Jennie About to Be by Elisabeth Ogilvie

she refused at first, saying she’d been of no use to them, but he waved her out in the grand manner.
    â€œLove goes where it’s sent,” he said, “even into a—forgive the barracks room talk, my love. You won’t hear any more of it, I promise you.”
    â€œI've heard that old saw before, and I think it was around the bam-yards before it ever reached the barracks. I’m glad to see that you can shave yourself. I thought you might have to have a valet do it for you, and our marriage would become a triangle.”
    â€œIf anyone’s going to cut my throat, I’d rather be the one.”
    â€œOy, it’s a rare treat to watch you, Capting, sir,” she said. He grinned and nicked his chin.
    â€œFirst blood to you.”
    â€œOh, Nigel!” She was upset. “Is it deep?”
    â€œNo, it is not, but don’t watch me. It’s unnerving. I want so much to swoop down on you, my hand’s trembling. I shall be slashed like a Heidelberg student.”
    They were seen off with a hearty breakfast and the good wishes of the captain and the first mate. Nigel had expected to hire a carriage to take them to Inverness, and a wagon to move their goods, but the Sinclairs were being met by their own chaise-and-four, and invited the Gilchrists to ride with them. Sinclair himself picked a man to transport the gear.
    â€œHe’s a good man. He’ll not take his own time or cheat you.”
    The showers had passed in the night, so when they drove out of Banff, the sun was burning through the thinning mists and turned slate roofs to polished silver, blindingly bright. Old stone took on the lustrous nap of fur or velvet. The broad Moray Firth opened out on their right, changing from pewter gray to marbled green and blue and white.
    â€œIt’s lovely country where you’re going,” Mrs. Sinclair said, “but wild.”
    â€œMuch wilder a hundred years ago,” her husband said. “There’s law and order in the hills now, except for the whisky-smuggling, but they consider that their God-given right,” he added dryly. “If they’ve a safe place to hide a still, then it must be meant for them to have a still. And who’s to begrudge them besides the excisemen? There’s no doubt that Scotland has profited commercially from union with England, but the profit doesn’t go very deep.”
    The combination of Jennie’s greedy interest and his being on Scottish soil again loosened his tongue like wine.
    â€œWhen you see the dispossessed, you will see it all. They’re turning them out for sheep. Evicted off lands where their forefathers lived in time out of mind. Many times it’s been fertilized with their ancestors’ blood. ”
    â€œNow, Roddie,” said his wife, “it’s a fine day, and these young folk—”
    â€œThere were abuses in the clan system, certainly,” he said to Jennie. “A lunatic here and there, abusing his life-and-death powers, and his people with nowhere to turn. But a man nurtured with the knowledge of his responsibilities is a far different man from one who is simply a landlord.”
    She said quickly, “But it isn’t that way at Linnmore, is it, Nigel?” The men sat opposite the women, riding backward, and he smiled across at her, a caress with his eyes.
    â€œNo, Mistress Gilchrist, it isn’t.”
    Mrs. Sinclair laughed like a girl. The three of them were ready to keep a light mood; the firth was blue, the sun now shone with a rare unclouded splendor, the northern chill couldn’t blight the exuberance of the new greens. Only Mr. Sinclair resisted.
    â€œIt’s fine, the sheep,” Mr. Sinclair said. “We need wool and mutton, too. But no need to throw helpless folk onto the roads or across the seas. There’s room for all! It’s a wicked thing when a glen where once hundreds of souls lived now belongs to six hundred sheep, two