He glanced up as she entered the room. His short stature coupled with an impressive girth suggested a more jovial personality than was indicated by his serious visage. Meg supposed that in expression, if nothing else, she resembled her father.
Relief brought a slight turn to his lips, but it could not be described as a smile. It struck Meg how much older he looked after his recent illness. The poison had left its mark.
“Ah, Meg. I’ve gone over these accounts repeatedly—I’m worried about the amount of land held by wadset, and I can’t find the entries for the north.”
Meg leaned over her father and flipped through the thick stack of parchment.
“The entries are listed first geographically, then alphabetically by clansman, then by acreage, and finally by type of obligation, whether wadset or tack. Under each entry I’ve listed the date and method of payment, whether in grain, cattle, or silver. For each tack, you will see the grassum the clansman paid for the lease initially, then the yearly rental portion, again broken down by tack duty. The entries you are looking for should be…” Her finger traced the faint scratches of the quill down the page. “Right here.”
“’Tis so obvious, how did I not find it?” he said dryly.
Meg blushed, unsure whether he praised or jested with her. She continued on, suspecting the former. Like her, her father appreciated thoroughness and attention to detail. “I’ve cross-referenced these entries in another ledger by wadset and tack. The total obligation for lands held by wadset are listed in that ledger. It should be easier to determine the amount from that. If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll fetch it for you.”
The Mackinnon could only shake his head in amazement. “My dear girl, I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Meg felt a momentary swell of pride, but it was also a subtle reminder of her duty.
Rosalind blew into the room. “Tack, wadset! Who cares about leases and mortgages? Your only daughter’s heart has been broken—”
“My heart wasn’t broken.”It was ripped apart and torn to shreds.
Rosalind continued on as if Meg hadn’t spoken. “And all you can talk about is land! Lachlan Mackinnon, you’ve something much more important to discuss.”
“What’s all of this hysteria about, Rosie?”
Her mother shook her finger right under her father’s nose. “Don’t you ‘hysteria’ me. I warned you something like this might happen. You should have told her right when we returned, and now the poor child is about to sacrifice her everlasting happiness for you.”
Her father sank back a little in his chair. A bit shame-faced, he turned to Meg. “What’s this about, lass?”
“I’ve decided to write Jamie and accept his offer of marriage.”
He nodded. “A good choice.”
“Good choice!” Rosalind shrieked. “Have you listened to nothing I’ve said? Why, the girl is in love with Alex MacLeod, and you have nothing to say but ‘Good choice’?”
Her father sighed. “Meg’s a woman grown, capable of making her own decisions. And Jamie Campbell is a powerful ally. What would you have me say, wife?”
Rosalind crossed her arms, positioning herself in a manner that demonstrated her every intention of digging in her heels. Meg barely recognized this controlling side of her mother. Although she knew they loved each other, Meg had always assumed that her father held the reins in the marriage. That there might be more to her parents’ relationship than she’d assumed was vaguely disconcerting.
“I want you to tell Meg what you know of Laird MacLeod.”
“I assure you, Mother, I’m not interested in hearing any more about Alex MacLeod—”
“Margaret Mackinnon, hold your tongue,” Rosalind said sharply.
Meg dropped to a chair, mute, staring at the strange angry woman next to her. The same woman who hadn’t even raised her voice when Meg used her best silver platter to slide down a snow-dusted Cuillin peak when she was eight or used her precious Flemish tapestry as target practice when she was eleven.
Her father looked equally unsettled. “Very well, dear,” he said placatingly. “But, Meg, this must be kept in the strictest confidence. Only a handful of people know what I am about to tell you.”
Meg nodded, perplexed by the unusual vehemence in his voice. She waited for him to continue, curious and a bit apprehensive about what this was all about.
He appeared to be weighing his words carefully. “Alex MacLeod was sent to court at the bequest of the Island chiefs to discover information about the rumored attempt by the Lowland Fife Adventurers to recolonize the Isle of Lewis.”
It took a moment for his words to settle in. The color drained from her face. “You mean that Alex was a spy?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” her father answered. “Though nothing quite so dramatic. He was basically just to keep his eyes and ears open and see what he could learn. Given that he is the brother of a chief, and has been to court many times, we felt Alex’s presence at Holyrood would not be seen by the Lowland government as suspicious. But it was also convenient that he had not been too tightly connected to his brother these past few years.” He paused, clearing his throat. “Of course, not many people are aware that for the last few years Alex has fought with the outlawed MacGregors.”
Meg stared dully at her hands, now curled into tight fists in her lap. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d known that Alex had been up to something, had realized there was something he had not been telling her, but she would never have guessed that he was a spy. Not a mercenary at all. Nor apparently was he estranged from his brother.
