Page 9 of Memory of a Highlander (Arch Through Time #27)

“B urn my britches!” Knox bellowed loud enough to make Niall wince. “Are ye deaf as well as stupid? Haul them up one at a time or ye’ll break the bloody scaffolding. And if that happens I’ll break yer bloody heads!”

The lads he was bellowing at scowled at this latest admonishment, but moved to obey the foreman’s orders. A large block of river stone that had already been shaped by Niall’s stonemasons was being tied into the rope net, ready to be hauled up the scaffolding where the builders were waiting to receive it.

The next layer of the windmill’s wall was going up steadily and as he craned his neck back to watch, Niall couldn’t help the apprehension and excitement that twirled in his gut.

“Things might go a lot quicker if Knox put as much effort into hauling those stones as he does into yowling,” Joseph said quietly at his side. Quietly enough that Knox didn’t hear, Niall noticed.

The two of them were watching the progress of the building work. It was still early, barely an hour past dawn, but his workers had been at it from first light, making the most of the fine weather, and battling to get the mill ready in time for when the sails arrived.

Niall grinned. Aye, Joseph was right, but he wasn’t about to suggest such a thing to the giant foreman. Knox might be loud and brash, but he certainly knew how to get a job done.

It couldn’t come soon enough for Niall. This windmill, like the draining of the marshes on his northern border, like his introduction of the English plow and crop rotation system, was all designed to ensure that never again would his people have to endure what they just had. The seven ill years people were calling it. Poor weather. Failed harvests. Famine and disease. He had lost many of his people. Too many.

Never again , Niall thought, clenching his fists. We will not go back to that . He thought about the letter he’d received last night and then Lady Murray’s ball in Edinburgh. No matter what I have to do.

“Lady Charlotte seems to be settling in well.”

The comment startled Niall out of his thoughts. “What?”

Joseph glanced at him. “She seems to be settling in. And the two of ye seem to be spending a lot of time together.”

Niall crossed his arms over his broad chest and turned to face his old friend. “All right. Out with it. What have people been saying?”

Joseph spread his hands. “Only that the two of ye were seen going into the old workshop together. And that ye didnae come out again for some time.”

“Is that so?” Niall’s voice was calm, though he felt a slight sliver of annoyance. He had thought his people knew him better than to gossip about him behind his back.

“Aye,” Joseph confirmed. “And some are wondering what two such fine folk might be doing alone in a dusty old workshop all afternoon.”

Niall grunted. “They can wonder all they want. I’ve nothing to hide.”

Joseph merely raised an eyebrow, saying nothing.

Niall sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I was showing her my mother’s old pottery, that’s all.”

“And was it wise to do so alone?”

The annoyance flared into anger. “I can do what I want on my own bloody land, Joseph!”

“Aye, ye can. After all, it willnae be yer reputation that will be ruined, will it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Joseph sighed, turning to face him. “I think ye know full well what it means, my laird. Perhaps ye really were just ‘showing her the pottery’ but the gossips are already wondering who she is and why ye’ve brought her here. It would be best for the lass if ye didnae give them aught else to gossip about.”

Niall ground his teeth. Joseph was right, which annoyed him all the more. He did not need to be lectured by Joseph on propriety, but his friend’s concerns were genuine. He’d already earned himself a reputation as something of a rake amongst Edinburgh society and he didn’t want Charlotte getting caught up in all of that.

“Are ye suggesting I keep away from her?”

“I’m suggesting ye be aware of how yer actions may be perceived,” Joseph replied evenly.

Niall turned to watch as the large river stone was finally hauled up to the builders waiting above. He felt a sudden urge to join them, to lose himself in the physical exertion and leave behind the complicated expectations of being laird.

“Ye have my word, Joseph,” he finally said. “I have no intentions to harm or bring disgrace upon Lady Charlotte.”

Joseph nodded, appearing satisfied with this promise.

Niall clapped his friend on the shoulder and tried to dismiss his concerns. “I’ve too much work to do to be bothered with romance, Joseph.”

Joseph only grunted in response, his gaze steady on the half-built mill.

Niall walked away from the construction site but didn’t return to Glennoch with all its demands. He needed time to think so he turned north and took a little-used track that led him through the fields and pinewoods towards the northern border of his lands.

Here he stopped and looked out. There was nothing to mark the border between his land and his brother’s. No fence. No wall. But even so, it blazed as brightly for Niall as if it had been written in blood.

A sudden gust of wind blew through the tall pines, sending a shiver down his spine, as if the ghosts of past disputes still haunted this unseen boundary. The scent of damp earth and pine resin filled his nostrils, and he closed his eyes.

There was a time when he and his brothers had roamed these woods together, hunting, fishing, laughing. But those days seemed like a lifetime ago.

A sigh escaped from Niall’s lips as he sat on a fallen log and took out the letter he’d received last night.

The parchment was thin and slightly crumpled, sealed with a red wax stamp. He held it up to the scant sunlight filtering through the canopy, the light revealing the coded message written between the lines of mundane gossip that filled the rest of the page.

If anyone should read this, they would think it just a letter from one of his contacts in Edinburgh, keeping him up to date on goings on. But Niall knew better. It was a letter from his employers, a response to the missive he’d sent them on his return to the manor.

Niall’s eyes scanned the coded words quickly, although he’d already memorized them. Unrest was brewing, the rebels becoming bolder. Gatherings of supporters for either side of the argument for union had turned violent and arrests had ensued. Edinburgh was awash with rumor: the English were marching to quell the unrest. The Irish were in secret negotiations with the Jacobites to seize the Western Isles.

A rustling noise behind him caused Niall to turn sharply, hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his dagger. But all he saw was a hare darting out from the underbrush, its white tail bobbing as it disappeared into the thicket.

Drawing in a deep breath and releasing it slowly, he forced himself to relax. He had been on edge ever since he received that letter. Things were becoming ugly, sliding towards disorder. Niall would not let that happen. He would not, could not, let his land and people slide back into the chaos of the years just past.

The letter crumpled as his fist clenched. He would do whatever it took. Wasn’t that the oath he’d taken? He’d let Edinburgh society think what they would of him: philanderer. Rake. Traitor. It didn’t matter. Only ensuring his people’s future mattered.

The sudden crunch of footsteps in the distance brought Niall back to the present. He clasped his dagger again and looked up, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of a column of people walking south across his brother’s lands: cloaked figures, men and women, old and young, all bundled against the wind that swept through the valley. Their eyes were hollow with fatigue.

He slid the letter back into his plaid and rose, making his way towards the strangers with purposeful strides. As he neared, a woman in the lead stiffened, her eyes wide and fearful. A small boy clung to her skirts, his face dirty and tear-streaked.

Niall raised his hands in a show of peace, stopping several feet from them. “I mean no harm,” he said his voice gentle but firm. “I am Niall Campbell.”

The woman squinted at him suspiciously before nudging a man next to her. The man stepped forward, squaring his shoulders as he eyed Niall warily. He was tall, lean with age and hardship.

“We know who ye are, Laird Campbell.”

“Why are ye crossing my brother’s lands?” Niall asked.

The man glanced at the group behind him before returning his gaze to Niall. “Perhaps ye should ask yer brother that question.”

“I’m asking ye.”

The man hesitated, glancing back at the tired huddle of people who were now anxiously watching their exchange.

“We’ve been evicted,” he said finally, his voice rasping like dry leaves in the wind. “Yer brother’s turned us off his land to make way for sheep.”

“And he’s not the only one,” a woman added. “We lived on Boyd MacAllister’s lands for generations, right on the border where it joined yer brother’s. MacAllister has turfed us off too. He and yer brother say there is more profit in sheep than in crofting.”

Niall stared at them, stunned into silence. “Sheep?” he repeated dumbly. His brother’s lands were vast—far larger than the tiny portion Niall had managed to fight for—and fertile enough to sustain both sheep and people. MacAllister’s lands were the same. There was no need for such drastic measures.

“Aye. They say there’s more money in the wool trade,” the man spat out the words with a bitterness that Niall could well understand. He glanced over at the woman and boy again—her face was pinched with worry, and the boy had started to cry softly, his sobs muffled by his mother’s skirts.

“Where will ye go?” Niall asked the man.

He shrugged helplessly. “Edinburgh,” he said after a long pause. “To find work.”

The city. Where there was always work for those who were willing to sell their bodies and souls for a pittance. It was no life for a child, or for anyone, really. But what choice did they have?

Niall was silent for a moment, watching as the group huddled closer together against the biting wind. He could see their breath misting in the air, their bodies shivering beneath thin cloaks and ragged clothes.

“I can offer ye work,” he said suddenly.

The man looked at him sharply, suspicion flashing in his eyes. “Work?”

“I’m constructing a mill on my land. I need strong hands to help build it. And after it’s built, I’ll need more hands to keep it running.”

The man seemed taken aback by this. He glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the group—they were watching Niall intently now, hope dawning on their weary faces.

“And what’s the pay?” The man’s voice held a note of challenge, as if expecting Niall to renege on his offer.

“Fair wages,” Niall stated. “Enough to keep ye and yers fed, clothed, and warm. I’ll provide lodging until the mill is complete. And I dinna farm sheep.”

A murmur of surprise and hope rippled through the group. Eyes brightened, shoulders straightened. The leader seemed to be considering his offer, his gaze flicking between Niall and the worn-out faces behind him, a spark of hope kindling in his weary eyes.

“Well then, Laird Campbell,” he said, extending a calloused hand towards Niall. “It seems ye’ve just hired yerself some workers.”

Niall shook his hand, the coarse palm a testament to years of hard toil. A firm handshake sealed their agreement.

“Indeed I have. Follow me, all of ye.”

As he turned and began leading them all back towards the village, his mind whirled with calculations. To be honest, he didn’t know where he was going to put them all and Flora would likely go apoplectic when he turned up with so many more mouths to feed. But he knew he’d done the right thing. These were Campbell workers. He couldn’t just see them destitute could he?

He just hoped his housekeeper saw it that way.