Page 97 of Laird of Secrets
“That, my bonny lass, can be arranged. Come ahead.” Dougal shepherded all of them along, his arm around Fiona as they walked.
“I am hungry! But who will make supper?” Jamie asked. “Uncle Fergus is a terrible cook, and Maisie went to her father’s house again.”
“I could do that,” Fiona said.
“We would all be most grateful if you did,” Dougal murmured. “Will you stay in the glen, then, love?”
She smiled up at him. “I might.”
They descended the hill together, and Dougal raised a hand to wave as he saw Fiona’s brother climbing the slope toward them, hallooing and smiling.
Epilogue
Fiona read another rhyme aloud for her students, and paused to listen to them recite it back to her—Gaelic to English, and English to Gaelic—and then she glanced at the door, hearing a commotion outside. Lessons had begun but half an hour ago, and it was early yet, though she had thrown open a window to the fresh spring air. Through that, she heard the rumble of voices outside. Excusing herself, she went to the door and opened it.
Several people stood out in the yard, men and women, some older children and adolescents. She saw Neill MacDonald and his father, along with Helen MacDonald, Annabel’s mother, and several others whose names she knew, and some she did not.
“Good morning,” she said, heart thumping anxiously, for she had no idea why so many were gathered outside the schoolhouse. She wondered, with a sudden ache, if they had come to bid her farewell. Her teaching agreement in the glen would end all too soon. “What can I do for you?”
Mary MacIan walked through the little crowd toward her. The old woman had been saddened to learn of Hugh’s involvement with Lord Eldin, resulting in the cave collapse, and she had fair blistered him with her opinion. Hugh had apologized profusely to her, and Dougal and Fiona too, and since then had kept to his side of the glen and his kirk and parishioners. Few outside of a small group knew the truth of what had happened that day. Dougal had forgiven Hugh, but when his uncles found out, they had taken the poor reverend to task once again.
Just then Fiona looked up, as Dougal appeared just behind Mary. Her heart bounded to see him there, as it did each time she saw him. If a day went past when they did not meet, she missed him keenly. And at that moment, as their eyes met, he seemed the only one there, all the others fading to mist around him.
But she did not want to leave the glen, if that was why they all gathered here. Perhaps word had gone out about what had happened in the caves, and perhaps it did not matter that the laird was fond of the teacher. Perhaps they had all decided she must go, being a kinswoman to Lord Eldin, the man who would have brought ruin and tourism to their beautiful glen. But Eldin had sailed for the Continent, and would not return for a long time, so her brother said.
Nearly a month had passed since the ba’ game, even longer since she had spent a night at Kinloch House. The time had passed quickly while Fiona taught daily lessons and answered questions about everything from the cave collapse to geology—a chance to talk about natural philosophy or science, though the rest of that story remained a secret among a few.
She knew how occupied Dougal had been, uncovering and relocating scores of whisky casks and kegs from the rubble-filled caves. Crossing paths with him on the meadow between Kinloch House and the school, she learned that he had sold the promised amounts to merchants by night when the cutters arrived, as agreed. His honor and his word were of utmost importance to him, and she was glad to know he had been able to meet the quota, even if it involved smuggling it out.
Some of the whisky he had sold to Eldin for an exorbitant fee, for the new hotel that soon would welcome tourists. Eldin, leaving for a holiday abroad and aware that his reputation as an earl and peer could be harmed by rumors of the disaster in the caves, had asked that his disgraceful behavior never be mentioned. The others had quietly agreed.
Her cousin was trying to make amends, Fiona knew, although she might never trust him again. He was like a hawk, an untamed bird of prey that could be cooperative as long as it suited and was convenient, but had an unpredictable wild side that would never be fully agreeable.
Looking at Dougal now, and the crowd gathered behind him, her heart fluttered—did they truly want to wish her farewell so soon? In her daydreams, she had longed for an invitation to stay here—forever. But she had not found her chance to answer Dougal’s question about marriage.
And to her disappointment, he had not asked again. Had he finally decided that it was best she return to Edinburgh, while he returned to smuggling and a bachelor life? She dreaded it was so. Had he made up his mind—or was he waiting for her to decide? She had not wanted to push the matter, enjoying the time they were taking lately to get to know one another better.
Now she stepped over the threshold, brushing chalk dust from her skirts and clasping her hands. Her students left their seats, one by one, to come to the door behind her, and follow her out into the clearing.
As Fiona and the students approached, Dougal leaned down to listen as Mary MacIan murmured to him. He nodded.
“Fiona MacCarran, teacher in the glen,” Mary said in Gaelic. Fiona knew that some of those here, come down from the hills, did not have much English. “These people want a word with you.”
She nodded, tightening her hands, glancing at Dougal. He watched calmly, silently. “Aye, what is it?” she asked.
“We want to know if you will teach us,” Mary said.
Fiona blinked in surprise. “Teach you?”
“Some of us want to learn to read English,” Mary said. “Some must learn to sign our names, and some of us want to speak more English. And a couple of these rascals need to be able to read their own arrest warrants.” A ripple of laughter sounded. “And so we want to join your class.”
Stunned, Fiona glanced at Dougal, who nodded slowly, silently.
“I would be honored to teach you, all of you,” she answered in Gaelic. Several of the folks gathered nodded, pleased, and murmured to one another. “But just now the schoolhouse is full, with twelve scholars. And the roof leaks. I hear it must be replaced soon or it will fall down upon our heads. And . . . my teaching arrangement will end soon. I will be leaving the glen.” She dared not glance at Dougal, who stood listening calmly.
“You could stay,” Mary MacIan said.
“Aye, you could,” Dougal said mildly. Fiona flicked a glance toward him.
