Page 7 of Deception and Desire
“I think a compliment is hidden in there somewhere. I’ll pass it along to the cook.” Peigi smiled at her grandson, humor brightening her green eyes. “So, why has no one mentioned how it went this afternoon?”
“I thought Grandda had told ye. We’re selling a lamb to MacDunn so he can give it to Craigg. The man’s a disgrace. He thought to snatch a good breeding ewe in place of a wee one.” He scratched the wiry fur behind Brownie’s ears after her cold, wet nose pushed against his hand. “He deserves a good thrashing. I saw his wife the other day. Another bruise by falling, so shesays.We all ken better. And that poor daughter of his seems afraid of her own shadow.”
“We canna interfere past a man’s threshold. His wife willna share her troubles, so there’s nothing we can do.” Calum shook his head. “Life isna fair, and there are times when our hands are tied.”
“Doesna mean we have to like it or accept it quietly.” He picked up a crust of bread and tossed it to the dog. She caught it mid-air, alerting Black Angus to the possibility of a treat. The male hound crawled under the table and set his head on Lachlan’s lap. Two sets of golden eyes stared at him, long shaggy tails thumping against the wooden floor planks.
“See what ye’ve done, ye troublemaker? Now we’ve been found out,” Lachlan chided and slipped Angus a chunk of gravy-sodden potato and Brownie a piece of stringy rabbit. “Now off with ye.” He wiped his hands on the cloth as Angus returned to Calum’s side.
“I think ye need some time away, lad. What do ye think of a trip to Glasgow? Ian needs some help, and we have a special order that needs to be delivered.” Calum grinned. “Ye could get into some fine trouble with yer brother in the Lowlands.”
Ian had been in Glasgow for over a month, taking over the day-to-day business of the textile mill. The supervisor had quit, sailing to America to start his own business. Lachlan had offered to go since Ian had been married less than a year. But his brother oversaw the mill business and would be working with the new supervisor, so Ian had insisted on finding a replacement himself.
“Any luck Ian will be home soon?” asked Peigi of her husband. “Ye promised his poor wife he’d be back in the blink of an eye. My eyelids could fall off from so much blinking, and we’re still waiting.”
“It’s no’ my fault a good mon hasna been hired yet. It’s Ian’s responsibility, and he’ll stay as long as he needs to.” Calum winked at his wife. “Ye ken he willna tarry with such a pretty bride waiting for him. Nothing would have kept me frommybride for long. I dinna think I barely let ye out of my sight.”
Peigi blushed, her hand smoothing back her faded auburn waves. “Stop it, ye ornery devil. Dinna embarrass me in front of my grandson.”
Calum stood and walked to his wife, pulling her up from the chair. He kissed her on the mouth and hugged her close. “We’ve never hidden our affection from the lads. I’m demonstrative mon, and they should be used to it by now.” He kissed her again, a loud smacking noise.
“Ye are abominable, Calum MacNaughton. And I love ye anyway!” Peigi slapped him on the chest. “See what ye have to look forward to in yer old age, Lachlan? Of course, ye’d have to find a wife first…”
“I believe that is the signal for me to say goodnight.” Lachlan rose, avoiding another conversation about age, weddings, and great-grandchildren. If he didn’t hear it from his mother, then it was his grandmother hinting about marriage. “When did ye want me to leave for Glasgow, Grandda?”
“The special order of tartan weave should be ready before the end of next month. Let yer mother and yer sister ken ye’ll be gone at least a month, maybe two. Brodie should be back by then, so they’ll have help while ye’re away. Both women, along with Lissie, will want to send letters to Ian, I’m sure.”
“As will I,” added Peigi with a smirk. “I’ll ask him to find a pretty lass for his brother. There must be a few in that city.”
*
Late April
Lachlan pulled hisplaid closer around his neck and clucked to his horse to increase the pace. A late snow fell over the loch as they made their way around the partially frozen water. He took in the snow-capped mountains to his right. A light wind sent shadows across the dark greens and silvers of the pines and rugged terrain as a weak sun peeked in and out of ominous clouds. More snow—or rain—to come.
If he left Scotland, he wouldn’t miss the fickle weather. “If ye ever loved me, Lord, hold off on the rain. I willna complain about the snow if ye do.” His chestnut gelding gave a snort as if in agreement. The beastie was a bit nervous this journey. Lachlan didn’t usually travel alone. When he did, he took Brownie with him. “It’ll be fine, Charlie. I’ll take care and no’ let anything hurt ye. I’m at least as capable as yer furry guard.”
The land was covered with a thin layer of white, and new spring grass poked through in defiance. The bluebells would be in bloom soon, creating a picturesque backdrop for the Highlands. Och, how could he leave this place? It was as much a part of him as his name. But Lachlan hated to be idle. He kept busy with the herds, sold and traded livestock, kept the books, and helped repair roofs or build new structures needed by the clans. But he couldn’t remain an extra set of hands. Nor could he become the full-time bookkeeper. Tallying up rows of numbers at a desk, finding where a shilling or penny had fallen off the page was tedious torture.
He’d speak with Ian. Perhaps they’d find a solution to his life dilemma over a bottle of good whisky. Lachlan was looking forward to his visit. The mill was fascinating, always in motion with so many workers, so many merchants, so many deals made within a day. It was a shame he couldn’t bargain for a living. He was damn good at it.
The Thistle Inn came into view. The old stone building stood in welcome against the gloom of the late afternoon. A pint, some hot food, and a soft mattress. “A warm stall with fresh hay is waiting for ye, my friend,” he told Charlie as they stopped in the courtyard. “I told ye I’d take good care of ye.”
He stooped under the doorframe and entered the inn. The familiar odor of smoke and stale sweat greeted his nostrils. Local patrons and a few travelers sat at trestles or stood up by the bar. Lachlan went straight to the small table near the hearth, peat glowing in the huge fireplace. This seating was reserved for honored patrons, and as he made his way across the room, he answered greetings and nodded to various customers. He winked at the barmaid, who knew him better than some, and leaned back into the chair. Centuries-old beams, blackened by smoke and time, crisscrossed above him with dried stalks of heather and purple sage hanging from them. The innkeeper claimed his wife put it up to cover the smell of burning food. Not that Lachlan had ever eaten a bad meal at the Thistle.
The maid, dark curls escaping her cap, served him ale and a smile, bending low to reveal creamy white bosoms pushing against a tight bodice. She had been widowed at a young age and had become friendly with Lachlan a few years past. They often kept each other company when he passed through. He grinned and gave her ample bottom a light slap. Blessed be the saints, tonight he’d get a warm mealanda warm bed.
“We have some cold venison if ye’re hungry, and I could warm ye up a bit of mash and neeps.” She turned her head and whispered in his ear. “And for dessert—”
“Aye, lass, ye’ll be perfect for dessert.”
“Weel, what am I interrupting here?” A deep voice cut off the suggestive conversation.
Lachlan glanced up to see his youngest brother, Brodie, arms crossed over his barrel-chest, giving a fine imitation of a glowering Calum MacNaughton. He was a younger version of their grandfather, midnight hair gleaming in the firelight, deep blue eyes sparkling with humor. Shorter in height, he made up for it in brawn and wit. The barmaid scurried away and returned with a second bumper before the new arrival had found a seat.
“Greetings, Brodie. I was just getting yer brother some supper. Are ye hungry?” She smiled sweetly, her innocent expression a contrast to her plunging neckline and fiery dark eyes.
“Anything ye can scrounge up will do for me, lass.” He tipped his head in thanks and took a long pull of his ale. “And a bottle of that fine Scotch whisky when ye have time.”
