Page 96 of Laird of Secrets
“Not all,” Hugh said. “The collapse was lower among the smaller caves. Most of the kegs are stored closer to the upper entrance. We can get them out. I am sure we are all far more concerned about Fiona and the children than the whisky.”
“Fiona is fine. I know it,” Eldin said. “I would feel it if she is not safe.”
Dougal turned to look at him, then met Patrick’s gaze and frowned.
“Cousins,” Patrick explained. “Fairy blood and such. I do not seem to have it, myself. But they do.” Dougal nodded his understanding.
“Where is the fairy brew kept?” Eldin asked. “In the caves? All ruined now?”
“That lot is safely stored elsewhere,” Dougal answered. “But I will not sell it. Patrick, stay with Hugh and the earl. I am going after Fiona and the children.”
He left them, hurrying through the gap between two hills. As he climbed a slope, feeling both as weary and as anxious as he had ever been in his life, somehow his legs found the strength. He could not rest until he found Fiona and the children and knew for himself that they were safe.
Apparently Eldin felt sure that the lass and her charges were unharmed. Dougal wished he could feel so sure himself. He only knew that his heart pounded hard with worry and exhaustion, and that he had to find her, and Lucy, Jamie, and Annabel.
Soon, behind him, he heard shouts. Turning, he saw men on horseback along the loch road, and riding across the meadow. Patrick and the others, just visible, halted to wait.
Recognizing Tam MacIntyre with other gaugers, Dougal nodded, grim and satisfied. The law had found them, but would soon discover that they had done nothing particular that evening beyond being caught in a rock collapse caused by Lord Eldin, looking for whisky that did not exist.
And he felt sure that Patrick MacCarran would keep the focus on Eldin and away from the smugglers of Glen Kinloch. As for Hugh MacIan—the reverend was not a bad fellow by nature, and had been grievously misled by the earl. Dougal guessed the young reverend would be feeling great remorse—and Mary MacIan would not be letting her grandson hear the end of it.
Turning away, Dougal walked onward.
He would find them soon. He had to. And soon after that, he hoped, Patrick would be his brother-by-law, and a more trustworthy one he could not ask for, he thought. He could only hope that the rest of Fiona’s brothers would accept him—a poor Highland laird, wealthy only in his heart. With luck, Fiona would indeed agree to marry him. For now, he only wanted to see her safe and unharmed.
Feeling a new burst of strength, Dougal climbed upward, breathing hard now along the steep slope, coated with dust. He moved steadily, as if he had not played to utter exhaustion at the ba’ and then, somehow, escaped a cave-in and averted a disaster. He ran now as if his life, and the lives of those he loved, depended on it.
If they had found a way out of the caves, as he suspected they might, then they would be there, just over there, through a hidden path in a grove of trees. Reaching the crest of the hill, he paused to look around, past a tall stand of pine trees to a thick cluster of birches beyond, where a wide skirt of bluebells frothed around the tree trunks.
“Fiona!” he called. No answer. He turned. “Fiona! Lucy!”
Spinning again, he saw them. They appeared between the birches, walking through the blue-violet haze of flowers. She was holding hands with Lucy and Annabel, with Jamie just behind them. Golden sunset light poured over them, rosy and gleaming. They were all drenched, Dougal saw then, hair and skirts and jackets wet from the bubbling spring. And they laughing. The girls were skipping, and Lucy clutched a bouquet of bluebells in one hand. Jamie was chattering excitedly, holding up a chunk of rock for Fiona to see.
Bluebells.They had found the bluebell wood after all. Fiona had discovered the tunnel that led to the spring, just as he had hoped she would. The fairies, he was certain, had been watching over his loved ones, guiding them. All of them.
Laughing outright himself, with relief as well as love, he ran toward them. Fiona’s face brightened in a wider smile, and she left the children to hurry toward him. Reaching out, he took her in his arms, lifted her, spun her about, and she circled her arms around his neck. She laughed sweetly, her cheek soft against his. Around them, the children danced and jumped, giggling.
He set her down then and kissed her, tasting heaven on her lips in a slow, soft kiss that he never wanted to end.
“Stop kissing!” Lucy said. “Come look at this, Uncle Dougal!”
Fiona laughed, her lips to his, and he did, too, certain in the knowledge that she was as delighted and relieved to see him, as committed to their love, as he was. He kissed her brow, her damp, dark, beautiful hair. Then he winked at Lucy.
“My wee love,” he murmured, reaching out to touch his niece’s hair. “I feel a rich man, indeed.”
“So rich, Uncle Dougal!” Lucy held up the bluebells clutched in her hand. “We found these for the whisky. And we found gold, too!”
“Gold?” They nodded, Fiona and the bairns.
“Aye, in the caves,” Jamie said. “Lots of it.”
“Gold in the caves?” He felt astonished.
Fiona smiled. “It runs all through the caves, I suspect. And even if you never tap all those veins, you can count yourself fortunate, for you will never need more.”
“I need nothing more than this.” He smiled, swept a hand around to encompass all of them. He dipped his head and kissed Fiona again, while the children whooped around them in a circle.
“Enough! We need supper,” Lucy said pragmatically, “and baths!”
