Read Online Just in Time for a Highlander by Gwyn Cready - Free Book Online
Authors: Gwyn Cready
Ads: Link
wolves and the soldiers, ’tis not a night for a lone stroller.” The man, of middle years, had thinning hair, bright eyes, and the face of a kindly, curious bird. He held out his hand. “I’m Jock Kerr, Lady Kerr’s steward. Though if you’re ever looking for a companion, I do enjoy watching the stars.”
“I’m Duncan MacHarg. I’m, er, Mrs. Fallon’s adviser. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kerr.”
“I saw you at dinner,” he said, taking Duncan’s outstretched hand. “Call me Jock.”
“Oh, aye. I can see it’s not going to be too hard memorizing last names around here.”
Jock laughed, his eyes wrinkling with pleasure. “No. Though it does make knowing who to trust a wee bit trickier. Even the bad ones are called ‘Kerr.’”
Duncan smiled. “Are you involved in her ladyship’s canal?”
Jock looked down at the paper in his hands, spotted the two-inch-tall “Kerr Canal Plan” calligraphed on one of the top sheets, and grinned. “ Och . Just a bit. Lady Kerr is still hoping for a discussion with Sir Alan tomorrow. I’m trying to get the key issues laid out on paper for him.”
“The idea of a canal is not universally embraced, I take it?”
“You noticed that, did you? Well, it is a financial risk. Then there are those in the clan who feel the canal will attract an unwelcome element.”
“The English?”
Jock’s snort was all the answer he needed.
Duncan knew enough about business to know that building a canal could make you fantastically wealthy. But if you built one in the wrong place, or at the wrong time, or without the right support, you could also be wiped out, as easy as snapping your fingers. Scotland’s Darien scheme, a forerunner to the scheme that built the Panama Canal almost two hundred years later, had brought Scotland to its knees financially at the end of the 1600s, and would, in many ways, be the driving force behind the country’s submission to England’s demand that they join them in a union called Great Britain.
He also knew that no canal of any magnitude existed today, even in disuse, near Langholm. If Abby’s canal had been built—which he doubted—it had failed.
Jock gathered his papers to carry on, but Duncan had one more question. It was essentially the same question he’d asked Nab earlier, but he knew Jock would have a more informed point of view. “Lady Kerr’s rise to the chieftainship has not been an easy one, has it?”
Jock’s gaze traveled to the hall’s far window, as if remembering a time long ago. “Her father, Lachlan Kerr, was a devil of a man. Caesar couldna hold a candle to him. He ruled the clan with an iron hand, and they loved him—those who didn’t feel the sting of his lash, that is. When his health started to fail, and Abby was his only surviving heir, the clan had the choice of supporting her, a wee lass who’d never lifted a sword, or Rosston, her cousin from the estranged side of the family. Many were surprised the clan wanted Abby. Being a direct descendant of Lachlan was more important to them than experience leading men. In truth, I think there were those who thought they’d be able to control her. But I knew she would never stand for it—she was a wicked bowwoman with a mind of her own even then. Once she was chosen, I knew she would lead even if it meant fighting them one at a time to prove she could.”
“Her father must have been proud. They wanted his daughter, his blood.”
Jock scratched his chin. “Her father refused to approve the line of succession. ‘No girl will run my clan,’ he said. ‘Not as long as I draw breath.’ He threw his support behind Rosston. Banished Abby from the castle until the matter was settled. She lived for a year with a friend in Cumbria. Lachlan wouldn’t even let her into Scotland.”
“Her mother allowed this?”
“Dead when Abby was just a girl. Not that it would have mattered. Lachlan didn’t temper his opinions to please his wife.”
“What happened? She’s
“I’m Duncan MacHarg. I’m, er, Mrs. Fallon’s adviser. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kerr.”
“I saw you at dinner,” he said, taking Duncan’s outstretched hand. “Call me Jock.”
“Oh, aye. I can see it’s not going to be too hard memorizing last names around here.”
Jock laughed, his eyes wrinkling with pleasure. “No. Though it does make knowing who to trust a wee bit trickier. Even the bad ones are called ‘Kerr.’”
Duncan smiled. “Are you involved in her ladyship’s canal?”
Jock looked down at the paper in his hands, spotted the two-inch-tall “Kerr Canal Plan” calligraphed on one of the top sheets, and grinned. “ Och . Just a bit. Lady Kerr is still hoping for a discussion with Sir Alan tomorrow. I’m trying to get the key issues laid out on paper for him.”
“The idea of a canal is not universally embraced, I take it?”
“You noticed that, did you? Well, it is a financial risk. Then there are those in the clan who feel the canal will attract an unwelcome element.”
“The English?”
Jock’s snort was all the answer he needed.
Duncan knew enough about business to know that building a canal could make you fantastically wealthy. But if you built one in the wrong place, or at the wrong time, or without the right support, you could also be wiped out, as easy as snapping your fingers. Scotland’s Darien scheme, a forerunner to the scheme that built the Panama Canal almost two hundred years later, had brought Scotland to its knees financially at the end of the 1600s, and would, in many ways, be the driving force behind the country’s submission to England’s demand that they join them in a union called Great Britain.
He also knew that no canal of any magnitude existed today, even in disuse, near Langholm. If Abby’s canal had been built—which he doubted—it had failed.
Jock gathered his papers to carry on, but Duncan had one more question. It was essentially the same question he’d asked Nab earlier, but he knew Jock would have a more informed point of view. “Lady Kerr’s rise to the chieftainship has not been an easy one, has it?”
Jock’s gaze traveled to the hall’s far window, as if remembering a time long ago. “Her father, Lachlan Kerr, was a devil of a man. Caesar couldna hold a candle to him. He ruled the clan with an iron hand, and they loved him—those who didn’t feel the sting of his lash, that is. When his health started to fail, and Abby was his only surviving heir, the clan had the choice of supporting her, a wee lass who’d never lifted a sword, or Rosston, her cousin from the estranged side of the family. Many were surprised the clan wanted Abby. Being a direct descendant of Lachlan was more important to them than experience leading men. In truth, I think there were those who thought they’d be able to control her. But I knew she would never stand for it—she was a wicked bowwoman with a mind of her own even then. Once she was chosen, I knew she would lead even if it meant fighting them one at a time to prove she could.”
“Her father must have been proud. They wanted his daughter, his blood.”
Jock scratched his chin. “Her father refused to approve the line of succession. ‘No girl will run my clan,’ he said. ‘Not as long as I draw breath.’ He threw his support behind Rosston. Banished Abby from the castle until the matter was settled. She lived for a year with a friend in Cumbria. Lachlan wouldn’t even let her into Scotland.”
“Her mother allowed this?”
“Dead when Abby was just a girl. Not that it would have mattered. Lachlan didn’t temper his opinions to please his wife.”
“What happened? She’s
Similar Books
