Page 33 of Laird of Secrets
She leaned closer, speaking in nearly a whisper. “Do not take that as a reason to close the school and dismiss the dominie, sir.”
He raised his brows, looking amused and innocent. “Miss MacCarran, I am wounded,” he murmured. “I am here to help, not plot your demise. The offer to borrow my books stands. Farewell for now, and I wish you luck of the day.” He nodded, lifted a hand to the students, and left.
Fiona turned back to the class, aware that her heart was beating very fast. “Can anyone tell me what supplies we have here?” she asked.
Mairi MacDonald raised her hand. “We have slates and chalk in the cupboard.”
“Thank you, Mairi. Please fetch them and pass them around. Andrew, will you help her?” The two students went to an old cupboard beneath a window, removed a stack of slates and a box of cut chalk sticks, and began handing them about.
“We also have quills and ink, but not very much paper,” Lucy said. Fiona nodded, turning toward her. The girl’s heart-shaped face, curling brown hair and wide dark eyes would make her a beauty one day, Fiona thought.
“Thank you, Lucy. Now who speaks some English, and who can read a little in English or in Gaelic?”
Two or three hands went up. Fiona soon learned that while some could barely read, most could write their names and a few words. Lucy, the youngest, had the best grasp of both languages. “And I can write in English, too,” the little girl said.
“Miss MacCarran,” Andrew said, “if we can all sign our names, and the pastor reads the Bible to us at Sunday kirk sessions, why do we have to learn more?”
“Because you cannot always be a smuggler, Andrew MacGregor,” Lucy said.
“Lucy,” Fiona said sternly. “Please do not speak out of turn. Raise your hand before speaking in class, and be considerate of others in what you say.”
“But Andrew is my cousin!”
“Here at school he is your fellow scholar,” Fiona pointed out.
Lucy scowled. “When my mother was the dominie, we did not have to ask permission. Well, I did not,” she added.
“I am the dominie now,” Fiona said gently, aware the girl had lost her mother.
Lilias raised her hand. “My father says Highlanders will need scholarly skills to do well in the future. It is true that the lads cannot be free traders, for the laws will soon not permit—ow!” This, as Pol MacDonald elbowed her into silence.
“Class,” Fiona warned, and then asked the students to write their names on their slates. While she listened to the scrape of chalk on slate, she went to the window beside the door and peered through the glass. The pane was old, thick and hazy, but she could see the yard and beyond.
Near the stone tower of Kinloch House, the laird stood talking with Ranald and Hamish MacGregor. They were soon joined by Fergus as well. For a moment, she saw Dougal MacGregor glance toward the school, while Fergus gestured insistently. As if in answer, Kinloch folded his arms and shook his head.
“MacGregor of Kinloch,” she whispered to herself, “do not think to move me out of here. I mean to stay.”
* * *
“Have you had news from the Glasgow solicitor?” Ranald asked Dougal. Various tasks usually occupied his uncles in the mornings, so as they gathered around him now, Dougal knew they had something on their minds.
“Glasgow? No more than we have heard already,” he answered. “If we cannot produce the funds to buy back ten thousand acres of the old Drumcairn estate, the plot of land my father sold off, then the government can sell the deed. My father made that arrangement to save the glen. Now the payment has come due.”
“We must sell all the kegs we have and get the best price,” Hamish said.
“All of them, aye,” Ranald said.
“Not all,” Dougal said.
“The fairies will understand,” Ranald said.
Dougal laughed bitterly. “Not according to the legend.”
“You cannot bother with legends at a time like this,” Hamish barked.
“I respect the traditions of the glen, as its laird. And I respect the Fey.”
“Too much like his father,” Hamish grumbled, shaking his head.
