Page 107 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
“I will talk to him myself,” she said. Turning to the two Drumvagen men, she added, “Nothing is to be moved until I return. I’ll go resolve this misunderstanding.”
“Our orders are to take your things to Drumvagen,” one of the men said.
Were all Scots incredibly bullheaded?
“I don’t care what your orders are,” she said, “nothing’s to be moved until I return.”
The man didn’t answer. Nor did he nod. Instead, he simply stood there with a bored, almost dismissive look while his companion looked the same.
She glanced at Hosking and Hannah. “Stay here until I come back,” she said.
Hosking nodded. Hannah turned and glared at the two men as if daring them to move a muscle.
She left the cottage, heading for Drumvagen and another battle.
Night would be on them soon, but Macrath wanted to finish up the support for the massive flywheel before they quit.
“We need to ensure the flange is bolted down,” he said.
Jack nodded, intent on his task.
On the voyage from Australia he’d thought about a new design, one using rapidly expanding ammonia as a coolant. To do so, the ice machine would have to be larger. The frame of this machine, mounted on a brick base, was constructed of timbers. Once the equipment was installed, they’d cover the whole of it with a thin membrane of metal.
Because of its size, they had to construct the frame in the building he’d erected for it. The roof was tall enough to accommodate the main flywheel mounted on the outside of the machine to control the flow of ammonia.
The system of pulleys and gears was essential to the success of the new design, and for that he trusted Jack. Sam, on the other hand, had hands the size of hams, and with as much dexterity. He was an organizational genius, however. If they needed a part shipped from Edinburgh or London, Sam got it on time. He was also good at documenting everything they were doing.
Macrath considered their mistakes more important than their successes. He learned more from them. Errors were valuable. He just didn’t want to repeat the same ones over and over again.
He wasn’t going to repeat the same mistakes with Virginia, either.
He wasn’t going to allow her to take Alistair from Drumvagen. Alistair was developing his own character. The boy laughed and clapped his hands when he made a face. When Macrath spoke Gaelic, it seemed to amuse his son.
He’d commissioned a few toys from one of the men in the village who was talented in woodworking. A wagon, a fire truck like those seen in Edinburgh, and a boat waited on the windowsill for Alistair to be old enough to play with them. Brianag had created a soft little doll she called a rabbit. At first he’d frowned at the object, uncertain whether it was masculine enough for his son. Alistair had stripped him of all criticism when he reached for it, clutching it to his chest with acquisitive glee.
From the time he was a young boy and realized people were different, Macrath had been suffused with a need to rise above his circumstances. He’d always wanted to be one of the wealthy ones. He wanted to own one of the black lacquered carriages carried by four matched horses. He wanted to wear fine clothes that had never been splattered by mud. He wanted to be able to buy anything he wished and to ensure his family never lacked for anything.
He never again wanted to see Ceana’s face when another little girl had a new doll, or hear Mairi announce she didn’t need any new dresses. Or worry about the cost of charity when Mairi had taken in their cousin. One more mouth to feed had seemed an insurmountable burden at the time.
He’d never craved respect from others as much as he’d wanted freedom, and early on he’d realized that money meant he could do what he wished on his own timetable. He would be beholden to no one. Nor would he have to explain himself.
The desire to achieve had been a drug to him, one dictating his life. He’d focused on only two things in the last decade: his ice machine and his family. The success of the former had allowed him to provide for his sisters and his cousin. Making a fortune had changed his life. Taking Ceana to London for her season had led him to Virginia, the one person to whom he’d gladly explain himself.
Now he felt another emotion, one as powerful as his need to be successful. He wanted to protect, to create as perfect world for Virginia and his son as he could imagine. He never wanted Virginia to be afraid again. If she disliked the ocean, he’d build another house, one farther inland.
He wanted Alistair to always feel safe, to never worry about where his next meal was to come from, or how he would support himself.
Life was not without risks and tribulations. He wanted Alistair to be challenged and learn from his successes and his failures. But Macrath wanted him to do so with a firm foundation, the knowledge that he would always have a home, his father would always believe in him, and he could achieve what he wanted as long as he had an idea and the will to accomplish it.
He had no intention of allowing Alistair to be taken from Scotland. Nor was he going to let Virginia return to London.
A boy needed his mother. Macrath knew he needed her, too.
She was a widow. She should be married. He was in need of a wife. What better solution than to have Alistair’s parents marry?
Of course, that still didn’t solve the problem of Alistair being the eleventh Earl of Barrett. He would have to dissuade Virginia from maintaining the ruse. His son could survive any lingering gossip about his birth. After all, he’d be reared in Scotland, away from petty English minds.
The screeching sound of metal against metal pulled him from his thoughts.
