Page 34 of An Allusive Love
Nessie shook her head and climbed onto the wagon, eyes focused on the road in front of her. Her face had gone pale. He snapped the reins and the old gelding pitched forward, head down and neck bowed as it slowly pulled the heavy wagon forward. Then he added the whip for good measure. It eased the anger burning in his chest.
“I can walk, Da. We have a heavy load today.” She turned to jump down, but he caught a handful of hair and yanked her back.
“Do ye need another reminder of who is in charge?”
She shook her head again, frightened eyes darting at his face and quickly away. Her arms wrapped around her belly, then quickly fell back to her side, and gripped the bench.
Craigg studied her. “Ye’re no’ hiding anything from me, are ye, daughter?” He softened his tone, running his knuckles gently over her cheek. “I dinna like surprises.”
Nessie kept her eyes on the pony. “No, Da, no surprises.”
“If ye ever try to leave again without my permission, I’ll kill ye. Ye’re my property, and I’ll do with ye what I want. And if ye do have one in the basket, it’ll no’ survive long.” The tightness eased as he badgered the chit. “No bairn of those sniveling MacDunns will live under my roof.”
A tear fell down Nessie’s cheek. He reached over, caught it with his thumb, and put it to his tongue. “Revenge is mighty tasty,” he whispered in her ear. “Time will tell if ye’re lying to me, lass. Time will tell.”
*
Brodie had donehis best on the ride home, but Lachlan remained tightlipped about the lovely English accountant in Glasgow. A sign it was serious. Their mother hadn’t fared any better and would barrage Ian with questions when he arrived.
“How long will the swap be this time?” asked Glynnis. The family had gathered in the sitting room for an intimate farewell. Lachlan would leave in the morning for Glasgow, and Ian would return to the Highlands until a trusted manager was found for the textile mill. “Will Ian stay two months as he did before?”
Lissie’s head jerked up at the question. She stood at the hearth and studied the framed miniature portraits of family lining the mantel. Her finger traced Ian’s painted likeness. Brodie’s heart ached for her, being separated from her husband for such long periods of time.
Lachlan shrugged. “Ian mentioned a trip to Manchester before coming home. He wants to purchase more power looms. Should put him here after the middle of August, I’d say.”
“He rubs elbows with reformers and pushes for better wages and working conditions,” said Lissie quietly. “I’m afraid for him. The English parliament has little patience for radicals.”
“It’s about having a voice in Parliament. The Sassenach sit in London and decide our fate while we have no say.” Glynnis kept her eyes on her needlework. “Until the working class have a vote, the struggle will continue.”
“It’s a wee more complicated than that. When the lordsdocompromise with the merchant class, the factory owners neglect to share the profit. They refuse to increase wages or shorten the workday.” Lachlan shook his head. “Our mill is one of the few that pay our employees a fair wage. And we still get agitators on our dock, trying to stir unrest.”
“In the end, it will be the poor that take the brunt of any political agitation,” added Brodie. “But I worry for Ian too. He’s the gentle soul of our family but the champion of the undefended. He’ll no’ back down from a skirmish, especially if he’s passionate about the cause.”
“Send Colin with him to England,” suggested Brigid, curled up on the floor next to Brownie.
Glynnis nodded. “If anyone can keep him safe, it’s my colossal cousin.”
Colin also worked at MacNaughton Textile. The man was like a stone wall in a storm—heavily muscled, well over six feet tall, and immovable. Even Calum appeared average size when standing next to him. Colin was the kind of man Brodie would want at his back in a fight or on his team for tug-of-war.
“That’s no’ a bad idea. I heard the orator Henry Hunt will be in Manchester next month. He draws a big crowd.” Brodie agreed with the ideology of the rallies but knew how quickly a mob could turn ugly. “The city will be filled with reformers, some with their own agenda.”
They sat in silence for a few moments. Brodie and Lachlan studied the chess board, Glynnis worked on her mending, and Brigid enjoyed a last night with Brownie.
“Do ye have to take yer dog?” she asked. “She’ll miss me.”
Lachlan laughed. “I’m no’ leaving her behind again. Ma said the entire glen could hear her howls when I left her last spring. It’s time ye stopped sharing my hound and had yer own.”
“It wasna a problem until ye decided to stay in Glasgow half yer days,” she pouted.
“I’m firm on this, little sister. My hound goes with me.”
Brownie’s tail thumped in agreement. She rose and stretched, her scraggly butt in the air, and padded over to Lachlan. He scratched the devoted head on his lap. “I’d say the lass is willing.”
“I concede,” Brigid said with a snort. “Grandda said I could have one from the next litter, but I’ll wait for one of Brownie’s pups.” She stood and joined her brothers, studying the chess pieces. “When ye’re chief, Lachlan, ye’ll have to take on a male.”
Lachlan grunted in response.
It was a MacNaughton tradition. Every chief had a male deerhound named Black Angus. It had begun during the ’45 revolt. Calum’s great-great-grandfather had owned a black and gray deerhound. It resembled the faery dog, Cù-Sìth, a huge dark beast with golden eyes. According to legend, it roamed the moors as a harbinger of death. The unlucky traveler who crossed its path was said to have two weeks to live.
