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Authors: PATRICIA POTTER
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on the parapet.
“Could ye have seen a shadow?”
“Nay.”
Distress crossed his face. “I do not know how to advise you, my lady. Do ye not have someone to turn to?”
She wanted to say nay. She had thought about this moment since her encounter with Reginald. “There may be someone,” she said cautiously. “I do not know how to get word to him.”
His face cleared. “I can see to that,” he said.
“I do not want to get you in trouble,” she said. “But I do not know who to trust at Lochaene.”
“I do have a few people I trust,” Timothy said, “and ‘tis little enough to do. I regret...”
“Please do not,” she said. “I know my husband threatened to discharge you and that you care for your mother. I know how ... persuasive he could be.”
He put a hand on her shoulder. “The lasses have fared well with ye,” he said. “I would not like to see that light in their eyes quenched.”
Janet bit her lip. “If I can write a note ...”
“Aye. And ye must have a sweet, too.”
She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
“Can ye rely on this person?”
“I do not know,” she said. “But I know no other way.”
“Who is it?”
She hesitated, but he would know when he had the message. “The Marquis of Braemoor.”
His eyes widened. “A powerful friend.”
“In truth, I do not know if he is friend or no‘, but I have nowhere else to go. All my father’s friends died at Culloden.”
He nodded. “He will get your letter within three days.”
Neil rode over to the new properties. They had been seized from a Jacobite after the Battle at Culloden and came to Braemoor as the dowry of Rory’s wife. Neil had half expected Cumberland to take it back after Rory’s death and his wife’s flight, but the Black Knave had not been seen since Rory’s disappearance and the duke had somehow attributed that fact to Rory. It had been tragic that the marquis had died in the crown’s cause, but Neil had been permitted to keep the properties.
There had been no one left to farm the newly acquired properties. All had been killed or driven from the land. Neil had been too occupied with events at Braemoor to do anything about it, but now that Jock was beginning to share his enthusiasm he felt he could start buying sheep and cattle. First he had to comb every part of the land, decide where cottages should be built and what land should be planted.
The manor house had been burned. There was nothing but a pile of stones. Much of the land was rock and unfit for farming. He saw several crofts, but they were little more than hovels. He wanted something better for his tenants.
Satisfaction surged inside him. He’d felt Jock’s excitement when he’d come back after talking to the tenants. Ten young men, all of them bachelors, had agreed to move. Two of them wanted to marry but hadn’t had the means until now. They’d lived in already overcrowded crofts.
After talking with each one, he’d caught their own anticipation of having chances they never thought to have. Most had believed they would be cleared from the land. And, if not, the younger sons had little hope to make a living from the land. They had thought to leave Scotland as so many others had.
The land was mountainous and good for little except grazing. But it was very good for that. Streams meandered the land and rock fences were already in place. Craggy mountains framed the horizon, and the hills were purple with heather. He spent one night on the ground. He woke at dawn and watched the sun rise over the mountains. He wished Janet was there beside him, watching the pink rim turn into gold. Saddling his horse, he wondered whether she would always accompany him in his thoughts.
He wondered how she was faring. As a young widow, she should have a choice of suitors.
He forced her out of his thoughts, knowing that she would not stay banished, then saddled his horse. Another day and he would be back at Braemoor. It was not home, though. He did not think
“Could ye have seen a shadow?”
“Nay.”
Distress crossed his face. “I do not know how to advise you, my lady. Do ye not have someone to turn to?”
She wanted to say nay. She had thought about this moment since her encounter with Reginald. “There may be someone,” she said cautiously. “I do not know how to get word to him.”
His face cleared. “I can see to that,” he said.
“I do not want to get you in trouble,” she said. “But I do not know who to trust at Lochaene.”
“I do have a few people I trust,” Timothy said, “and ‘tis little enough to do. I regret...”
“Please do not,” she said. “I know my husband threatened to discharge you and that you care for your mother. I know how ... persuasive he could be.”
He put a hand on her shoulder. “The lasses have fared well with ye,” he said. “I would not like to see that light in their eyes quenched.”
Janet bit her lip. “If I can write a note ...”
“Aye. And ye must have a sweet, too.”
She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
“Can ye rely on this person?”
“I do not know,” she said. “But I know no other way.”
“Who is it?”
She hesitated, but he would know when he had the message. “The Marquis of Braemoor.”
His eyes widened. “A powerful friend.”
“In truth, I do not know if he is friend or no‘, but I have nowhere else to go. All my father’s friends died at Culloden.”
He nodded. “He will get your letter within three days.”
Neil rode over to the new properties. They had been seized from a Jacobite after the Battle at Culloden and came to Braemoor as the dowry of Rory’s wife. Neil had half expected Cumberland to take it back after Rory’s death and his wife’s flight, but the Black Knave had not been seen since Rory’s disappearance and the duke had somehow attributed that fact to Rory. It had been tragic that the marquis had died in the crown’s cause, but Neil had been permitted to keep the properties.
There had been no one left to farm the newly acquired properties. All had been killed or driven from the land. Neil had been too occupied with events at Braemoor to do anything about it, but now that Jock was beginning to share his enthusiasm he felt he could start buying sheep and cattle. First he had to comb every part of the land, decide where cottages should be built and what land should be planted.
The manor house had been burned. There was nothing but a pile of stones. Much of the land was rock and unfit for farming. He saw several crofts, but they were little more than hovels. He wanted something better for his tenants.
Satisfaction surged inside him. He’d felt Jock’s excitement when he’d come back after talking to the tenants. Ten young men, all of them bachelors, had agreed to move. Two of them wanted to marry but hadn’t had the means until now. They’d lived in already overcrowded crofts.
After talking with each one, he’d caught their own anticipation of having chances they never thought to have. Most had believed they would be cleared from the land. And, if not, the younger sons had little hope to make a living from the land. They had thought to leave Scotland as so many others had.
The land was mountainous and good for little except grazing. But it was very good for that. Streams meandered the land and rock fences were already in place. Craggy mountains framed the horizon, and the hills were purple with heather. He spent one night on the ground. He woke at dawn and watched the sun rise over the mountains. He wished Janet was there beside him, watching the pink rim turn into gold. Saddling his horse, he wondered whether she would always accompany him in his thoughts.
He wondered how she was faring. As a young widow, she should have a choice of suitors.
He forced her out of his thoughts, knowing that she would not stay banished, then saddled his horse. Another day and he would be back at Braemoor. It was not home, though. He did not think
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