Page 88 of Laird of Secrets
She truly loved Glen Kinloch—the place, the people. The laird.
In one spot, she discovered an outcrop of limestone containing some rare fossils, including ammonites, shell remains that she showed to the children. She had brought her knapsack and tools, and broke away some of the stone with a small hammer. While Lucy took a rubbing of the tiny shell impressions, Jamie had been thrilled to find traces of a beastie—a fat little trilobite petrified in stone. Fiona had split off that bit of stone so the boy could put his treasure in his pocket.
While walking the hills, Fiona and the children stopped now and then to watch the game as the men edged closer to the lochside goal.
“The Southies will win,” Jamie predicted. “They have more players. And the gaugers are watching and will not pay heed to what the laird is doing.”
Fiona lifted a brow. “What else would Kinloch be doing, but playing at the ball today?”
“Smuggling,” Lucy said blithely. She sniffed a little posy that she had created and offered it to Fiona. “My uncles said they would go trading tonight at dark. They are going to meet a great ship from France, I think, that is coming up the loch in the dark to take the whisky and pay good coin. We will be rich!”
“A cutter, not a ship,” Jamie said. “Only fast boats make the whisky runs.”
“Is it so?” Fiona asked mildly. “Only fast boats on the loch?”
“Aye, they sail up the loch and then down, and then they move the whisky to a bigger ship and go all the way down the Clyde to the sea,” Jamie said. “Grandfather Fergus took me to see a cutter coming up the loch once.”
Fiona had seen one as well, she remembered, when she had first come to the glen. Frowning, she glanced toward the game, where a great clog of men gathered in the meadow, while spectators stood watching. The tenacity of the glen players was remarkable, she thought—Mary MacIan had said a game could go on for days, even a week. Men came and went in shifts to give them a chance to eat and rest before joining the ruckus again.
Women, being sensible creatures, so Mary had said, usually watched for a while and then returned to their work and their homes and children. But now and then, she had added, a woman might dive into the throng too, welcome to play and giving as good as she got. “Not me,” Mary laughed, “but I have seen some do so over the years of this mad glen game. I expect when Lucy grows up,” she had said, “she will be in the fray.”
Laughing at the thought, half-tempted herself to join the fun—an urge that turned practical as she watched the rough game continue—she looked around, her attention suddenly caught elsewhere.
A few men were walking across the moorland away from the great cluster of players and spectators. One of the men had captured her glance. She knew the set of those shoulders, that rhythmic walk, the dark-sheened hair. Her heart thumped quick and fast. Had Dougal seen her on the slope with the children—was he coming up to meet them?
Then she realized that he was heading away from the game, away from the meadow toward the loch. And he was with his uncles.
Smuggling, Lucy had said her uncles would be doing tonight.
Ah, Fiona thought. The raucous game provided a perfect distraction. Dougal himself had arranged the game today, though it was earlier than usual. Was he intending to create a cover for a night of smuggling?
Hearing a shout and Lucy’s quick answer, she saw Hugh MacIan climbing the hill toward them. He waved, smiled, and as the children ran toward him, he stooped to admire their collections of stones and flowers. Then he joined Fiona, standing beside her to watch the commotion down in the glen.
“The Southies look to win it,” he said with a smile. “They are moving the game toward the loch. Will you walk there with me, you and the wee ones?”
Crowing with delight, Jamie and the other children began to race down the hillside, while Fiona called after them to slow down. Gathering her things, she walked along with Hugh.
“Is the game nearly over, then?” she asked. “It will be twilight soon.”
“They will play regardless of the time until there is resolution. I see we have attracted some outsiders.” He gestured toward the road.
“Customs officers!” She noticed the men on horseback, and a few on foot, and saw the weapons they carried.
“Aye, your brother included. I had a chance to speak with him, and he promised to meet us down by the loch. Lord Eldin is here too. He heard about the game. I fear Dougal had best be careful,” he added low.
Fiona sent him a quick glance. “What do you mean?”
“The cutter,” Hugh said. “He has arranged to meet a boat on the loch tonight. Did he not tell you? I rather thought he might have confided in you, since he seems keen to court you.”
“Does he?” she asked casually, though her heart took up a tripping beat.
“I believe so. In fact, I was sent to find you and bring you to the laird and your brother. I thought you might welcome that news.”
“Kinloch asked you to find me?” She frowned. “Has he been hurt in the game?” She could not think of a reason he might send Hugh to fetch her, but she felt a little frisson of hope.
“He is fine,” he said. “He just wants to see you, I think, and Lucy as well. He is too tired, I imagine, to come up here for you himself. I will take you to him.”
“Of course.” Did Dougal mean to talk to her about his feelings, as she longed to talk to him, be honest with him? But a sudden thought made her stop.
