Page 65 of Laird of Secrets
“I do accounts here,” he explained. “Rents, livestock, the distillery and so on.”
She nodded. “It is a wonderful room. I would like to look at the books in your collection someday, if I may.”
“Anytime. I believe Maisie is still here, and I smell a good supper simmering in the kettle downstairs. She does not usually cook for us, just cleans, and so we are in luck. You should get something in you.” He led her down the steps to the foyer again. “It is not a large castle,” he explained as they went, sounding apologetic. “Above this level, there are bedrooms and a wee room Lucy calls her parlor. The place is very old, and in places falling to bits. I am sure you are used to finer.”
“Not at all. I like it very much.” Fiona smiled. The place felt warm and welcoming and somehow just familiar. As they reached the foyer again, one of the deerhounds trotted toward her, nudging at her hand to be petted, and she obliged.
“Kinloch House began as a castle. A peel tower,” Dougal explained. “Two block towers placed to form an L or a Z—the design provided good protection centuries ago, defense against cattle reivers or enemy clans, and sometimes king’s men. We also have a priest’s hole, which my father converted to a storage room.”
“How fascinating to grow up in a place like this.”
“I suppose. We even have a ghost or two, and visits by the fairies as well, so they say.” He shrugged, smiled.
She lifted her brows, pleased. “Fairies? Has anyone seen them?”
He shrugged. “As a boy, I thought I saw them now and then. Imagination,” he added with a laugh. “The house is over three hundred years old now, and things always need repair. Some days I think the whole thing will fall down around our heads. But it has always been a good home for our family,” he finished.
“I can tell,” she said, smiling. Sighing, rubbing her arms, she felt relaxed, reassured, wholly welcome in the house he loved. “I feel at home, and I have only just arrived.”
“They say the fairies of Kinloch decide who is welcome, and who is not.” He tilted his head, looking at her. “They seem to approve of you.”
She smiled widely, felt brightened, forgetting the discomfort in her throat and chest. “I would love to know more about Kinloch’s fairy legends. My grandmother wrote books about Highland lore and loved fairies especially. My brothers and I heard many tales.”
“Then you know more fairy legends than I could tell you. Glen Kinloch has but a few legends.”
“I think there are more than you let on,” she murmured.
“Aye so?” He gave her a gentle smile that hid his thoughts. “You are here to rest, so let us see to that. Warm yourself by the hearth in the parlor now, and of course, you may use the library if you like. The collection is modest but excellent. And you are certainly welcome to stay the night in a guest room. And I will ask Maisie to stay tonight as well.”
“Thank you. But I do not want to be any trouble.”
“None at all. You should not be out in the glen until the customs officers have gone, and should not walk back to Mary MacIan’s just yet. Even if your brother is with the excise officers, lass,” he added quietly, “I will feel better knowing you are safe here.”
She caught her breath, wondering suddenly if she was safe near this man. The danger he presented was of a different sort, and she felt too willing, too tempted, to be near him. “I know you are going back to the hill, but will you be returning here tonight?”
“Possibly not until morning. It depends on the work to be done. Off to the parlor with you, Miss MacCarran. I will find Maisie.” He gestured toward the room and turned away, boots echoing on stone as he went up the steps in search of the housemaid.
In the parlor, Fiona wandered about, studying the portraits hung on the walls, including a beautiful red-haired woman, and a handsome, dark-eyed man with a striking resemblance to Dougal. She peered closely at a cluster of small, enchanting landscapes and lake scenes in gilt frames. Then she sat, adjusting pillows to lean back on the settee. The fire burning low in the grate gave off warmth and the sweet musky smell of peat. Coughing again, she felt the tickle of it beginning to ease. Kinloch House had a curiously healing influence, as if it were her own home. Closing her eyes, she sighed.
Soon, hearing footsteps, she looked up to see a young woman carrying a silver tray holding a teapot and porcelain dishes. She was plump and pink-cheeked, with soft coppery hair spiraling out from under a white cap. Her apron was wrinkled and stained, her blue gown patched at the hem, and she did not curtsey or defer, as a Lowland serving girl would have done. She smiled, her expression so friendly that Fiona instantly smiled in response.
“I am Maisie MacDonald. The laird said to fetch you some tea. Here it is, with oatcakes, butter, and rowanberry jam, all we had this day. Not expecting guests,” she added, and Fiona heard a slight reproach in it. “There is soup in the kettle, should you wish that too.”
“Thank you, Maisie. I am Fiona MacCarran, the schoolteacher.”
“Oh aye, Miss, everyone in the glen knows who you are!”
Fiona smiled “Are you kin to the MacDonalds—who live up the hill?”
“Thomas and his? Cousins, aye. I know of their troubles tonight. All the glen will work together to help them.”
“Good.” Fiona looked toward the door. “Is the laird still here?”
“He just left to help my cousins with their troubles. Oh, what a terrible night, Miss!”
Fiona agreed, ignoring the pang of disappointment she felt knowing that Kinloch was gone, even though she had expected it. Maisie filled a blue china cup with steaming tea and handed it to her. “Thankfully no one was hurt in the blaze.”
“Aye, though losing the building and so much whisky is a hardship for them. But they have a good store of it.” Maisie frowned as Fiona coughed again. “Your breathing is still irritated from the smoke, I think.”
