Page 90 of A Rogue in Moonlight
“Miss Fiona, forgive me if I am being familiar,” Hugh said, “but I hope we are friends. And as the kirk minister, I am concerned for every soul here in the glen. The night of the fire, when you stayed over at Kinloch House, I hope all was well between you and the laird. If I may ask—”
“There were unusual circumstances that night, but there is no need for concern, I assure you,” she said.
“Then I trust you were safe and it was not—an awkward situation for you.”
She frowned. “The laird was very respectful, Reverend. Do not fret on my account.”
“Good. Maisie said she found whisky glasses about, and broken glass, and a bit of a mess. She is not a gossip, I promise. We two are fond of one another, if I may say, and so she often confides in me.”
The whisky glasses, Fiona thought, stomach sinking. She had forgotten to go back to the library and clean it completely, so Maisie had seen them the next day. “I was coughing from the smoke and took a whisky remedy for it. I dropped the glass, and it broke.”
“Was it fairy whisky?” He glanced at her. “Maisie said that bottle was open, which puzzled her. The laird does not normally drink that sort, nor does he take much whisky at all, though he makes the best around. Forgive my curiosity, but did you sample it? It is legendary stuff, and they say it can have an odd effect if too much is taken.”
Startled, she shrugged. “I did taste it. A very nice whisky. The laird came home, and we visited briefly. It was a lovely evening. I was tired and went to bed early.” She turned her head to look up the slope and hide her deepening blush.
They walked downward in near silence, approaching the road that cut through the glen, and so walked among the crowd. The chaotic center of the game hurtled and rumbled along, approaching the standing stones at the base of one of the slopes. Fiona remembered hiding behind one of those very stones one night, encountering the smugglers—and their laird.
She called to the children to come closer, anxious to keep them away from the crowd and the rough game. Hugh called too, then took Fiona’s arm.
“This way,” he said, drawing her away from the horde. “Dougal will be waiting nearby. He left the game a little while ago. Lucy, Jamie, Annabel! Come along!”
“Aye, sir,” Jamie said, running toward them, making sure the girls came too.
Feeling the pressure of the reverend’s grip, Fiona frowned. He was deeply concerned, which increased her fear for Dougal and his uncles if they were indeed planning a risky venture that night.
MacIan led her and the children toward the shore of the loch and around a curve of the hill, the spread of the glen fading behind them. Ahead, a massive cluster of limestone and red sandstone rose up near the edge of the loch, partly blocking the view of the winding, pebbled shoreline. A thicket of bushes and trees further screened the area, but soon Fiona spotted a narrow path that paralleled the shore. The water slapped rhythmically against the base of a gigantic rock that thrust upward like a chunk of the cliffs above.
“Reverend, where are we going?” Fiona asked. “Children, hold hands and stay by the rock wall. The way through here is narrow. Be careful as you walk. Sir, are you sure Dougal is waiting for us here?”
“Aye, he said he would meet us up there.” Hugh led the way, again taking her arm.
Fiona glanced up at the rock walls. Dark crevices split the rock face, and she could see more gaps hidden by bushes. Caves likely honeycombed the rock, she thought, caves that smugglers would use. Dougal might indeed wait up there. Reassured, she followed MacIan and reached back to take Lucy’s hand, the others coming along behind.
“Here,” Hugh said, shepherding them up the rocky slope.
Fiona felt a deep misgiving. She paused, looking around, feeling that something was not right. Why would Dougal want them to come up here? She hung back, but MacIan smiled encouragement, gestured upward, and took her hand this time.
He guided her to walk just ahead of them and gestured toward a triangular crevice in the rock face. Urging her inside the niche, he ushered the children in with her, and then ducked his head to stepinside too. The entrance was low enough that Fiona had to dip her head a bit too, but once past the overhang of the entrance, she could easily stand upright inside the cavern. Jamie and Lucy jumped around and hooted with delight to be inside the cavity in the rock, while Annabel turned around in silent awe.
Lucy looked up. “It is not very big! Why are we here, Reverend?”
“Where is Kinloch?” Fiona pulled away from Hugh’s grasp. “Kinloch! Dougal MacGregor!” Her voice echoed. The cave was narrow yet seemed quite deep, and she soon noticed footprints in the scattering of dust on the floor. “Who is here?”
“Kinloch was here, further in with his whisky stock. If he is not here, he will return soon.” MacIan pointed into the shadows formed by the rough creviced walls. The back of the cave ran into deeper darkness, where Fiona could see a sharp downward slope.
“I do not want to be here. I want to the ba’!” Jamie protested. MacIan took the boy’s shoulder and turned him firmly toward a second opening at the back of the cave. Reaching up to a natural shelf, he produced a lantern, which he lit quickly with a flint.
“Go on,” he told them. “It is safe.”
Something was wrong. Fiona reached for Lucy and gathered the three children toward her, backing away, her hands moving along their shoulders, prodding them. But as she rounded with them toward the light-filled entrance, MacIan stepped in her way. Tall and broad, he blocked the exit, so that she had to turn sideways, shuffling along with the children. MacIan turned up the lantern wick to show a rough, descending path.
“This way. You know Kinloch is smuggling cargo out tonight,” he said. “He wants you kept safe should there be trouble. I know more about this than others, so he trusted me to bring you here. Come on.”
Fiona hesitated, looking around, realizing that there were multiple caves connected here in a complex of rock like a honeycomb. The cells must have formed as bubbles in the intensely hot ancient liquidmaterial that had hardened over eons to form the limestone cave and cavelets where they stood now.
Intrigued by the formations despite her growing wariness, she noticed various strata, sandstone and greywacke sparkling with thousands of crystal particles. The lantern light caught them, turning common stone to glittering surfaces. Crystals were embedded beside veins of metal that could, she realized, be mined. Something else caught her attention then.
“This is astonishing,” she breathed. “Some of these crevices and caves go downward—under the loch!”
