Highland Laddie Gone Read Online Free Page A

Elizabeth informed him. “That woman is in an eighteenth-century costume. How could it be from
Macbeth?”
“David Garrick production, I expect.”
    “That,” said Elizabeth, tapping the painting with her forefinger, “is a print of a Joy painting of Bonnie Prince Charlie bidding farewell to Flora MacDonald.”
    “Who is …?”
    “After Culloden, the British were searching the Highlands for Bonnie Prince Charlie, so he hid out on the Isle of Skye. Flora MacDonald helped him to escape fromScotland by disguising him as her maid and smuggling him across the inlet in a rowboat.”
    “I suppose that involved putting him in a longer skirt,” murmured Geoffrey. “He seems to be back in full kilt for the farewell scene, though. Say, are you
sure
this is supposed to be the prince?”
    “Of course I’m sure. Why?”
    Geoffrey pressed his tie against the kilted figure in the painting. “Because he’s not wearing the Royal Stewart tartan!”
    Elizabeth sighed. “Clans have more than one plaid, Geoffrey. There are patterns for dress, for hunting, for—Well, never mind. I don’t have time to explain it to you because I have to change into
my
kilt. Which bedroom do you want?”
    “Whichever one
he
doesn’t sleep in.”
    “I thought I’d put him in the bathroom.”
    “Not unless you brought a bedpan.”
    “All right, I’ll keep him in the room with me. He’ll be good protection.”
    “Protection from whom? If you’re referring to me, cousin dear, the dust bunnies under the bed are all the protection you need. More than enough.”
    Elizabeth smiled sweetly. “I know.”
    The Highland festival was held in a large meadow several hundred feet below the peak of Glencoe Mountain. Already the well-mowed field was ringed with open tents, each bearing the standard of a different clan. Early arrivals were strolling about, visiting the hosts at the various tents and studying clan displays. Others gathered around the wooden dance platforms to watch the costumed dancerspractice, or inspected the wares at the souvenir stalls. By far the largest crowd had collected around the refreshment tent, a testimony to the effect of ninety-two degree weather on persons in wool outfits.
    “How do you stand it?” asked Geoffrey, fanning himself with his program. “You look like a stewed sheep.”
    Elizabeth dabbed at her forehead. “Well, perhaps this velvet jacket is a bit much, but since I’ve got Cluny, I think I ought to be in full dress.” She straightened the lace jabot at her throat. “Thank goodness I have an extra blouse. Isn’t this a pretty kilt?” She twirled to show off the red and blue plaid of Clan MacPherson.
    “That’s right,” said Geoffrey. “Shake and bake. I’m going to the refreshment tent. Want anything?”
    “Not now. It would only give me more to sweat. I’m going to check in at the Chattan headquarters, and then I’ll see if Marge and her dogs have arrived.”
    “I’ll find you.” Geoffrey nodded toward the bobcat. “You’ll be easy to spot.”
    Elizabeth started off in the direction of the clan displays. Cluny, who was by now used to Highland festivals, put up only a token resistance when his leash was tugged. He could behave perfectly if he chose to, but he always made it clear that his cooperation could not be taken for granted. His yellow eyes flickered around the meadow, sighting nothing of interest, just the black-and-white shapes of noisy primates which matched the sweaty man-smells he’d been getting all afternoon. Cluny yawned.
    “Isn’t this exciting, kitty?” Elizabeth was saying. “All these beautiful colors! Let’s go to the Chattan booth and see who’s on duty now.”
    The first tent on Clan Row belonged to the Campbells.They were flying the family standard: a boar’s head emblazoned with the motto
Ne Obliviscaris
(Forget Not), and a cardboard poster on an easel listed the family names associated with Clan Campbell. A woman in a white sundress was straightening a stack of