Kissing the Countess (36 page)

"Shepherding," Evan said. "Clipping. Gathering."

Finlay nodded. "Working on the state. Also repairing homes for others," he added, indicating the shieling hut.

"The women have been weaving cloth, as well, from wood produced by their own few sheep, to support their families in the old ways, as they were accustomed to do before," Catriona said.

"And I suppose they've been knitting," Evan said, dry and grim. Catriona nodded, staring at him, her eyes large and blue as the sky above. Beyond her, the new family came out of the shieling and moved into the yard uncertainly.

Evan hesitated, thinking what best to say, what best to do. He knew that the estate's profit depended on a handful of men handling several thousand sheep, except for the extra workers needed in the springtime. He knew that his father agreed with the economic philosophy behind the clearances—huge numbers of sheep replacing people on the lands, with the fewer Highland families in a region the better. For centuries, Highlanders had held huge tracts of land, using it only to support families by means of small vegetable gardens, a few sheep and cattle, the working of crafts. Besides sheep runs, thousands of acres could be lucratively rented for hunting reserves and holiday resorts.

And he knew for certain that he had never agreed with his father, had never supported what had happened in this glen.

Narrowing his eyes, thinking, Evan watched the MacConns in silence. The new family walked closer, and behind him, he sensed his own guests approaching. All of them waited for him to call for repercussions, demand recompense, threaten to have Finlay arrested for undermining his employer's requirements.

Catriona watched him too, intently. She stood absolutely still, her hair bright as fire in the cool air, skirts fluttering in the breeze. Her face was pale, but she stood with strength and determination. Evan was reminded of some ancient Celtic warrior queen prepared to defend her people.

He was reminded of the day she stood on the hill, singing.

He respected her love for the residents of this glen and for its musical heritage. She preserved and defended both with all the devotion of a mother or an earth goddess. He loved that compassion in her, the strength of mountains.

And he could appreciate the courage and resourcefulness that Finlay—and Catriona, too—had needed to do this.

Still, he stood silent, calming himself, gathering thoughts.

"Just as I suspected," Grant said sanctimoniously. "This is shocking insubordination in your own factor and will undercut the very profit from these lands. He should be arrested for criminal acts. And the reverend—on a Sunday! MacConn should lose his living for this. Distressing," Grant said. "And Lady Kildonan—are you also part of this unsavory situation?"

"Be quiet, Grant," Evan said. He did not turn.

"What the devil! It's a good thing I decided against buying these lands, Kildonan," Wetherstone said. "There's rebellion on your estate. Mr. Grant, I'd advise you to reconsider your offer, as well. Kildonan has no control here—the locals have taken over."

"I would simply have them all evicted again," Grant said smoothly, "and I would hire another factor, since the current one would be in prison. There would be control here, if I were laird."

Evan had heard enough. He turned to look at Finlay.

"MacConn, did you enlist the newest tenants to work on the old bridge?" he asked. "I gave you those orders the other day."

"What? Fix the bridge?" Finlay asked.

"Aye, did you do that? I need a work crew, as I told you, and I expected you to gather the workers from among the new tenants you were authorized to move into these lands."

"Authorized!" Grant sputtered.

"Of course," Evan said, turning with a tight smile. "Did you think Mr. MacConn would do such a thing on his own?"

"Actually, I did think that," Grant snapped. "I still do."

"My father, the previous earl," Evan said carefully, "sent hundreds, even thousands of people away from this glen over a dozen years. He replaced people with sheep. The sheep are flourishing, taking over the glen,"—he waved an arm—"but the people were not flourishing. I thought it was time they came home. We have enough damned sheep and could use the help. Lady Kildonan agrees," he said brusquely, looking at her.

"I do," she said firmly. She looked at Grant, flared her nostrils proudly. "I fully support my husband and kinsmen."

"What is this about, Kildonan?" Wetherstone asked.

"He's lying to protect his wife and her family," Grant said. "The Highlanders were sent away because they were useless. They should not be brought back."

"It was a terrible oversight on my father's part," Evan said. "He did not realize that Highlanders are determined as the dickens," he told Wetherstone. "Hardworking and intelligent, too. When they have a mind to, they can do damn near anything better, faster, more cleverly than men hired up from the South. By the way, I'll need a second crew for another job as well, Finlay." Evan turned back. "The exterior walls of Kildonan Castle must be harled with plaster again. The present coat is in poor condition. The work will take months, and perhaps should be started after the sheep clipping is done in the spring."

"Aye," Finlay said. "Anything else, Lord Kildonan?"

"One thing more," Evan said.

"What is that, sir?" Finlay asked.

"Damn fine job of running the estate in my absence, Finlay," Evan said. He looked past him toward the newcomers.

"Greetings, I am Evan Mackenzie. Kildonan," he added. "Welcome back to Glen Shee. And you are—?"

"Mr. William MacLeod, his wife, Helen, and their children," Catriona said, stirring herself from what seemed plain astonishment. "They've just come up from Inverness... to work on the estate. This is Lord Kildonan. The new Kildonan."

The MacLeods nodded, and William doffed his hat. "Thank you, sir, for... all your help."

"Thank Finlay. MacConn and his father for it," Evan said. "And my wife, of course." He yanked his walking stick out of the ground, then paused. "Mr. MacLeod—are you a relative of Morag MacLeod, or Flora MacLeod, who lives up in the hills?"

"We are, sir," William said. "Mother Flora is my great-grandmother."

"She'll be glad to see you, I'm sure," he said. He glanced at Catriona. "My dear, I had planned to meet you at Glenachan later, but since you are here, do come back with us. We've just been out for a bit of a hillwalk."

She nodded, and turned to hug her brother and give her father a kiss on the cheek, murmuring something that made the tall, burly man blink as if he fought tears. Gathering her skirts, she hurried toward Evan.

He turned abruptly and hardly waited for her, his feelings still in turmoil. Immediately recognizing Finlay's innocent and altruistic motives, however covertly done—the lad could have asked, but then Evan realized that the assumption would be that the new laird would never allow it.

So he had circumvented trouble best he could just now. But the encounter made it clear that Catriona was deeply sincere when she said she would never leave Glen Shee.

He walked ahead of her in silence. Truly, it was not in her nature to be torn away from this place. Beyond a doubt she loved the glen and its people more than imaginable. For some reason, he felt intensely proud, yet disappointed and hurt too, knowing things might have to change for them.

"Evan!" She caught up to him, her stride soon matching his. The others were far ahead of them now, including Mr. Grant, all of them seeming eager to keep their distance from Evan, who still seethed within. "Evan, wait."

He turned to look at her without expression.

"Thank you," she breathed. "I will explain all of it, I promise. But what made you do that?" Her eyes looked bright.

"Loyalty," he growled. "I'm a Highlander too, and I love this place—though you may not think so."

He turned and lengthened his stride, leaving her standing on the slope.

Chapter 25

The next day was cloudy, silvery, very cool. Catriona shivered in another breeze as she walked between Evan and Finlay ahead of the others. They had gathered at the castle, the guests and her brother and Mr. Grant too, to ride in pony carts to the far end of Beinn Alligin, which curved around the head of the glen, its hills and peaks draped in mist. Now they made their way over the upper moorlands toward the mountain.

She drew her plaid shawl closer, glad that she had worn warm, if plain, clothing—a skirt and jacket of thick brown wool, flannel petticoats, sturdy ankle boots, and the Highland shawl. Her humble outfit did not befit a countess, nor was it as fine as the other ladies wore—once again they were had dressed for mountaineering as if attending church services—but her garments were practical and warm.

The men wore comfortable tweed suits, bowler hats, and tough-soled boots. Two or three, including Evan, carried canvas knapsacks. All of them, ladies and men, had sturdy walking sticks. In addition, Catriona knew that Evan, Finlay, and Arthur had stout Manila ropes in their knapsacks, along with hooks and axes, in case equipment was needed on steep slopes or they encountered ice, snow, or slippery inclines.

"This time of year does not offer the best days for climbing," Finlay said, glancing up at the cloudy skies as he walked along with them. "May and June are best. In spring the floods are too risky, in high summer the midges will make you miserable, and in fall and winter the weather becomes unpredictable. Though if you are determined to go up, it cannot be put off until later. We could have poor weather again, perhaps rain or even snow in a day or two."

"Winter weather affords some excellent scenic views," Arthur said as he walked behind them. "The Alps are perpetually covered in snow, and that does not deter climbers."

"Snow and ice on these mountains," Finlay said, "can be treacherous, as Kildonan discovered. Look around you—some parts of the Torridons have a good head of snow and will keep it all year. Though where we are going today, we will not see so much of it, I think."

Ahead, the mountain rose into the pale gray sky, dark and massive, its upper contour variegated with high broad shoulders and ridges, knobby points and pinnacles. The highest point at the center of the curving mass of the mountain was Beinn Shee, its steep conical peak split down the center eons ago by a landslide. The deep cleft formed two sheer rock cliffs that faced each other above an inclined wedge of rubble and turf.

Frosted white with snow and embeddings of white quartz, the line of peaks undulated along the ridge with a strangely fluid grace despite its massiveness. As the group began the long walk up rock-studded meadow, Catriona slowed to look ahead at the gigantic cleft that dominated the mountain profile.

Her eldest brother had died there, and Evan had fallen too, attempting to scale the vertical rock, sliding down snowy tracks to the hill by the drover's path. But Catriona had promised to climb that same wicked black sheer to find a fairy crystal that old Flora insisted could only be found on Beinn Shee.

She felt like peasant girl in a fairy tale, she thought, sent on a quest for a magical talisman, accompanied by her beloved prince. But the prince was angry and disappointed in her, and for all she knew, would not stay with her for a happy ending to the tale. After all, she had betrayed him in order to help others.

But the quest she had once thought so all-important was not what she most desired—to love the prince and to be loved by him. Without that essential magic, the gift of the fairies, the songs, even those had lost some of their luster.

All morning, Evan's manner was still cool and distant, his words neutral, his hands brief whenever he touched her waist or elbow to help her over the rougher areas. She did not need help, but welcomed his nearness. All the while she wondered what he thought, what he had decided to do.

Last night he had not come to her room, although she had waited for him, had gone to his door, but lost her will to knock. She wanted explain privately why she and Finlay had brought evicted tenants back to the glen without the earl's knowledge or sanction. But somehow she felt he was not ready to listen.

She had let him be, let him have a space to think.

Finlay turned now to face the others who followed behind them. The Wilkies and Wetherstones, the Murray sisters, and Arthur Fitzgibbon and Kenneth Grant came closer.

Catriona avoided Grant's gaze. She had nothing to say to him and prayed he would not bother with her again, for Evan unknowingly had rendered useless the sword Grant held over her head. But she made no show of it. The other climbers seemed unaware of the deeper tensions that tugged like ropes between a few members of their party.