Page 15 of Laird of Secrets

“Tinneas-an-gradh-dubh,”Ranald repeated. “It is very bad.”

“Bad, aye!” Andrew spoke hastily. “Mr. MacIntyre, sir, let us pass. Only the healing woman can help Hector in his suffering. We do not want to catch this.”

“Go on, then,” MacIntyre growled. “But if you see that rascal Dougal MacGregor, you tell him I am looking for him.”

“I have not seen him for a while,” Andrew said.

“He’s likely crossing the hills with a load of peat reek,” MacIntyre said.

“Kinloch has never been caught at such a thing,” Andrew defended. “He is a fine laird, looking after his glen and his tenants, his cattle and his fields.”

“And his barley brew? Tell him we discovered another whisky still up the glen side. We dismantled it, but we do not know whose it is. Any illegal still found on a landowner’s property is the fault of the landowner. The punishment and the fine will be Kinloch’s to bear on this one.”

Ranald murmured something and spat.

“In English, you old goat, I know you speak it,” MacIntyre said.

“The reverend hired a teacher to come to Glen Kinloch to teach us English,” Andrew said. “Perhaps my father can learn English from her.”

“He needs no teaching. And you, lad, are a slick-tongued otter, and I do not trust a word you say.”

Dougal coughed again, practically retching. Miss MacCarran patted his back.

MacIntyre’s companion swore. “Let them pass, sir. If the old man dies—”

“Go on,” MacIntyre said. “But tell your kinsmen and friends we are watching them. We have more men and new laws now. Tell all your free trading kin they will not get away with crimes so easily as before.”

“Good evening sir,” Andrew said, and snapped the reins.

As the horse stepped forward and the cart lurched, Dougal kept his arms around the girl. His cheek was against hers now, under cover of the musty old blanket. He felt her breath wisp over his ear. He heard Andrew and Ranald talking. Then Ranald laughed outright.

“Kinloch, did you hear it?” Ranald called back.

“I did,” Dougal said. “Be quiet, you, until we are far away.”

“Tinneas-an-gradh-dubh,”Andrew repeated, hooting. “The black lovesickness!”

“The black lovesickness is upon him,” Ranald crowed. “He’s got it bad!”

“It will slay him for certain,” Andrew added with exaggerated seriousness.

“Best see the lass home and save the laird from being so sick with love,” Ranald said.

“Enough,” Dougal called gruffly.

The girl was laughing again, softly. He realized he still covered her mouth with his hand. Releasing his fingers, he felt her tender lips under his palm. Sudden desire spiked hot through him. He wondered if it was safe to sit up yet, sit away, clear the air between them, for it was warm with heat and feelings he dared not explore.

“Sotinneas-an-gradh-dubhis a plague in this glen,” she said.

“If a beautiful lass leaves the laird broken-hearted, it is the black lovesickness for him,” Ranald said jovially.

“You are enjoying this far too much,” Dougal said.

“Has the laird suffered this awful plague before?” she asked, eyes sparkling.

“Not as often as my kinsmen want you to believe,” he drawled. She laughed, and he heard both delight and reluctance, as if she did not want to be at ease with them but could not help it. He smiled in the dark, feeling the same with her.

“Clear, Uncle?” he called, flipping the plaid away to let in cool fresh air.