Page 30 of A Rogue in Moonlight
“Then this is the place for you. We are happy to have a teacher again. For a long while, the laird’s sister was our dominie.”
She blinked in surprise. “His sister?”
“She died of a fever a few years ago. A dreadful time. The laird is the guardian for his niece, and has more interest in the school now that she is of learning age.”
“His niece will be in my class?”
“Aye. Kinloch, good morning!” he called.
Fiona turned to see Dougal MacGregor coming toward them, his stride setting his kilt to swinging, and his dark hair wafting in the breeze. He scowled as he neared them and turned the glower on her. She smiled.
“Miss MacCarran. Reverend,” he said. “I see you are ready to begin this morning.”
“Despite attempts to the contrary.” She brightened her smile. His frown deepened.
“Lucky to you, then. You have several scholars for your classroom.”
“So I see.” She turned to walk between the two men. “It is a pretty day. I had a nice walk across the glen with Mr. MacIan, who was kind enough to escort me.”
“I could have sent the carriage for you,” MacGregor said.
“No need. I enjoy walking. Your glen is so lovely and peaceful. No wonder the Highlands are growing so popular. There is such beauty here in the north.”
“Aye.” His sudden, crooked, charming smile was unexpected. “Glen Kinloch is a small and remote place, but it is like the romantic Highland glens that tourists go on about. It has a wild setting, majestic views, and good, hardworking souls living in it.”
She wondered if he was teasing her for admiring the place like a tourist or warning her to remember that the outer world should leavethe place in peace. Either way, he genuinely loved his glen. “It does have a wonderful quaint aspect,” she agreed. “Coming here is like traveling back to an earlier time in Scotland.”
“Back to the days of cattle thieves and rogues?” MacGregor drawled.
“I was thinking of something more idyllic.”
“Ah, an idealist,” he said softly. His eyes, in sunlight, were mossy green.
“At times. Are you, Mr. MacGregor?”
“Not any longer,” he answered.
“By idyllic, I believe the lady means the Highlands as described in Sir Walter Scott’s grand poetry,’” Hugh said.
“I do mean that. Do you know his work, either of you?” She smiled at both.
“I have read his work,” MacIan said. “Some of his descriptions remind me of our glen.” He drew a breath and began to recite in a sonorous voice.
The wanderer’s eye could barely vie
The summer heaven’s delicious blue;
So wondrous wild, the whole might seem
The scenery of a fairy dream.
“Perfect!” Fiona applauded. “I am just fascinated by fairy lore.” She stopped, always wary of revealing how keen her interest was, and why.
“Kinloch knows much about local legends,” MacIan said. “Quite the expert.”
“No more than anyone else knows,” MacGregor said curtly.
“I am interested to learn more,” she said.
