Highland Rogue (19 page)

Ewan drank in the sight of her, as she gazed in awe at the waterfall. “Sometimes the beauty that’s near at hand is the hardest to see.”

Would she understand what he meant? Was he being too blatant? Too subtle? All his life Ewan had been confident of his own charm, when he chose to exercise it. Suddenly, he cared too much to be sure of himself.

The pony shook its mane and whinnied, bringing Ewan back to earth. “I reckon somebody’s trying to remind us he toted a lunch all the way up here, so we’d better get busy and eat it.”

“Somehow, it doesn’t seem quite right to eat an ordinary lunch in such a magnificent setting.” Claire lifted the rug off the pony’s back and spread it on the ground. “We ought to be dining on manna from heaven, or golden apples from Olympus. Quaffing the Fairy King’s enchanted mead.”

Ewan chuckled as he unstrapped the picnic hamper and let the pony loose to graze. “I never took ye for a fanciful lass. What’s all this whimsy ye’re spouting?”

“I’ve never been in such a fanciful place.” Claire stooped and broke off a spray of heather, then drank in its subtle, fresh perfume. “I feel like I’ve strayed into the world of fairy stories, and the wee folk might pop out at any moment and grant me three wishes.”

Lifting her face to the sun, she began to spin ’round and ’round.

“That’s the heights making ye lightheaded.” Ewan caught her in a dizzy wobble and lowered her to the picnic rug. “Have another drink of cider and try one of Rosie’s
bridies
. I reckon they’ve got more flavor than that manna stuff.”

He slipped the cider jug into one of her hands and a wee golden-brown pie full of meat and taties and onions into the other. “There’s oat cakes, too, and a bit of smoked salmon. And there’s cheese and Dundee cake. Nothing too fine or fancy, just good Highland fare.”

Claire washed down a big bite of
bridie
with a long swig from the cider jug. “Mmm! I was wrong. This is the perfect food to eat here—a banquet fit for a Highland chieftain!”

“I’ll tell Rosie ye said that. She’ll be tickled.”

They enjoyed the rest of their picnic in the relaxed silence of good comrades, serenaded by the lilting music of the hill water. Every time he glanced at Claire. Ewan felt as if his heart was plunging over Linn Riada with all its beauty … and peril.

“I reckon we’d better head back.” Ewan began to pack the remnants of their lunch into the basket. “Mrs. A will blame me if we’re late for dinner.”

“She’s quite a gargoyle, isn’t she?” Claire was not disposed to think well of anyone responsible for making them leave this enchanting place. “I probably should dismiss her, but she does keep a tight rein on the place while we’re in London.”

“It’s not just her.” Ewan didn’t sound anxious to leave, either. “With guests to feed, Rosie will be cooking her heart out. I’ve seen what it’s like in the kitchen when a meal gets held up. It’s a lot of bother for the staff.”

“I suppose it must be.” With a faint sigh of regret, Claire rose and folded up the picnic rug.

A qualm of guilt seized her when she recalled the number of times dinner had been delayed at Strathandrew without anyone in her family sparing a thought for the turmoil it might cause below stairs. “You must admit, this isn’t an easy place to leave.”

Her insides twisted tighter when she remembered that she had been the cause of his long exile from Linn Riada and all the other places he loved so well. Could whatever prosperity he’d found in America compensate him for their loss?

“I won’t gainsay ye.” Ewan stood for another long moment staring at the waterfall, as if eager to etch it in his memory.

The angle of the sun had altered, so the spray no longer spawned the dozens of miniature rainbows that had caught Claire’s breath with their uncanny beauty. But it was still an enchanting sight.

Something moved her to approach and stand beside Ewan, her arm pressed lightly against his—sharing one
last
look, as he had shared the first with her. “Thank you for bringing me here. I’m honored.”

Was it her oversensitive imagination, or did he edge away from her when he replied, “Ye make it sound as if it’s something that’s mine to give. Linn Riada is on Talbot land. It’s always belonged to ye.”

“What’s the good of owning something if you don’t know it?” For years her heart had been his, and lately he had reclaimed it, without ever knowing about either.

They reloaded the pony in thoughtful silence, then set off.

“Are we not going back the same way we came?” asked Claire. Her legs and backside felt stiff and a little sore after their steep walk, followed by a long sit on the rocky heath.

“We can, if ye like,” said Ewan. “But I’ve already seen what I wanted to see over there. The way we’re headed, ye can sometimes catch sight of the stags all gathered. Have ye ever seen that?”

Claire shook her head. “Father didn’t approve of girls coming anywhere near a hunt.”

“It’s quite a sight.”

Though not one they were destined to see that afternoon, as it happened.

They had been walking for some time in a westerly direction over gradually declining slopes when Claire shaded her eyes against the setting sun and asked, “What’s over there? Another ruined castle?”

Glancing in the direction she’d pointed, Ewan shook his head.

“A stone circle?” If so, she would make certain they gave it a wide berth.

Everyone else had thought it a fine joke, but she
had
seen a fierce blue-painted face staring out at her from behind one of those eerie ancient stones. A dozen years later, the vivid memory still gave her chills.

“It’s nothing worth seeing,” Ewan insisted in a gruff tone that only piqued her interest.

“Are you sure it’s not a castle?” She peered toward the regular piles of stone. “From this distance, it looks very like that Eilean Tioran place.”

“It’s
not
a castle!”

“What is it, then?”

“It’s a village.” Ewan heaved a bitter sigh. “Or what was left of one after folks were evicted so the laird could sell this land to yer family. He’d already moved his clansmen off the hills to pasture sheep. When that wasn’t profitable enough …”

His voice died away for a moment, then he found it again. “Gran told me how the laird’s factors set fire to the thatched roofs with old and sick folk still inside the cottages.”

The wind rustled a forlorn sigh through the barren branches of a twisted tree. Claire fancied it bore an acrid whiff of smoke from long ago. “That’s terrible! What became of those people—the ones who weren’t killed outright?”

Ewan’s gaze swept over the forsaken piles of stone. “Some found passage to America. Others went to Glasgow to find work. Young men enlisted in the Highland Regiments. Lassies went into service on estates like Strathandrew. A few fools tried to farm a bit of land farther up the coast that was no good for hunting.”

“Your family?” Claire almost couldn’t bear to ask. But neither could she bear not knowing.

Ewan tugged on the pony’s lead to make it walk faster. “Pa never did fall to stealing sheep, that I know of. We might have been better off if he had.”

Claire cringed to recall the heartless quip about sheep-thieving she’d flung at Ewan the night of the Fortescues’ ball. “Can you ever forgive me for being so unfeeling? I swear, I never would have said such a thing if I’d known about … all this.”

“I know.” The temperate tone of his voice held a pardon. “It’s not like I’ve never had reason to regret things I’ve said in anger.”

His response emboldened her to ask, “What
did
your father do?”

“Worked himself to death, and my ma along with him, on a piece of rock that wasn’t fit to farm. They were so worn down when the bad harvests of the forties came, they sickened with diphtheria. Afterward, I went to live with Gran at Strathandrew.”

Claire wanted to tell him how sorry she was. But all the conventional words seemed inadequate. Besides, Ewan hadn’t finished talking. Perhaps the best thing she could do for him was not to speak, but to listen with a compassionate heart.

“Gran had tried to talk Pa into taking a job as a stalker at Strathandrew, but he was too proud. I remember him quoting Burns, though I didn’t know what it meant back then. ‘The English steel we could disdain, secure in valor’s station; But English gold has been our bane—Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!’ ”

Claire reached for his hand. “I shouldn’t have asked. You wanted a nice visit home to see all your old haunts. Now I’ve stirred up these dreadful memories, instead. I
am
sorry.”

She was sorry on her own account, too. For spoiling a day that had promised to be idyllic—one she could have looked back on with delight for years to come.

No matter what happened.

Well, a fine cock-up he’d made of that!

Ewan glowered at himself in the shaving mirror as he dragged a comb through his hair in a halfhearted effort to make himself presentable for dinner. Not that it mattered.

If Claire Talbot had been disposed to look on him with anything more than polite sufferance, his self-pitying blather about the Clearances would soon put a stop to it.

“What possessed ye to go that way in the first place, ye daft fool?” he growled at his scowling reflection.

He’d known the old crofts lay in that direction. He could just as easily have brought Claire home by another route. Then, when she’d seen them and asked, couldn’t he have made light of it, instead of making the whole thing sound so … tragic?

He had wanted to show her the waterfall—to share one of his treasures with her. Perhaps as a way of letting her see there were riches a person couldn’t earn … or inherit. They belonged to anyone with the spirit to go looking for them, regardless of rank or worldly wealth.

The waters of Linn Riada gave rainbows, music and magic to laird and gillie alike. In some mysterious fashion, sharing all that with Claire had put them both on the same footing. It might even have given him a slight advantage, for he’d been the benefactor and she the recipient of his gift. The crofter village had reversed all that, making her feel sorry for him.

Shooting one final grimace at his reflection, Ewan headed for the dining room, bracing himself for a damn awkward evening. In spite of that, he still found his stride quickening as he descended the grand staircase. He’d been apart from Claire for less than an hour, yet he could hardly wait to see her again.

As he entered the dining room, Ewan checked his headlong rush.

Lost in thought, Claire stood before the huge windows that provided a fine view of the loch. Each pane of glass in the vast array had been scoured to a transparent sparkle. She wore a gown the color of bluebells that carpeted the Argyll woodland in spring. The style was simple, yet becoming to her willowy figure. Ewan could tell that, true to her word, she’d forgone the unnatural constriction of a corset.

For a few sweet moments that passed all too quickly, he drank in the sight of her, as refreshing as cold, tart cider after a long day’s stalk in the hills.

Then, with the mysterious intuition of a wild hind in his sights, she sensed his presence and turned toward him. “Ewan, I’m sorry. I was just enjoying the view.”

The sincere warmth in her tone and gaze thawed any awkwardness on his part.

He grinned. “That’s all right. So was I.”

Perhaps she did not understand his impudent bit of flattery. Or perhaps she preferred not to acknowledge it, for any one of a dozen reasons.

Her smile of welcome changed to a look of sweet earnest as she skirted the long dining table to approach him. “Would you like a sherry before dinner? I think Mrs. McMurdo would prefer us to get started soon.”

Ewan strode forward, meeting Claire in the middle of the room. “I don’t need a drink to rouse my appetite.” He pulled out her chair and held it for her. “Our walk took care of that.”

Glenna McMurdo peeped into the dining room just then. When Claire responded to her questioning look with a nod, she hurried away again.

“About our walk,” said Claire, once Ewan had taken his seat opposite her. “It got me thinking, and I have an idea I’d like to discuss with you.”

“With me?” He could not imagine what.

She nodded. “I cannot think of a better person to consult.”

Her confidence warmed him. “If it’s an opinion ye want, I’ll do my best to offer a sensible one. What’s this idea of yers?”

Glenna returned with a tureen of her mother’s cock-a-leekie soup, the hearty aroma of which set Ewan’s mouth watering. Claire waited until the girl had ladled generous helpings into their bowls, then returned to the kitchen.

“Seeing that village and all the empty countryside made me wonder if Mr. Catchpole isn’t right about Strathandrew, after all. It does seem a waste to keep so much land for the use of a single family—particularly now that Father is no longer around to host his shooting parties.”

“Are ye thinking of selling the place?” The notion took away his appetite, even for Rosie’s fine cooking.

“Not selling,” Claire assured him. “At least not all of it. I couldn’t part with this house. It’s as much a home to me as anywhere. But I wonder if there isn’t some way to make the estate more productive and of benefit to the local people?”

“What are ye proposing, lass?”

“I’m not certain. But surely between the two of us, we can come up with a few ideas.”

She looked so eager, Ewan could not keep a tiny flicker of enthusiasm from stirring inside him.

Lifting his spoon to his lips, he savored a mouthful of Rosie’s nourishing, flavorful soup. “I reckon we can, if we put our heads together.”

Claire looked at him as if he’d just given her an expensive gift. For the rest of the meal, they tossed ideas back and forth about fanning and fishing, kelp harvesting and whiskey distilling. Even some far-fetched ones like building a hotel and using the
Marlet
to fetch folks from Glasgow on holiday excursions.

“I have one more favor to ask you,” said Claire as she set aside her spoon after a helping of rich Clootie dumpling.

“Name it.”

“Whatever enterprise we decide upon, I shall be much too occupied with Brancasters to oversee it myself.”