Kissing the Countess (35 page)

An interesting choice of sermon topics, Evan thought, considering MacConn's own daughter had been chastised by her family for saving a man's life.

Perhaps the sermon had been intended as MacConn's gesture of apology, Evan realized, for he had been relieved to see that Catriona was warmly received—with as much affection as gruff MacConn and his tight-lipped sister could summon, Evan suspected. He himself was treated with respect and a cool friendliness. Reverend Wilkie and Reverend MacConn had conversed about writing sermons, and Evan's guests were treated to cakes and lemonade after a very long kirk service, although his friends left before the midday dinner was served to the family.

Finally, as the meal ended, Evan hoped that he and Catriona would be free to leave, but her father began another round of readings from what he called The Book. Listening politely, unable to leave without being rude, Evan was unable to join his guests as host, also his duty that day.

Finally, aware of how long Mr. Gillie had been sitting outside in the gig waiting for them, Evan made his apologies, hoping Catriona would fetch her shawl and bonnet and be relieved to escape with him. But she hung back, wearing a tense little smile, and made no move to leave.

His heart did a sudden flip—had she decided to stay, now that she was back in the family fold, caught in the shadow of that influence that he found dreary as a shadow? Had she changed her thinking on the marriage? He could not read her mood or state of mind. "Catriona?"

"Hmm? Would you fetch me back to Kildonan later this afternoon? After tea?"

"Certainly," he murmured, disappointed—and yet relieved that she still wanted to be with him. All day he had been keenly aware of his feelings for her, the strength of what he felt, how much he wanted her, despite any barrier, including her family.

"You'll want to be with your guests today," she went on. "It's such lovely weather, and Miss Jemima is looking forward to a scenic outing."

"On a Sunday?" Judith Rennie asked haughtily, listening.

"Aye," Catriona answered, turning to stare at her aunt. "On a Sunday." She lifted her chin with the gentle stubbornness that Evan had come to know. He assumed that she did not want to disrespect her father on the first Sunday they had spent there as a married couple. Understandable, he thought, yet he could not look forward to this every Sunday, for it was not good for either of them. He would need to broach the subject carefully with her.

Reluctant to leave her there, Evan kissed her hand, not ready to kiss her cheek with her father and aunt scowling at them. Then he bid farewell and left.

* * *

The gig from Kildonan had barely left Glenachan grounds to head out on the moorland road when Catriona turned away from the window in the drawing room to look at Finlay.

"When?" she asked.

"Soon," he said. "We'll give Lord Kildonan enough time to get to the far end of the glen, and we'll wrap up some extra food for the MacLeods and take the pony cart to fetch them from Mrs. MacAuley's inn. She'll have fed them—they are her cousins after all—but they'll need foodstuffs for their wee cupboard. We'll take them up to the shieling and get them settled in. I'm just waiting now for another who's promised to help us."

She nodded, expecting that he meant one of the MacLeod clan, perhaps Morag and her husband or Mrs. MacAuley's son. Glancing out the window again, she saw that the gig had disappeared from sight. For a moment she felt a deep tug of conflict—she had wanted to go with Evan, and even her father and aunt would not have been able to question it. She could be spending a Sunday enjoying the company of her husband and his friends, just for the sheer pleasure of it. Her father and aunt would not approve—yet how could enjoying this beautiful day be any sort of sin?

But there would be other Sundays with Evan—at least she fervently hoped so, if they could find another solution beyond selling Kildonan and being forced—her willfulness opposing his, she knew—to split up.

Today, though, she had a more important mission. Her brother was capable of moving the newly arrived MacLeods into the shieling hut without her help, but she wanted Finlay to know that she still supported him. And as the new countess, she wanted the returning inhabitants of Glen Shee to feel welcomed rather than like fugitives.

The door of the drawing room opened, and her father entered, leaning on his walking stick as he often did. She felt herself blush, certain her father would be furious if he knew their plans for a Sunday afternoon. She stood, turned.

"Are you ready, then?" Thomas MacConn asked Finlay.

"Ready?" Catriona glanced from one to the other.

"To help the new ones move into the shieling," her father answered. "I promised Finlay that I would help him."

"But—Papa, it's Sunday!" she blurted, astonished.

He gave her a rare smile. She remembered that he used to smile often when she had been a young girl, and she had not realized until that moment how much she had missed it.

"I know, lass. But this is God's work we're doing."

He held the door open and beckoned for them to hurry.

* * *

"Lady Kildonan found you here, along this very track? How exciting!" Jemima said, walking beside Evan on the drover's track that led over the mountain peaks and down toward the glen. "A pity Jeanie and Harry left Kildonan already—she would have loved to see where you were stranded. She said it was very romantic."

"Quite," Evan answered wryly. "Me with a bloodied head and unconscious, and the poor lass somehow managing to drag my dead weight over the ice. Romantic, indeed. I'm surprised she has not yet delivered me a blistering lecture on climbing in fog and sleet." He grinned.

"She is very brave, your countess," Emily Murray said. "I would not be half so brave in the same circumstance. Where was it you fell?" she asked, looking around.

Evan turned. "There," he said, pointing up and left. "That rocky slope."

Reverend Wilkie, walking with his wife just behind Evan and his cousins, looked up too. "That black and wicked slope all the way up there? That's a long, hard fall. It's a wonder you survived. You're a very skilled climber."

Evan chuckled. "I used to think so, but it was a foolish risk, that climb."

"But you met your angel savior," Jemima said. "You were very lucky that day."

"Indeed," he murmured, nodding.

"Surely there are easier ways to get up to the top of Beinn Shee," Jemima said, studying the steep slope.

"There are, up to a certain level. Then all the routes are difficult, I understand," Evan said.

"Since we're all eager to try Beinn Alligin and Beinn Shee while we're here exploring the Torridons," Jemima said, "we'll find a route to please all of us. Though none of us want to scramble up vertical black rock."

"Only Kildonan and Mr. Fitzgibbon," Emily said. "And perhaps Mr. Grant—he seems keen on the rougher climbs."

"Kildonan—Mrs. Wilkie and I were just wondering where your wee shieling hut might be," Wilkie said.

"Just over that ridge," Evan said, pointing. "Off the track a bit and down a hill beside a burn."

"I think we'll have a look. I'm interested in any chance to explore for the book I'm writing on the Torridons." Wilkie smiled and took his wife's arm as they walked toward the ridge.

"Oh, finally, here are Wetherstone, Grant, and Fitzgibbon," Jemima said, turning as the men came over another hill. "They've lagged behind all afternoon. They cannot do that when we go on the more challenging climbs—we must all keep together. Look what happened when Mr. Fitzgibbon and Cousin Evan were separated!"

"I would not mind getting lost if it meant I might meet some wonderful stranger," Emily said, and she gave Evan such a charming and mischievous smile that he had to laugh.

"Hey, Kildonan!" Arthur called as he walked closer with Grant and Wetherstone. "Plotting our route for tomorrow?"

"Aye. We're sending you straight up that black wall to examine Lewisian gneiss," Evan drawled. "The rest of us will take ponies along the drover's track with the picnic baskets, and meet you at the top."

"So long as it's not sleeting, I'd do it." Arthur grinned.

"That verglas coating was miserable to deal with, and I would not advise trying it again," Evan said.

"I'll go, Arthur, if you are planning on it," Kenneth Grant said, his manner serious as usual, Evan noted, despite the lighter mood around them. "I've gone as high as anyone could on those dangerous slopes. The rocks are unstable in places, and the ridge is so sharp that walking is nearly impossible for any man—let alone ladies in skirts." He indicated the women.

"Finlay. MacConn will be guiding us up," Evan said. "You're welcome to come along."

"Ah. Of course," Grant said.

Arthur reached into his pocket. "Look here. I found some very nice Cairngorms back there." He drew out a glittering cluster of smoky quartz crystals, and Jemima and Emily came close to admire them.

"Kildonan!" The Wilkies appeared at the top of the slope, waving, and came nearer. "I thought you said that was a deserted hut," the reverend said.

"Aye, missing half a roof," Evan said. "Just over that hill."

"There's a charming little cottage there," Anna Wilkie said. "Someone lives there. There's smoke curling from a thatched roof and a cart and horse outside. So picturesque. I shall make a sketch of it for your book about scrambling in the Torridons, my dear," she told her husband.

"Charming cottage?" Evan gave her a puzzled look. He began striding in the direction of the shieling, while the others followed. Reaching the hill rise, he stopped in astonishment.

He saw the same shieling hut where he and Catriona had endured a night of bitter cold, the same hut that had a collapsed roof and open gaps that let in the freezing north winds.

Now it was a neat, pretty Highland cottage. The roof had been repaired with fresh thatch. The yard was swept, and a stack of fresh peats sat beside a new door with fresh coat of red paint. The stone walls were patched with new white mortar. Smoke curled from a hole in the center of the roof. And as Anna Wilkie had said, a cart and horse stood waiting in the little kailyard.

Remembering that Finlay had mentioned his desire to fix up the old shieling hut, Evan thought he must have seen to it straightaway. But someone was clearly living there.

The door opened, and a woman emerged—coppery hair in the sunshine, a lovely dark gown. His wife, he saw. Evan frowned, watching as she turned to speak to someone behind her. Then Finlay came out, followed by Thomas MacConn.

What the devil—and on a Sunday, Evan thought sourly, folding his arms as he stood watching. A crisp breeze blew his coat about, lifted his hair, chilled him. He stood still.

A third man emerged, then a woman with a baby in her arms and two children standing shyly behind her. These people wore shabby clothing, Evan noticed, and the children had no shoes, though they seemed healthy little sprites otherwise. Catriona took the woman's hand, touched the children's heads. She spoke to them, kissed the woman, and stepped away.

The MacConns got into the pony cart, while the family waved and went inside the cozy shieling and shut the door.

"What the devil," Evan muttered to himself. He stuck his walking stick into the ground, folded his arms.

"Ah, Kildonan." Grant was suddenly there beside him, looking at the scene below for a few moments. "I intended to tell you about this once I was sure. Now here's proof."

"Proof of what?" Evan snapped.

"For a while I have suspected that your factor was moving in the old tenants without your knowledge or your permission. Former evicted tenants, the ones your father sent away. This must be his latest group of refugees."

Evan narrowed his eyes and saw Catriona and her kinsmen settling into the cart, preparing to leave. As he and Grant stood there, Arthur and the others joined them on the hilltop.

Suddenly Catriona looked up and clearly saw them all standing there. She spoke to her father and brother and then got out of the cart to walk toward the hill, the skirt of her dark gown whipping in the wind. Her kinsmen followed slowly.

Evan strode down the slope to meet her, his long legs taking him well ahead of the others, so that he met her alone toward the bottom of the long, grassy slope.

"What is the meaning of this," he said, low and stern. "I know what Grant just told me. Now you tell me."

She looked at him for a moment, then lifted her chin. "We have been finding homes and giving work to some of the Highlanders who left Glen Shee several years ago," she said.

"Not we." Finlay said as he approached. "I have done this."

"And I," Thomas MacConn said. All three MacConns faced him with strong, straight postures and defiant expressions.

"How many families? How long has this been going on?" Evan asked quietly.

"Eighteen families have come back into the glen in the last two years," Finlay answered. "They were all evicted by your father. Bringing them back was entirely my decision."

"No, I helped him," Catriona said.

"Hush, Catriona," Finlay said. "I have looked for them everywhere I could, and found them in the gutters of Glasgow collecting rags, or on the seashore gathering kelp and driftwood for pittance. I brought them here and helped them fix up their old houses, or if the house was burned, found them another. And I have given them work."