Kissing the Countess (23 page)

Straddling the breach, he secured several rocks on both sides. Then he walked to a wooded area to gather stout sticks, breaking them to appropriate lengths, fitting them across the gap space. This would add some necessary countertension to the sagging haunches of the bridge and help, if only a little.

After breakfast he had sent word to Finlay MacConn, but young Davey MacGillechallum had returned with the answer that Mr. MacConn was in Inverness. He would have asked Catriona when her brother might return or why he was there, but she had left to meet Morag MacLeod, saying they meant to gather more knitting from a croft wife in the hills.

"Shall we meet by the fairy bridge before teatime?" she had asked, and Evan agreed, with a warning not to take the bridge. She had smiled and slipped out the door.

Evan had sent Davey after her with the pony cart, asking him to take the two women around the long way and make sure they were safe and had an escort. Then he had set out for the bridge himself.

Now, satisfied that his makeshift repair would hold, he brushed off his hands and clothing, covered in dust. Thirsty, he wiping his forearm over his brow, he walked down the steep embankment to drink from the cold, clear stream at the bottom of the gorge, then scrambled back up again.

In the distance, he could see two men walking along the road from the direction of Kilmallie, the smaller estate that bordered Kildonan along the eastern border.

"Hey there! Kildonan!" Arthur Fitzgibbon waved, and Evan recognized that the other gentleman with Fitz was Kenneth Grant. Waving in reply, he waited as they approached. They both carried long-barreled hunting guns and wore tweed suits and caps, Arthur in the knickers and boots that he preferred, Grant in darker coat and trousers.

"Kildonan! Mr. Grant invited me out for a bit of shooting on his lands. Very fine," Arthur said, brandishing his gun. "He lent me his rifle. I haven't seen many of this sort, a fine weapon with a true aim. We had an excellent morning."

"Did you?" Evan asked, shoving his hands into his pockets, still without his jacket, which lay draped over the parapet of the bridge. "What did you bag?" He saw they carried nothing beyond a gun and a canvas knapsack apiece.

"Three brace of grouse on the moorland between here and Kilmallie, five partridges on the crofter's hill to the south, and a brace of wild ducks along the reeds by the river. We sent them back to Kilmallie and Kildonan with Grant's gillie."

"Good! Mrs. Baird and Cook will be pleased to have something fresh to prepare for dinner," Evan said. "Thank you, sir. Mr. Fitzgibbon enjoys hunting, though I did not plan to do any hunting this time," he told Grant.

"Not a hunter, Kildonan?" Grant asked, leaning his gun against a boulder. "Your father was quite the sportsman and had a good array of guns, and a very impressive row of stag heads mounted on the wall in his billiard room."

"Aye," Evan agreed. Since his father had died after his gun accidentally went off during a morning spent deer stalking with guests on the Kildonan estate, hunting was not one of Evan's preferred subjects or pastimes. "You know his collection. Did you hunt with my father?"

"A few times. I came to Kildonan fairly often when your father was in residence," Grant said. "That was during the years of your estrangement, I suppose. I treated the earl as his physician, and we went hunting together. He taught me a good bit. Superb stalker, your father."

"I was aware of that, though I did not have an opportunity to go out with him myself past the age of about ten. I was only allowed to walk with the beaters then," Evan said, half smiling. Truth told, he did not enjoy hunting for sport and had never put much effort into honing that skill. "Father had a fine collection of guns, but most of them are gone now. I had the lot of them packed up and shipped south. They fetched a handsome price."

"Sold them?" Grant blinked.

"Aye, and was able to pay off some of his debts and some of the duties on the estate," Evan said. "I had no need of them and my sister objected to having them displayed throughout the house, considering how our father died."

"Of course. How stupid of me to forget," Grant murmured. "Unfortunate incident, sir. How I wish I had been with him that day. I was away at the time and returned to find him already passed." He frowned thoughtfully. "If you do not hunt, sir, what sport do you prefer? Surely you find some way to relax and test yourself physically. Golfing, perhaps?"

"Kildonan is an excellent golfer, but he prefers climbing for sport," Arthur said.

"Climbing, of course. You were engaged in that just the other day," Grant said. "Just now it looks as if you've been tossing cabers, or breaking rocks in a quarry, sir!"

Evan glanced down at his dusty clothing, loose collar and rolled sleeves, and the sheen of sweat on his shirt. "I've just been doing some repair work on the old bridge."

"Why in blazes would you do that?" Arthur peered at him. "Hauling stones like a laborer?"

Evan pointed. "Just there, the center had collapsed, but the Highlanders still use it for a footbridge. Damned dangerous," he said. "So I wanted to shore it up in case anyone attempted to cross it. Really for now it must be closed off until it can be rebuilt entirely."

"About time," Mr. Grant said. "I mentioned the state of that bridge to your father more than once, but he was not inclined to have it fixed. Too expensive, he said."

"Oh?" Evan raised a brow. "Father never mentioned it to me at all, which is surprising. I am a bridge engineer by profession."

"I had heard that. I understood that you and the previous Lord Kildonan were estranged, sir, and did not speak."

"Not entirely true. I have not lived at Kildonan for years," he said, "but my father and I corresponded on matters regarding the family and the estate. He knew I would inherit someday, and he kept me apprised with occasional reports. And he knew what I was about, with the engineering work and so on."

"I was not aware. Forgive me."

"As to the bridge, I will have my factor post a sign and rope barriers. As soon as it is feasible, the bridge will be replaced. I will take on the expense, of course."

Kenneth Grant nodded. "Good of you, sir."

"It's my responsibility, sir."

Arthur glanced around. "Where is Lady Kildonan today?"

"Gone into the hills with Mrs. MacLeod," Evan said.

"Ah, the Highland knitting scheme," Grant said. "I was so impressed with Miss MacConn's—er, Lady Kildonan's—project here in Glen Shee that I suggested the idea to some of the ladies in the parish of Kilmallie. They are beginning a similar scheme, though without the admirable dedication of Lady Kildonan."

While Grant spoke, he stared at Evan intently, his narrowed brown eyes saying something entirely different than his mild, pleasant tone. For a moment, Evan could have sworn that the man disliked him—even hated him.

He frowned, aware that Grant had known Catriona for years and had been with the rescue party that had arrived at the shieling hut. Perhaps Grant disapproved, which would not be so surprising. Evan did not particularly care what the man thought.

"My wife enjoys her charitable work," he answered mildly.

"May I see the bridge?" Grant asked, and the three men walked toward it. "You've done a good job shoring up," Grant commented. "The people here have been leaping that gap for a long time and no one has been injured seriously. They're nimble as goats, most of them. Your wife will likely want to continue using it."

"I will be here to see that she gets across safely," Evan said.

"Of course. As a husband would do." Grant smiled, and again Evan saw a flash of something dark, something at odds with the man's amiable demeanor.

Evan still frowned, looking at him. He had a nagging feeling that Grant looked familiar beyond Glen Shee, but could not pinpoint in memory where he had seen him before.

"Mr. Grant is a climber, as well, Kildonan," Arthur said. "Today we were discussing the merits of mountaineering. He tells me there are some singular challenges among the Torridon peaks. He's quite familiar with them."

"Oh? Excellent." Evan stooped to collect his jacket and then slipped it on, picking up his hat before heading down the slope with the two men. "You've done some climbing around here, Mr. Grant?"

"Aye, but I haven't yet made it to the top of the highest one—Beinn Shee—that jagged peak at the center there." He pointed to the loftiest height in the range of snow-topped mountains that ringed the glen. "I've made attempts in the past, but they were spoiled by bad weather. Temperamental mountain, that one. No one has ever climbed to the top, they say. I've had better luck scaling mountains elsewhere in the Highlands and on Skye."

"Very good climbing on Skye," Evan said. "Fitz and I went up there a couple of years ago."

"We took on Sgurr nan Gillean in a fine mist," Arthur said. "We made it to the top that day."

"An impressive peak, the highest in the mighty Cuillin chain, and some say well nigh impossible. You are expert climbers indeed," Grant said.

"Cautious but persistent," Evan said. "Sgurr nan Gillean has a rough surface that provides a good grip all the way up, despite its sharp incline. We simply kept moving upward."

"So no one has yet climbed Beinn Shee to the top?" Arthur asked. "It is a perfect quest for our Alpine group, as some of us are keener for a hard climb than a scenic scramble. The ladies will forego it, I dare say, as they should. Kildonan, we must invite Mr. Grant to join our adventure. He knows these mountains, and his medical expertise will be helpful."

"If Mr. Grant is interested," Evan demurred.

"I would be honored." Grant smiled.

"Our friends are due to arrive this afternoon," Evan said. "We will send word about our climbing plans."

"You would be an excellent addition to the Scottish Alpine Climbing Club, sir," Arthur said.

"My expertise is nothing to boast about," Grant said modestly. "By the way, you'll want the best Highland guide if you plan to attempt Beinn Shee."

"Who would you recommend?" Evan asked.

"The best would be John MacLeod, a crofter—Morag MacLeod's husband. His ancient mother lives on the lower slopes of the mountain. John has been up and down those slopes and peaks all his life, and he has been my guide in scaling the other Torridon mountains. But he's getting on in years. Or I could recommend your factor, sir. Your wife's brother. Finlay MacConn knows these mountains as well as anyone. Though I doubt he's been all the way up Beinn Shee," he said, scowling.

"Finlay?" Evan glanced at Grant. "I wasn't aware."

"He and his brothers and father used to climb regularly. But that was before the reverend was injured and before the older son's death on the mountain."

Evan nodded. "I heard something of that."

"Donald MacConn went climbing one day and the weather turned bad—just as it did for you, sir. He slipped and fell to his death. Finlay and his father went searching, and Reverend MacConn was injured also in a fall—terrible weather that day, treacherous slopes. The reverend has been a changed man since then. But he had his faith to comfort him in his grief. His wife died shortly afterward, as well, an illness brought on by grief, in my estimation. After that, many of their kin were sent away by your father's evictions. The MacConns of Glenachan have not had an easy time of it here."

"Indeed," Evan said. "I had not realized the extent of it."

"There is much you do not know about your bride," Grant said. "Given the circumstances, it is not surprising." The smooth tone, the sly assurance, made Evan glance sharply at him.

"I am a quick study, and so is she," Evan replied.

"Indeed. Before I go, Lord Kildonan, allow me to make a request of you."

"Certainly." Evan waited, feeling wary and not sure why.

"I had word from my solicitor in Inverness that you might be taking offers for portions of your property. That, in fact, you have interested buyers already."

Evan narrowed his glance. "It is something I am exploring. That is all. The estate is very large, and there is some benefit in reducing its size." He was not going to admit to Grant that one of the expected guests was coming to look at the estate to perhaps buy a large part of the land and rent the castle on an extended arrangement.

"Allow me to make an offer, as well, sir. If you are going to reduce the size of the estate, I would be interested in buying the land that borders my property of Kilmallie to the eastern end of the glen. I would like to expand my sheep runs, and this might prove the perfect arrangement for both of us."

"I will consider it," Evan said.

"Excellent. Good day, then. I must be on my way, for I promised to visit the rectory at Glenachan and take tea with Reverend MacConn and Mrs. Rennie." He gathered both his gun and Arthur's loaned weapon. "I enjoyed the day, Arthur."

"Give Reverend MacConn and Mrs. Rennie my regards," Evan murmured.

"Of course." Grant touched his bowler hat and strode away.

Evan turned to walk with Arthur toward Kildonan Castle, Golden in the sunlight, seen against rugged mountains and blue sky, it formed a striking picture.

"Selling land to Grant might be helpful," Arthur said.

"The sale would keep the land in the hands of a Highland laird, which recommends it," Evan said. "But there is something about the fellow. I am not sure I trust him."