Page 8 of Somewhere Along The Way (Mackinnon #3)

“I’ve a curious feeling you’ve decided to accept,” Charles said.

Ross grinned. “You’re a sly old weasel, Mr. Pinckney. I have a feeling you knew I’d accept before I did.”

Mr. Pinckney laughed. “To be perfectly honest, the moment I read those reports on you, I knew you’d accept. Eventually.”

“And how did you know that?”

“Your past lifestyle made it inevitable, Mr. Mackinnon. Absolutely inevitable. There are just so many towns to be run out of, you see.”

Ross was still grinning. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

Charles handed him an oiled leather pouch.

“This contains quite a bit of information on your father’s family and the Clan Mackinnon.

Your grandfather thought it would help things along a bit if you would study it and learn as much about the history of your family and the land as you could before the two of you meet. ”

Ross took the pouch, bringing it to his forehead in a salute. “Well, here’s to my first meeting with old Lachlan,” he said, and started to turn away.

“As chief of the Mackinnon clan, your grandfather is referred to as ‘the Mackinnon’, not Lachlan.”

“That’s all he’s ever called?”

“When the occasion warrants it, he is also referred to as ‘your grace’, or ‘the duke’.”

Ross nodded. “As long as I don’t have to curtsy.”

The corners of Mr. Pinckney’s lips twitched. “A handshake will suffice,” he said. “Even in Scotland.”

“I can handle a handshake.”

“I have a feeling you can handle almost anything you set your mind to.”

“From what I hear, that seems to be a Mackinnon trait.”

“It’s also a good way for you and your grandfather to lock horns.”

“If my grandfather is anything like the other Mackinnons I know, he was born with a contrary spirit.”

Charles Pinckney slapped Ross on the back. “He has long been known to harbor the spirit of opposition, if that’s what you mean.”

An hour later Ross was wrapping things up with Charles Pinckney and signing the last of the documents placed before him. “Are you sure all of this is necessary? I’m not signing my life away, am I?”

Charles laughed. “No, of course not. It’s just that everything must be validated, so we can establish that you are who you say you are, Mr. Mackinnon.

The others are receipts for the files and information I’ve given you.

” Charles Pinckney pushed one more paper in front of Ross.

“Sign this one and that should be the last of them.”

Ross studied the document. “What, exactly, am I signing now?”

“It’s simply a receipt stating that I relinquished the sum of eight hundred dollars to you for the purchase of your passage to Scotland and your traveling expenses.”

“Eight hundred dollars?”

“Your grandfather intends that you should want for nothing.”

“And here I grew up thinking ‘ Want’ was my middle name.” Mr. Pinckney laughed and Ross signed. He handed the paper back. “I never dreamed my signature would be worth eight hundred dollars,” he said.

“It soon will be worth considerably more than that.” After checking the document over, Charles went to his safe and removed three envelopes, handing two of them to Ross.

“This one contains the money. The other contains the necessary information about your final destination and directions to your grandfather’s estate.

There is also the name of his solicitor in Edinburgh, in case anything should happen to your grandfather before you get there.

” Charles paused, looking down at the third envelope he still held in his hand.

Ross looked at the envelope and then at Charles. “Is that one for me as well?”

“My instructions were to give this one to you to be opened only if you ever questioned the rightness of your decision.”

Ross laughed. “I’ve been doing that since I signed the last paper.”

Charles raised both eyebrows, but said nothing. He handed Ross the envelope.

Ross studied the three envelopes but didn’t open any of them. “If there isn’t anything else, I’ll be on my way.”

Charles Pinckney studied Ross as the young man turned and crossed the room.

Although he guessed Ross to be no more than twenty-five, his eyes had the look of a man with much more experience than one could collect by twenty-five.

His steps had a sort of vigorous purpose that said he was a man accustomed to activity.

But it was difficult to tell, from the clothes he wore, just what that activity might be, regardless of what the reports said.

“Oh, Mr. Mackinnon,” Charles Pinckney said as Ross reached the door, “there is more than ample money provided for you to purchase proper attire.”

Ross turned a questioning eye in his direction and looked down at his clothes. “What’s wrong with what I have on? Isn’t this proper enough for you?”

“It isn’t for me, Mr. Mackinnon. I was thinking of your grandfather.

The old gentleman is a duke, don’t forget, and, from what I hear, quite a stickler for propriety.

He doesn’t ask, he expects. And because he is a duke, he can get away with it.

I only thought you might save some time by purchasing some clothing here, while you’re waiting for accommodations on a ship. ”

Once again, Ross leveled a pair of penetrating blue eyes on the solicitor, and Charles stepped back behind his desk.

“Is there anything else?” Ross asked.

“No,” said Charles. “No, I believe we’ve covered everything.”

Ross nodded and swept his hat from the hat rack as he stepped through the door and closed it quickly behind him. Once he was outside, he opened the third envelope. There was nothing inside except an old crumbling piece of parchment with five lines of flowing script, the ink faded to a pale brown.

O Caledonia! stern and wild,

Meet nurse for a poetic child!

Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,

Land of the mountain and the flood,

Land of my sires!

—Sir Walter Scott,

“The Lay of the Last Minstrel”

Ross walked the few blocks to the river and stood on the quay, watching the swiftly moving currents of brown water rush by as if in a hurry to reach the sea.

He followed the course of the river for as far as his eye could go.

Out there somewhere, beyond the swirling currents of the muddy Mississippi, beyond the warm waters of the gulf, lay Scotland, a strange land of brown heath and shaggy wood, the land of his sires.

He closed his eyes and felt its pull.

Sometime later he opened his eyes, his hand moving to touch the old piece of parchment gingerly folded in his pocket. He had never met his grandfather, but already he had learned one thing about him: the old man was a master at exerting his influence.

Two days later, Ross Mackinnon set sail for Scotland aboard the clipper Charity . He stood on the deck, watching New Orleans fade from sight, then opened the piece of parchment, and noticed for the first time that something was written on the back. Something from the Book of Joel .

Your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions.