Page 89 of Laird of Secrets
Did Dougal mean to fetch them to protect them, with the smuggling going forward tonight? She felt a small twist in her gut, a warning knell.
“Fiona, forgive me for being familiar,” Hugh said, “but I believe we are friends, aye? As the kirk minister, I am concerned for all the souls here in the glen. The night of the fire, when you stayed over at Kinloch House, I hope all was well between you and the laird. If I may ask—“
“There were unusual circumstances that night, but there is no need for concern, I assure you,” she said.
“Then I trust you were safe and it was not—an awkward situation for you.”
She was uncertain what to say. “The laird was very respectful, Reverend.”
“Good. Maisie told me she found whisky glasses about, and broken glass, and a bit of a mess. She is not a gossip, I assure you. We two are, ah, fond of one another, and she often confides in me.”
The glasses, Fiona thought, her stomach sinking. She had forgotten to go back to the library and clean it completely, and Maisie had seen the next day. “I was coughing from the smoke, and took a whisky remedy for it. I dropped the glass, and it broke.”
“Was it the fairy whisky?” He glanced at her. “Maisie said that bottle was open, which puzzled her, as the laird does not normally drink that sort—nor does he generally take much whisky at all, for all he makes the best around. Forgive my curiosity, but did you sample it? It is legendary stuff, and they say it can have an odd effect if too much is taken.”
Startled, she paused, but nodded. “I did taste it. A very nice whisky. But that was all. The laird came home, and we, ah, visited briefly. It was a lovely evening. I was tired and went to bed early.” She turned her head to hide her deepening blush.
They neared the road, walking through the crowd. The game’s center was hurtling and rumbling along, approaching the standing stones at the base of one of the slopes. Fiona remembered hiding behind one of those very stones one night, encountering the smugglers—and their laird.
She called to the children to come closer, anxious to keep them way from the rough game. Hugh took her arm to draw her away from the horde.
“This way,” he said. “Dougal is waiting nearby.” He drew her along. “Lucy, Jamie, Annabel, come along!”
“Aye, sir,” Jamie said, and made sure the two girls went with him.
Feeling the pressure in the reverend’s grip, Fiona frowned. He led her and the children closer to the shore of the loch and around a curve. Ahead, a massive cluster of limestone and red sandstone rose straight up from the loch bed, partly blocking the view of the winding, pebbled shoreline. A thicket of bushes and trees further screened the area, but Fiona saw a narrow path tracing along a wedge of shoreline. The water slapped slowly, rhythmically against the base of the gigantic rock that thrust upward like a cliffside.
“Mr. MacIan, where are we going?” Fiona asked. “Children, hold hands and stay by the rock wall. The way through here is very narrow. Be careful. Sir, are you sure Dougal is waiting for us here?”
“Aye, just up here.” Hugh led the way, reaching again for her arm.
Fiona glanced up at the rock walls. Dark crevices split the rock face, and she could see more gaps hidden by bushes. Caves likely honeycombed the rock, she thought. Those might be used by smugglers—so Dougal might indeed be using such a location. Reassured, she followed MacIan and reached back to take Lucy’s hand, the others coming along behind.
“Here,” Hugh said, shepherding them along.
Fiona frowned, feeling uncertain again. Was something wrong, that Dougal had summoned them here? She hung back, but MacIan smiled and took her arm.
He guided her ahead of him now, pointing toward a triangular crevice in the rock face. Urging her inside, he ducked his head to step inside and ushered the children past him. Fiona had to dip her head down a bit too, but once past the overhang of the entrance, she could easily stand upright in the space. Jamie and Lucy jumped around and hooted with delight to discover the cave, while Annabel turned around in awe, staring at the place.
Lucy looked up. “It is not very big. Why are we here?”
“Aye, where is Kinloch?” Fiona asked, pulling out of Hugh’s grasp. “Kinloch! Are you here? Dougal!” The sound echoed in the cave, which was narrow but seemed very deep. She noticed footprints in some light dust on the floor, leading toward a shadowed wall. “Who is here?”
“Kinloch,” MacIan said, gesturing into the triangular shadows formed by a crevice, an inner entrance. The cave floor ran between the walls into darkness.
“I want to go back and watch the ba’,” Jamie protested. MacIan took the boy’s shoulder to firmly guide him and the others into the second opening. Reaching up, he took a lantern from a natural shelf and lit it quickly.
“Go on,” he said. “It is safe.”
Something was wrong. Fiona reached for Lucy’s hand, turning to gather the children to back away. But as she rounded, MacIan, tall and broad, was blocking her way, so that she could only turn sideways. She brought the children close to her while MacIan turned up the lantern wick to show a rough, descending path.
“You know Kinloch is smuggling out cargo tonight,” he said. “He wants you kept safe should there be trouble. This way.”
She hesitated, looking along the dark, narrow path. Clearly there were multiple caves inside the complex of rock—a honeycomb of cells formed from bubbles in the intensely hot ancient liquid material that had hardened, over eons, to limestone.
Intrigued by what she saw despite her growing wariness, she looked around, seeing various strata—sandstone and greywacke, sparkling with thousands of crystal particles. The lantern light caught them, turning common stone to glittering surfaces. Crystals were embedded beside veins of metal that could, she realized, be mined one day. Then something else caught her attention.
“Astonishing,” she breathed. “The caves progress eastward, I think, from the entrance above us. These caves go under the loch!”
