Free Sarah Gabriel by Highland Groom

herself and Mrs. MacIan. While Mary cooked savory sausages over the fire in the hearth, Fiona looked up, hearing a clattering of hooves and wheels in the distance.
    “Is that Hugh, come to take you round the glen?” Mary asked. Fiona went to the door and Maggie launched past her. Stepping outside, Fiona gasped.
    A black carriage drawn by two bay horses made the turn from the loch side road and took the earthen pathway into the cove. Wheels creaking, body heaving like a beast, it lumbered toward the kailyard.
    “What is that noise?” Mary MacIan set the sausages on a plate and hurried toward the door. “It sounds like a coach!”
    “It is.” Fiona folded her arms, scowling as she remembered MacGregor’s promise.
    Mary peered over Fiona’s shoulder. “That’s the old coach from Kinloch House! It’s hardly used—and that’s Hamish MacGregor driving,” she added. “He’s one of the laird’s uncles. What does he want here? Well, I am glad Kinloch is putting the old thing to use. That coach has been in the Kinloch stable a long while, ever since the laird’s grandfather traded good Kinloch brew for it after a nightof playing cards. But fine coaches are not meant for Highland roads,” she added. “I wonder if it’s carrying a load o’ whisky—a coach would hold a good deal, and we’d all make a profit. Oh,” she said, glancing suddenly at Fiona, as if she’d said too much.
    “I believe Mr. Dougal MacGregor sent the coach for me,” Fiona said. “He thinks the glen school does not need a teacher at this time.”
    “Bah, Kinloch knows how much we need a teacher,” Mary muttered. Lifting the hem of her skirt, she stepped into the yard. The coach drew up in front of the house, shuddering to a stop, horses blowing and shaking their heads, thick creamy manes gleaming, the body of the vehicle swaying, its joints and brakes squealing.
    “Hamish MacGregor, get down from that seat!” Mary shouted.
    “Greetings, Mary MacIan, and I am not getting down,” he replied. “I am in a hurry.”
    “Then I will pull your ears off next time I see you in kirk, for disturbing my morning and ruining my yard,” Mary said. The coachman sighed and began to climb off the coach.
    While Maggie barked and ran circles around the coach, Fiona called her back and walked into the yard. She waited in silence, lifting a hand to her brow against the morning sun, looking up at the silhouette of driver and coach.
    “Good morning, Miss MacCarran,” the driver said when he stepped to the ground, the coach’sworn springs bouncing beneath his weight. He was a solidly built man of middle age, with a round, mild face and close-cropped silvery hair. He wore a flat dark bonnet, worn jacket, and wrapped plaid over old trousers—the shabby but comfortable outfit common to many Highland men. “I am Hamish MacGregor, uncle to the laird o’ Kinloch, who sent me here.” He doffed his bonnet briefly.
    “Mr. MacGregor, I am Fiona MacCarran. Very nice to meet you.”
    “What’s this about, then?” Mary pointed toward the coach.
    “Kinloch sent me to fetch Miss MacCarran. He said she has decided to leave the glen. Pity though, with her just arriving, and we needing a teacher, but still if she wants to go, she shall. Miss,” he acknowledged, tipping his bonnet again.
    “It is no pity at all,” Fiona said. “I am staying.”
    “Och, the laird will not like to hear that, since he sent me to take you to Auchnashee. Said you would be ready after breakfast. I will wait if you need more time to pack your cases.”
    “Thank you, but I do not need time,” she said. “Please tell Mr. MacGregor of Kinloch that I am content to remain here.”
    “And tell him to put his coach to better use and carry whisky about in it,” Mary said.
    “Ha! And attract more attention from gaugers?” Hamish shook his head, then turned to Fiona again, his gaze stern and reproachful. “Miss, are you certain?”
    “I am,” she answered.
    “These are Kinloch’s