“I mean to.”
“You have had bad luck ever since you rented old Glendoon,” Andrew said. “The curse on those walls is draining good fortune away from us all.”
“I do not believe in curses, or ghosts, or fairies. I believe in luck and what we make of our own lives,” Connor said.
“Maybe your bonny bride will bring you some luck,” Neill said. “They say MacCarrans have fairy blood. She has the look of that ilk.”
Connor frowned. “I know there are fairy legends among the MacCarrans, but Duncrieff never mentioned any of it. It is nonsense. All pretty tales.”
“Granny says Duncrieff’s sisters have the fairy blood and its gifts,” Andrew said.
Connor looked surprised. “Granny said so? Both girls?”
“So she said.” Andrew shrugged. “Did she never mention it to you?”
“I suppose I never asked,” Connor said. “Next time I see her, I will do so.”
“If your bride could turn stones to gold, or gain back your lands, that would be useful,” Andrew said.
“Wake up, lad. There are few lambs in my flocks, and none of my cows have calved for two years. Glendoon’s fields have scarcely produced in that time either. My lands are gone, my rented ruin is falling about my ears. Fairy blood will not fix that.”
“If it is a true fairy gift, it could,” Andrew said.
“Hey, look there.” Neill pointed. “Those are MacCarran lads, coming this way.”
“Aye.” Connor saw two men climbing the slope behind them. “I sent Padraig with word that I could be found in these hills until evening, and would speak with them.”
As the Highlanders came closer, Connor rose to his feet and lifted a hand, waiting, while the wind cleansed through his hair, his shirtsleeves, his thoughts. He had been considering what to say.
“We will have a word with you, Kinnoull,” Allan MacCarran said as they came near. “We have a grudge with you.” He set his hand to the dirk in his belt.
“I know it,” Connor said. “And so you should.”