Page 37 of A Rogue in Moonlight
Listening, Dougal glanced at the schoolhouse door again and heard laughter coming from inside. The children were enjoying their day. He felt a surge of regret, and at the same time, resolve. This had to happen.
Decided, he turned to his uncles. “Tell her about the roof. Tell her the school must be closed until repairs are made. But first, we will give her a few days to enjoy our glen.”
*
Leaning back againsta sun-warmed boulder on the hill, Fiona studied her pencil rubbing to make sure she had captured the delicate imprint of an ancient arthropod, left in limestone eons ago. She slid the page into an envelope in her knapsack, then laid a fresh sheet of paper over another rock surface and rubbed it with graphite to capture an impression of another minuscule fossil.
Putting the things away, she walked across the brow of the hill, gazing out over glen and loch. The afternoon was cool and misty, andshe had excused her students a little early, knowing that many had chores at home or in the fields. They had done good work that day, and she was willing to be flexible with lessons, as it would keep them content to return to school.
The extra time gave her a chance to do some hillwalking in daylight to search for fossil remains. She had promised her brother James to look for specific rock varieties, take notes, and sketch what she saw to help his research on the geological nature of the antediluvian earth in the Scottish Highlands. Her knowledge of fossils dovetailed nicely with his research, and she often supported his work by sketching finds for him.
Identifying rocks and fossils was enjoyable and no trouble, but finding any trace of fairies, as required by her grandmother’s will, would be impossible. Still, armed with a notepad and Conte pencils, she hoped to find something that would meet the approval of the solicitor, Mr. Browne, and especially the scrutiny of Sir Walter Scott, her grandmother’s old friend. The late Lady Struan’s will had to be satisfied unless her brother could succeed in contesting it. That was doubtful too.
Heading across the breast of the hill, she kept the loch to her left as she went, allowing her to easily find her way back to Mary MacIan’s house. Seeing an outcropping of greywacke, she climbed toward it and knelt to study it.
She examined it closely, particularly interested in finding clusters of fossils and varieties of rock and minerals that could mingle in greywacke. Boulders were easy enough to explore, thrusting out of grassy turf and heather.
One small rock, small enough to fit in her hand, preserved a tiny impression of a trilobite. An ancient sea had left its traces even as high as these hills, she thought, reaching for her notebook to record the thought and make a sketch.
“That is a devil of an insect you have there,” said a voice behindher. Fiona jerked in surprise, turning to see Dougal MacGregor standing nearby. “Pardon, Miss MacCarran. I did not mean to startle you.”
“Good afternoon, Kinloch. I nearly threw a rock at you, I was that surprised,” she said with a half laugh.
“And I am glad you did not.” He dropped to a knee beside her and glanced at the pages poking out of her knapsack. “Very nice drawings. Yours?”
“Yes. Some are drawings, and some are rubbings made over the stone. Those are arthropods,” she explained, as he looked at some of the pages. “The one in your hand is a trilobite—the devil of an insect that you mentioned. They were not exactly insects, but rather like very tiny crabs, little creatures floating about in the ancient seas. When they died, their bodies left impressions in mud, which over time became rock, preserving them forever.”
He nodded. “I have seen such things before, out in the hills. But I did not know what they were.” He glanced up, his eyes a piercing green. “Ancient sea? Here?”
“Some geologists believe that much of the Earth was covered with water eons ago, including Scotland, since we can find fossils of marine creatures, fish, and shells to prove the theory. My brother is studying the geological part of the puzzle.”
“Lord Struan is a scholar, then, not just of the peerage. A professor, you said?”
“Natural sciences, aye. When I find good examples like these, I make sketches and rubbings to help his research.”
“You also haul away rocks to give him,” he drawled, hefting her knapsack.
She laughed. “I hope the Laird of Kinloch does not mind if I take a few rocks.”
“He does not care in the least. Steal as many as you like.” His eyes sparkled with humor. “Fish on a Scottish mountain, how curious.”
“This one is an ancient shrimp,” she said, showing him another drawing. “There, at the bottom, is a row of tiny arthropods left in limestone.”
He studied them carefully. “We call these fairy tracks.”
Fiona tilted her head. “They do look like tiny footprints.”
“When I was a lad, I was sure they were fairy footprints. I have read some about fossils since then, but I never thought they could be the fairy feet my father showed me when I was young.”
“Few fossils are so complete that we can recognize them as the tiny animals they once were. It takes a keen eye to find them impressed in the rock. You can see plants too, leaves and ferns and bark, if you look closely enough.” She smiled. “But I rather like calling them fairy tracks.”
“It is better than calling them Highland shrimp.” He laughed, then stood and held out his hand. “Come up to me,” he murmured.
Fiona paused, recalling the first time she had seen him on another hillside. She had taken him for one of the Fey then, and he had used that same odd, lilting phrase. Now he was smiling, affable—and yet still compelling and mysterious, as if he did indeed have a magical aura about him on this misty hillside.
She very much liked the man she saw now, already familiar to her, who smiled easily and did not insist that she leave this place. She set her gloved hand in his as he helped her to her feet.
Brushing dirt and grass from the skirt of her dark-blue gown, she adjusted the drape of the plaid shawl. It was a gift woven by weaver Elspeth MacArthur, Lady Struan, James’s wife. She smiled up at MacGregor. “What brings you into the hills this afternoon? Surely not fossil collecting.”
