Free Highland Laddie Gone by Sharyn McCrumb Page B

title,” he said smoothly. “You know, I’ll bet you come from a dear green place in the west.”
    Heather smiled. “And you’re Clan Sloane, of course.”
    “Did you two go to school together?” asked Elizabeth, to whom the conversation made very little sense.
    “I went to Fettes,” said Cameron. “How about you?”
    “Park.”
    “Oh. Bellahouston?”
    Elizabeth, who was still lost, smiled and tried to look intelligent, despite no one’s paying her any mind. “Is Bella-what’s-it a college?”
    “Been here long?” asked Heather, ignoring her.
    “No. Just arrived.”
    “Fast work. Shagged the scrubber yet, Jimmy?”
    Elizabeth seized on a familiar word. “Jimmy? Is that your nickname, Cameron?”
    “Sometimes,” said Cameron softly. “And her ladyship’s nickname is Senga.”
    “She sounds much more Scottish than you do,” Elizabeth remarked. “Such a wonderful accent.”
    “Oh, toffee-noses talk like the Beeb,” said Heather.
    Cameron sighed. “Look: if there are no further strikes on Morningside, the Gorbals will be safe as well. Got it, Senga?”
    Heather shrugged. “Fair enough, Jimmy.”
    “Right. We’ll be off, then, your ladyship.” Cameron turned to Elizabeth. “Come on, hen.”
    When they were out of earshot, Elizabeth said, “At first I thought she was mad at you because you didn’t treat her like one of the nobility. Then I got really confused. I guess you got along okay, though.” She sniffed. “After all, you called
her
your ladyship, and
me,
hen.”
    Cameron smiled. “You got the best of it, lassie.”
    Walter Hutcheson tried not to look worried as he maneuvered his way toward the uninvited guest. He hoped that Colin hadn’t come to continue their argument about the lake property.
    “Evening, Colin,” he said cautiously. “Can I get you a drink?”
    Colin Campbell scowled at the party in general. “Oh, why not?” he grumbled. “As long as you don’t go off playing the host. I need your attention for once.”
    “Is anything the matter?” asked Dr. Hutcheson in hisprofessional voice. He couldn’t think of a likelier candidate for a stroke.
    Dr. Campbell followed his host back to the picnic table, trying to converse over recorded bagpipe music. “Now, you know we don’t always get along, Walter,” he said in an urgent undertone. “But the one thing we have no problem with is
fraud.
Remember that resident at the hospital who turned out to have a medical degree from a match-book? You were on my side about that fast enough.”
    “Well, of course, Colin,” said Dr. Hutcheson mildly. “It was a matter of ethics, for the good of the organization, and all that. Why?”
    “Exactly. I came to tell you that we need to call a meeting of the festival committee first thing tomorrow. There’s something extraordinary going on. I happened on to it by chance.”
    “Here you are, Batair,” Heather pouted. “Why did you go off and leave me with that prat and his bird? And we’re nearly out of ice, as well.”
    “Sorry, dear,” he murmured. “I just need to have a word with Dr. Campbell. Colin, may I present my wife, Heather.”
    “How do you do?” said Colin stiffly. “I’ve heard of you.”
    Heather turned on her new husband. “Oh, Batair! Have you been telling folk about my family connections again? You promised you wouldn’t! I don’t want to be treated any different.”
    “Heather, I didn’t—”
    “That sort of secret doesn’t keep,” said Colin with a sour smile. “I found it very interesting. I believe you’re to be congratulated on a new cousin.”
    “What?”
    “Your uncle, the Duke. Once again a proud father, I believe.”
    Heather frowned. “You know him?”
    Dr. Campbell remained noncommittal. “I mustn’t take up the hostess’s time with family chitchat. You’ll have to see to your guests. But sometime we might talk about it.”
    “Colin is quite a hobbyist in genealogy,” Dr. Hutcheson remarked. “Now, what was it you wanted to