Heir To Glengyle

‘Yes, naturally I look upon you as family,’ Amy hastened to assure him. ‘But there isn’t the blood tie of a sister, and I never hear from any of you. There’s little or no contact. Besides, I’ve often wondered if there isn’t—’ The words faded as she fell silent.

‘If there isn’t—what, Amy?’ Baird regarded her intently.

Amy hesitated, then drew a deep breath as she said, ‘Well—if you want me to be frank, dear, “resentment” was the word I was about to use.’

He frowned. ‘Resentment? What are you talking about?’

Amy drew another deep breath, almost as if the discussion was beginning to cause her distress, her voice shaking slightly as she said, ‘You know exactly what I mean. If your grandfather hadn’t married me, the estate would have been wound up and paid out years ago—instead of which I have sat in the way.’ Then she sighed as she added, ‘That’s why I think your parents haven’t written to me.’

‘Then please understand that I’m here to rectify the omission,’ he told her gravely.

‘Thank you, dear. I was so pleased when you phoned from Bradford.’

Elspeth now spoke to Baird, her soft voice holding a strong Scottish accent. ‘If you’ll pardon my saying so, you appear to have been making much closer contact with the past than with the present.’

Baird sent her a level glance. ‘Are you hinting that I’ve been unsociable? You must appreciate that this has been my first real opportunity to examine my grandfather’s books.’ He then turned bleak eyes upon Cathie. ‘I’ve been absorbing details about the Campbell clan.’

Amy said hastily, ‘Baird is in the UK to examine machinery—’

But without allowing her to give further explanation Baird cut in, his voice holding a faintly sardonic ring, ‘So—your sister’s daughter married a Campbell?’

‘That’s right—and a fine fellow he is, or so I’m told.’

‘Really?’ Baird’s voice rang with something that sounded like incredulity.

Nor was the tone of it lost on Cathie, and, vaguely puzzled, she turned to regard Baird with eyes that were full of questions. Suppressed anger was niggling at this man, she realised, while the suspicion that it concerned herself left her feeling even more puzzled. She shot glances at her great-aunt and at Elspeth, and the fact that neither seemed anxious to meet her eyes only added to her bewilderment.

Perhaps it was the tense atmosphere that brought Elspeth to her feet. ‘I’ll make a pot of tea,’ she said hastily. ‘Amy always has tea in the afternoon. Could we have a wee bit of space on the table, Baird?’

Amy was quick to agree with her, and she now spoke firmly. ‘Yes, dear—it’s time you put those books away. You’ve been delving into them from the moment you arrived, and I don’t believe they’re doing you the slightest atom of good. In fact I’ve a strong suspicion they’re putting you into a very depressed state of mind.’

‘They’re making him live in the bad old days when the clans were at each other’s throats like wild dogs,’ Elspeth threw over her shoulder from the doorway.

Baird began to stack the books into a pile. ‘I’ll admit Scottish history is depressing,’ he said ruefully. ‘But I want to know about it. After all, it’s part of my heritage.’

‘Yes—yes, of course,’ Amy agreed.

He went on, ‘I’m thankful my grandfather’s books are here so that I can learn about the different clans. I trust you’ll take care of them, Amy.’

She became indignant. ‘Of course I’ll take care of them,’ she retorted sharply. ‘What are you afraid I’ll do? Sell them—?’

‘No, I don’t think you’d do that. It’s just that books go astray very easily, especially if they’re lent,’ he reminded her blandly.

‘Then be assured that I have no intentions of lending a single item that belongs to the Glengyle Estate.’ Her tone was still sharp.

Baird ignored her obviously ruffled feelings as he continued, ‘The clans appear to have been like large families who stuck together.’

‘The clans had to stick together, considering they spent most of their time fighting with their neighbouring clans, or with clans against whom they held a grudge,’ Amy pointed out drily. ‘In most cases they were as bad as each other, their sins lying six on one side and half a dozen on the other. But those events took place so long ago that, personally, I consider them better forgotten.’

‘I doubt I’ll forget some of the incidents recorded in these books,’ Baird gritted as he carried an armful towards the door. ‘Some of those villains stand out like black beacons,’ he added while flicking a glance towards Cathie.

She felt shaken. ‘I don’t think he likes me,’ she whispered to Amy when Baird had disappeared.

‘Nonsense, my dear. You’ve only just met. I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be abrupt with you.’

Cathie shook her head. ‘I can feel his antagonism.’

Amy kept her voice low. ‘I’m sure you’re mistaken. It’s just, as I said, he’s been positively steeping himself in the MacGregor clan history and parts of it have made him really angry. Just before you arrived, Elspeth and I feared he was working himself into a fine old rage while reading about the way in which the MacGregors had lost so many of their lands to the Campbells. There were the Glenorchy and the Glenlyon lands—’ She paused, her voice falling away as realisation dawned while staring at Cathie.

‘Yes, go on,’ Cathie prompted. ‘I’m beginning to understand.’

Amy swallowed but went on bravely, ‘Worst of all, there was the Glencoe massacre, which concerned the MacDonald clan.’

‘The—the massacre?’ Cathie licked dry lips, feeling suddenly apprehensive about what she was going to hear. Even in far-away New Zealand schoolchildren were told of the Glencoe massacre.

‘You see—Baird’s grandmother was a MacDonald,’ Amy said as though that explained everything. ‘And even his mother belonged to the clan—which means that Baird has a fair splash of MacDonald blood in his veins.’

Baird’s voice spoke from behind them. ‘Allow me to tell her about the affair, Amy. It would give me great pleasure to acquaint Miss Campbell with the facts of Glencoe.’

Cathie quailed beneath the harshness of his tone and the cold glitter in his eyes, but she said nothing.

Baird settled himself in a chair, and at that moment Elspeth came in with a trayload of afternoon tea. She placed it on the table and began to fill the cups.

Amy attempted to use it as an excuse to deter Baird. ‘Ah, tea,’ she said happily. ‘Shall we keep the story until later, Baird? You can’t talk with your mouth full of Elspeth’s delicious shortbread and oatcakes.’

But Baird was not to be diverted. ‘There’s no time like the present,’ he informed Amy smugly.

‘In any case, Cathie probably knows the story,’ Amy said in a resigned manner.

Baird’s mouth twisted into a mirthless grin. ‘I doubt that the family dine out on it,’ he said.

‘So why don’t you get it off your chest?’ Cathie put the query in a scathing tone, instinct warning that it was a story she had no wish to hear.

‘Right—I’ll do just that,’ he declared with barely concealed relish. ‘It happened in the February of 1692—’

‘Good grief—and you’re still simmering over it?’ Cathie cut in.

He ignored the interruption. ‘At that time, William of Orange sat on the English throne. He decreed that by a certain date an oath of allegiance must be sworn by all the Highland chiefs.’

‘Aye—those chiefs were a troublesome lot,’ Elspeth put in. ‘Especially the ones who wanted their own King James on the throne. Another piece of shortbread, Baird?’ she offered, passing the plate. ‘It acts well as a sweetener to the thoughts.’

Baird sent her a bleak glance. ‘Does it indeed? I’m afraid it would take more than an entire batch of shortbread to sweeten my thoughts at the moment, Elspeth.’ He drew a hissing breath then continued, ‘Old Ian MacDonald set off from Glencoe, which is a valley surrounded by mountainous hills in northern Argyll, but snowstorms and blizzards—plus the treachery of deliberately sending him to the wrong place—made him arrive three days after the appointed first of January.’

‘Poor old man,’ Amy said in a voice that was full of sympathy.

Baird went on, ‘Nearly a month later about a hundred and twenty-eight soldiers arrived at Glencoe. They billeted themselves on the MacDonalds, living on friendly terms with them for about twelve days and, needless to say, eating them out of house and home. Then, in the early hours of February the fourteenth, in the midst of a snowstorm, they arose and dragged the MacDonalds from their beds, murdering all who were unable to escape. Many who did escape died of starvation and exposure out in the snowstorm, but a few got away to tell the tale.’

The story made Cathie feel sick. She began to tremble, her hand shaking so badly that it was necessary to put her cup of tea down before the contents slopped into the saucer. She also knew that Baird watched her with a glint in his eyes, making her suspect that worse was to come. Nor was she mistaken.