He had told the bonny Megan that reaving ran in his family, but it wasn’t true. It had been more than two hundred years since his family had actively taken to the roads late of a night, and even back then it had been more to bedevil other clans than to fill the coffers. The MacGregor wealth had come down through the years from royal gifts, a few shrewd endeavors, and one lucky gambler, but there had been a sizeable amount to pay for repairs to the old castle and for the innumerable weddings that cropped up yearly, and to make sure no one ever went without whatever was needful.
The few crops they sowed were seasonal, the small sheep and cattle herds they had couldn’t feed the entire household on a regular basis, any more than they ever had. And the one investment that had continued to supply them with ready cash each year had gone sour. Yet they still would have fared well if it weren’t for Lady Winnifred.
It put Lachlan in a foul mood whenever he thought of what his stepmother had cost the clan. She hadn’t raised him, though she had been at Castle Kregora for a goodly number of his growing years. He hadn’t disliked her during the twelve years of her marriage to his father. She had simply been there, part of the landscape, with an occasional smile, but rarely more than that, since she was simply too flighty to be bothered with children, was always concerned only with herself and, of course, his father.
Never would anyone have guessed that she was a thief, but that she was. Not one week after her husband’s death, she up and disappeared, and Lachlan’s inheritance went with her. They searched for her for more than a year, but no trace was ever found. It was as if the theft and flight had been well planned, right down to the last detail. But that would speak even worse for her character, and enough had been said to paint a black picture as it was.
Now, three years later, Castle Kregora was falling to ruin, because Lachlan couldn’t steal enough from the few Englishmen he robbed down by the border to repair the old edifice. Yet he refused to steal more, as he was afraid someone else might actually be harmed financially by what he took, even if theywereonly Sassenach. He was living with that burden himself, could just barely manage to feed those he was responsible for. As it was, marriages were being postponed, and some clan members who had lived all their lives in the castle or on MacGregor land were moving out of the Highlands altogether.
It had been ingrained in him what his responsibilities were, but an abrupt loss of wealth had never been taken into consideration. At twenty-three he had been unprepared for the burden. At twenty-six, he found the situation much worse and still had no feasible way to rectify it that wouldn’t leave more of a sour taste in his mouth than the reaving did. He was already in debt to the few wealthy distant relatives that he had. And everything of value that the castle had possessed had long since been sold.
It was a sorry state of affairs, which was why, while Lachlan was still recuperating from his wound, he called for a discussion on the subject with his two closest cohorts in crime, Gilleonan and Ranald.
Gilleonan was a second cousin and a few years older than Lachlan. Ranald was a third cousin and a year younger. Neither lived in the castle. Both had houses nearby, though they were more often than not found at Lachlan’s side, as they were now, sharing a dinner with him on this blustery cold November eve.
Lachlan waited until the meager fare was finished before he made his proclamation, “It isna working.”
Since his friends had had prior warning of what was to be discussed, they didn’t ask for clarification. “’Twas workin’ well enough afore ye got yerself shot,” Ranald pointed out.
“My wound has nothing tae do with the obvious. Look around you, Ranald,” Lachlan said, and then reiterated, “Itisnaworking.”
It wasn’t necessary to look to see the lighter patches on the wainscotting where paintings had once hung, the china cupboard empty now, fine crystal and silver goblets no longer gracing the table. Of course, it had been so long since these things had gone absent, perhaps his friends had forgotten how the dining room had looked when Lachlan’s father was still alive.
“Ye’re sayin’ there’ll be no more reavin’?” Gilleonan asked.
“I’m asking, what’s the point? Only once did we bring home a purse fat enough tae make a difference for a short time. We’re making that long ride six or seven times a month, and having barely anything tae show for it.”
“Aye, I’m no’ tae fond o’ that ride anymore meself, especially this time o’ the year,” Gilleonan agreed. “But our trouble is, we ne’er took the thing serious. It’s been no more’n a lark.”
Lachlan had to agree with that. Until he’d been shot this last time, they’d had more fun than not, but that was hardly the issue.
“Embrace it in earnest, Gill, and we’d be no better’n thieves,” Lachlan said.
Gilleonan raised a brow. “And we’re no’ that now?”
Ranald snorted. “I dinna consider stealin’ from a Sassenach thievin’.”
Lachlan had to smile. No, that had been the fun part. The Scots and the English might get along fine now in most dealings, but they’d always be enemies at heart. At least the Highland Scots as well as the border Scots, who’d been preying on the English for too many years to count, saw it that way. On the border, tempers and feuds could still run high, animosity too ingrained and carried over from generations gone by.
“Reavin’ was suggested when things didna look so dire,” Lachlan pointed out. “But we’ve reached dire, and something else mun be considered now, afore we lose Kregora as well.”
“Have ye something in mind, then?” Gilleonan asked.
Lachlan sighed. “Nay, but as always, I’m open tae suggestions.”
His kinsmen settled back in their chairs, Gilleonan swirling the cheap wine in the tin cup he was holding, Ranald plopping a leg over the arm of his chair. Lachlan braced his hands behind his head, prepared to shoot down any suggestions that weren’t to his liking.
“I’ve heard they’re findin’ gold o’er in that California place,” Ranald remarked. “Great nuggets of it just lying around on the ground for the takin’.”
Lachlan raised his brow, but before he could reply, Gilleonan said, “Aye, I’ve heard the same, but the MacGregor here canna venture so far from the hearthstone. Mayhap we could send a few of the clan tae see what’s what. Arnald’s got the itch tae do some travelin’, and his brother would likely agree tae go wi’ him. But we canna depend on rumors, nor wait so long as that tae do something ourselves. ’Twould be months afore we even heard from anyone we sent that far.”
Lachlan couldn’t have said it better, so he didn’t add to that other than to nod, though he regretted the fact that hecouldn’ttravel so far afield. But Gilleonan was correct. The head of the clan had to be accessible.
“Agreed,” Ranald added. “We can put it tae Arnald tae see if he cares tae go gold huntin’, but in the meantime…I thought o’ a solution a while back, but figured Lachlan was tae young then.”
“What?”
“A wife—er, that is, arichwife.”
