Sarah Gabriel Read Online Free Page B

the happiness that had so long eluded him. He wondered who she was—and how quickly he could convince her to leave the hillside, and the glen.
    Dougal MacGregor, laird of Kinloch, leaned a shoulder against the cave entrance and looked down, watching the young woman take the steep slope upward to where the foothills met the great, dark mountain. Inside the cave behind him was a valuable cache, and within arm’s reach, a loaded pistol with which to protect it. He stood still and silent, breathing slowly, waiting.
    Whoever she was, he had to send her away from the mountain and Glen Kinloch quickly. She hadcome too far into the foothills, and wandered still higher, though her companion had left not long ago. For a moment, Dougal wondered what sort of fellow would abandon a lady in the wild hills of Kinloch, where rogues even worse than the laird of Kinloch roamed, day and night.
    The lady must be a willful creature indeed; observing their conversation earlier, he had noticed how earnestly the young gentleman tried to convince his companion to go with him. She seemed to steadfastly refuse, sending the lad on his way, preferring for some unknown reason to remain so that she could collect and chip away at rocks. He did not know the lady, but the man had looked familiar—
    “The new gauger,” he muttered under his breath. The Lowland excise officer, whose name he could not recall, had accepted a post at the lower end of Loch Katrine. Dougal had seen him once or twice in the town, without meeting him. Why would that fellow escort a lady into these hills? Every customs officer in the region knew that whisky-smuggling scoundrels lurked here.
    Being one of the worst of those scoundrels, Dougal frowned. Whatever had brought the couple into the hills overlooking Glen Kinloch, he would bet it was not tourism.
    With a charming disregard for her skirts, the solitary young woman now sank to her knees and reached into the knapsack, taking out a small hammer. She struck hard at a pale rock, breaking off one or two pieces efficiently. Chink, chink, thunk echoed over the mountainside.
    Bemused by the incongruous sight of a lovely girl wielding a hammer with such a sure hand, Dougal reminded himself that she had no business here—especially if she knew a customs man. He wondered briefly if she might be the teacher his cousin, Reverend MacIan, had hired for the glen school. Like others in the glen, he expected an older woman to arrive in the next week or two; he had not seen Hugh lately to learn the status of that.
    Narrowing his eyes, he watched her. The young woman was no tourist enjoying the scenery; her path had purpose and her glances were observant. She dropped to her knees to examine the ground, then took a small notebook from the knapsack on her shoulder, and made notes or sketches.
    If she and the gauger were spying in the area, that was of great concern. An accurate map would enable excise men to locate caves and niches where valuable goods were hidden.
    Gaugers—and willful young ladies—had to be prevented from sketching and exploring here, Dougal thought. He would have to dissuade her, and quickly.
    The girl headed upward again, lifting her skirt hems over sturdy boots—she was serious about her hill walking, he saw, having dressed for the occasion. Her path brought her closer to where he stood in the recess of the cave. In her fog-colored dress, with its jacket and bonnet of darker gray,with her nimble grace, she seemed part of the mist and the rock.
    For a moment, Dougal thought of the sylphlike fairy folk, the Daoine Sìth said to inhabit the hills and hidden places throughout Scotland. If he possessed a romantic nature, which he did not even if he allowed for fairy magic, he could believe she was part of the magic in the hills he loved so much.
    But he had seen the ones who inhabited the hills, and she was none of those. Earthly, she was, and beautiful. In that moment, she removed her bonnet and looked up at the