. So did Maggie, head and tail alert.
The knocking sounded again. Fiona leaned forward. “Who’s there?”
“Kinloch.” Hearing his quiet voice, her heart bounded. She released the latch to open the door.
Dougal stepped inside, rain blowing in with him. The dog leaped to greet him, and he rubbed her head, praising her, before looking at Fiona.
“Good evening,” he murmured. “I hope I am welcome.”
She folded her hands. “Of course. Mary is sleeping, if you wish to see her.”
“I came to see you.” He glanced past her at the table. “Schoolwork?”
“Just doing some drawing.” She hastened to the table to tuck the pages into a leather notebook. When she turned, Dougal was just there, pulling out a chair.
