Page 10 of Laird of Secrets
To the left, she heard the rumble of the cart, which then came into view—a boxy wagon stacked with hay, pulled by a sturdy brown horse. Two men sat on the crossbench, one in a wrapped plaid, one in trousers, both in nondescript jackets with dark, flat bonnets pulled low on their brows. The driver in plaid was a lean young man, his passenger robust and older.
“Farmers?” Fiona murmured. “Or smugglers with a load of illicit spirits?”
“Riding along the main road? Going home to supper, most like.”
“They say that smugglers go about quite openly. And it is getting dark.” She glanced at the fading light through the fog, wishing again that she had gone with Patrick. “Are they dangerous, do you think?”
He huffed. “They are my kinsmen. Farmers and herders like me, and most of the glen folk.”
“Not dangerous, then?”
“Not they, not to you. But these other fellows might be.”
He was looking in the opposite direction, and Fiona glanced there. Coming along the loch road, two men emerged on foot out of the fog. They wore dark jackets and trousers and stiff brimmed hats. One had a pistol, the other a cudgel, she saw.
“Smugglers!” She edged closer to MacGregor. He exuded reliable strength, despite all, and strange as it seemed, she felt safe near him, though she was not sure he was who he claimed to be.
“The men along the road? Gaugers.”
“Revenue officers? Oh, then we have nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, aye, not a thing,” he drawled. Taking her arm in a fresh grip, he led her down the slope. Seeing the cart approaching from one direction and the king’s officers from the other, Fiona angled her steps toward the officers. They would know her brother and escort her to safety.
But MacGregor tugged her in the other direction. He gave a low whistle and hurried on, half-dragging Fiona with him.
Then, with a sinking feeling, she knew—just knew—that the laird of Kinloch was not simply the landowner and farmer he claimed, but the smuggler Patrick and Mrs. MacIan had warned her about. This man was avoiding the excise officers.
Whenever the Laird walks the mountainside, Mrs. MacIan had said, step aside.
The Laird.Fiona stared at him.
Chapter 3
Dougal stopped short, and the girl bumped into his shoulder again. He set his hand firmly on her arm to let her know that he did not intend to release her. Not yet.
Narrowing his eyes, he estimated the king’s revenue men to be a mile or so away along the loch road. From the slope’s angle, he could see them, although the mist and angle of the hill and its jutting rocks would obscure the gaugers’ view of the man and girl on the hill. Nor would they have seen the cart yet, although they would soon hear its creaking progress.
Holding the girl’s arm, he ran with her toward the road and the coming cart.
“Let go,” she said breathlessly. “The officers will take me to Mrs. MacIan’s home.”
“Mrs. MacIan? Is that where you belong?” Could she be the teacher, then? He would soon find out. “I will take you there myself. You would not be safe with the gaugers.”
“I am hardly safe with you,” she pointed out.
He gave another whistle, a soft trill like a curlew’s call. The squeak of wheels slowed, for the driver knew his signal. Dougal hurried down the slope with the girl in tow and headed for the cart.
“I do not need a ride, I can walk—”
“Hush now,” Dougal said. The road curved around the base of the hill. From here, he could not see the gaugers, but they would not see him or the cart either. Soon, though. He hurried.
The vehicle rolled to a halt a few yards away. Dougal waved to the driver and the older man with him, all the while half-dragging the girl with him. She was not eager to go. Not that he could blame her, but there was no time to explain or debate.
“Miss, this is Ranald MacGregor and his son Andrew. My uncle and cousin,” he told her. “And this is—ah—” He did not know her name.
“Miss Fiona MacCarran.” She turned to his uncle and cousin and smiled so warmly that Dougal suddenly, sharply, wished she would bless him with a smile like that. She sent him a furious side glare instead.
“Miss MacCarran,” he said. “Into the cart. Now,” he added, low and fierce.
