Page 32 of Laird of Secrets
He nodded, silent, impressed by her steadiness. She was stubborn, this Lowland lass, but he was too. And he was still convinced that sending her away was in everyone’s best interest, even if it proved difficult to accomplish.
“All Highlanders should learn to read and write in English and in Gaelic,” she was saying. “I am glad that you have been tutoring your niece, and it is good to know you encourage your tenants to obtain an education.”
“For all my sins, I do,” he answered quietly.
She looked at him as if puzzled and intrigued, and once again Dougal felt an undeniable pull toward her. In spite of common sense—the need to send her away—he was beginning to feel protective of the new teacher. He wanted to know more about her—wanted her to thrive here. Wanted her to stay.
He stepped forward to hold the door open as she entered the schoolroom, and her shoulder brushed his chest. The clean, womanly scent of her was enticing.
“I confess, sir, I am nervous,” she whispered. “Would you come in for a bit?”
Nodding, he followed her inside.
* * *
Fiona set her packet of papers on the sturdy battered table that served as the teacher’s desk, complete with a stiff, high stool. Standing at the front of the room, she folded her hands and tried to appear calm. While the students settled on long benches, she waited. She had taught in a few schools before this, but already she could see that this group—mixed ages, mixed genders, and a mix of interest in learning—might prove challenging. But suddenly she felt more distracted by the tall Highlander standing by the door than nervous about the class.
Kinloch leaned a broad shoulder against the doorjamb. Sunlight from the window spilled over his powerful torso and long limbs, haloed his dark hair, brightened the tones of moss, earth, and cranberry in his tartan plaid. He was like sunlight and rock, warm, earthy, and handsome. She drew a breath, and a sense of calm from his solidity as well. He might be a dangerous sort, but there was something reliable and secure about this quiet laird.
She smiled at the class. The students, from small Lucy and Jamie to lanky Andrew and Pol to the older girls, sat on the plain benches looking awkward, expectant, a bit nervous as well.
“Good morning,” she said in Gaelic. They murmured the same. Soon enough she planned to speak most often in English, requiring them to use that language so they could learn it naturally. “And good morning to MacGregor of Kinloch as well.” Again the children, big to small, murmured in unison. Lucy squirmed in her seat and waved to her uncle. He came to the front of the room.
“Good morning. Miss MacCarran is your teacher now,” he said in Gaelic, “and will be in charge here. Remember the rules of the schoolroom. We do not want Miss MacCarran to think we are all savages, eh?” Some of the children giggled.
“Obey your teacher,” he explained, and Fiona recognized the rules so often recited in Highland schools. “Do not run inside, or in the yard. And what else?”
“Neither shout nor stare at others,” Jamie said, raising a hand, “nor quarrel while you are here.”
“And?” Kinloch asked.
“Bow or curtsey when we enter and go quietly to our seats,” Lilias said.
“Aye, thank you. And Miss MacCarran may have some rules of her own.” He inclined his head toward her.
“Thank you, Mr. MacGregor.” Fiona folded her hands. “Here is what I will expect from each of you. Treat others with respect. Wait your turn to speak, and raise your hand if you have something to say. And pay attention to your schoolwork and apply yourself to your books.”
A hand rose at the back of the room. “Miss, we have no books,” Andrew said.
Fiona raised her brows. “None?” Most schools had a few copies of certain texts.
“None in English, Miss, and only a couple in Gaelic,” Andrew answered.
“There are only seven of you.” She turned toward MacGregor and spoke softly. “Mr. MacGregor, I know translated texts for teaching English to Gaels are scarce. But I was told we would have books.”
“Few books have been translated into Gaelic, I am sure you know,” he said, as she nodded. “I purchased several and had them sent from a Glasgow bookseller, but the other teacher took them with her. I apologize for not acquiring books for the school by now. Your arrival was something of a surprise. I am reminded and will purchase some books for the schoolroom as soon as the chance arises.”
“Thank you. The Bible and some religious texts have been translated—do you have those in your home? We could use them, if so.”
“This is a school, not a kirk.”
“True, but they can be useful when grammar books are not available. Scholars need texts in order to read, and if they can read already, to improve their English skills. Perhaps Reverend MacIan has some books in both languages that I can borrow for the class.”
“I have a small library at Kinloch House,” he said quickly. For an instant, she wondered if he was jealous—and dismissed it as he went on. “You are welcome to borrow any texts you like.” He tilted his head. “I recently acquired a copy of a book by the American Thomas Paine, which has been translated into Gaelic. I would be happy to lend it to you.”
“I would find that quite interesting myself, though it is above the level of these students. Though without proper texts to suit, they may as well stay home.”
MacGregor smiled slowly. “Now that is true.”
