“What do you mean you will wait with me?” Skye asked. “And what else would you be doing, Duff MacCallister? Would you be finding a willing young lass to wait with you?”
“I don’t know such a willing lass,” Duff replied. “Do you? For truly, it would be an interesting experiment.”
“Oh, you!” Skye said, hitting Duff on the shoulder. It was the same shoulder Alexander had hit in the fight and he winced.
“Oh!” she said. “I’m sorry. You just made me mad talking about a willing lass.”
Duff laughed, then pulled Skye to him. “You are the only willing lass I want,” he said.
“I should hope so.”
Duff bent down to kiss her waiting lips.
“I told you, Ian! Here they are, sparking in the dark!” a customer shouted and, with a good-natured laugh, Duff and Skye parted. With a final wave to those who had come outside to “see the sparking,” Duff started home.
Three Crowns
Duff Tavish MacCallister was the fifth generation to live on, and work Three Crowns, the property that was first bestowed by King Charles II upon Sir Falcon MacCallister, Earl of Argyllshire and Laird of Three Crowns. Falcon was Duff’s great-great-great-greatgrandfather. The title passed on to Falcon’s eldest son, Hugh, but died when Hugh migrated to America. The land stayed in the family, passing down to Braden MacCallister, who was Duff’s great-great-greatgrandfather. The land passed through the succeeding generations so that it now belonged to Duff.
Three Crowns got its name from three crenellated hills that, with imagination, resembled crowns. The family cemetery was atop the middle crown where Sir Falcon MacCallister and all succeeding generations, down to and including Duff’s father, mother, and only brother, lay buried. Duff was the last MacCallister remaining in Scotland.
Duff raised Highland cattle on Three Crowns. He liked Highland cattle, not only because they were a traditional Scottish breed, but also because they required very little in the way of shelter, enjoying conditions in which many other breeds would perish. Cold weather and snow had little effect on them and they seemed to be able to eat anything, getting fat on what other cattle would pass by.
Duff had read of the great cattle ranches in the American West, and how they required many cowboys to ride herd on the huge herds across vast areas. But because the Highland cattle were so easy to manage, and he had only three hundred acres, Duff was able to manage his farm all alone. He did have something in common with the cowboys of the American West, though. He managed his herd from the back of a horse, and this morning he saddled his horse, then, as the sun was rising, took a ride around his entire three hundred acres, looking over his cattle. It was a brisk morning and both he and his horse blew clouds of vapor into the cool air.
His horse whickered as he rode through his small herd of cattle, distinctive with their long hair and red coloring. The cattle were grazing contentedly, totally unresponsive to the horse and human who had come into their midst.
As Duff rode around his herd, he imagined what it would be like when he had a son to help him run the ranch. He and Skye had spoken often of it.
“What if our first child is a girl?” Skye teased.
“Then we shall make her a princess, and have a son.”
“But if we have only girls?”
“Then I will make them all tomboys, and they will smell of cattle when they go to school.”
“Oh, you!” Skye said, hitting him playfully.
Duff also planned to build a place for Skye’s parents so they could live on Three Crowns with them. For now, Skye’s father, Ian McGregor, enjoyed a good living running the White Horse Pub, but there would come a time when he would be too old to work. When that time came, Duff promised Skye, Ian could retire in comfort in his own house, right there beside them.
As Duff reached the southern end of his property he saw a break in the fence. Ten of his cattle had gone through the break and were now cropping the weeds that grew on the other side of the Donuun Road. Duff slapped his legs against the side of his horse, then rode at a quicker pace until he reached the break in the fence.
“Who told you cows you could be over here?” Duff said as he guided his horse through the break and across the road. He began rounding the cattle up and pushing them back across the road toward the break in the fence. It wasn’t a particularly hard thing to do—Highland cattle were known not only for their hardiness, but also for their intelligence and docile ways. He had just gotten the last cow pushed back through the break when Rab Malcolm rode up. Malcolm was one of Sheriff Somerled’s deputies.
“Your cows are trespassing on county property,” Malcolm said. “You could be fined for that, you know.”
“My cows were keeping the weeds down along the side of the county road,” Duff said. “I should charge the county a fee for that.”
“Making light of the offense does not alter anything,” Malcolm said. “I saw your cows on the road. That is a violation and you could be cited.”
“Cite me or ride away Rab Malcolm,” Duff said. “I’ll not be listening to your prattle.”
Malcolm removed his billy club from his belt and pointed it directly at Duff.
“With your wild carryin’ ons last night, ‘tis an enemy you have made of the sheriff,” Malcolm said. “And in this county, ‘tis not a smart thing to make the sheriff your enemy.”
“Sure ‘n the Somerleds and the MacCallisters have been enemies for two hundred years and more. I doubt that there is anything I could have done last night that would make it more so.”
“You will see,” Malcolm said. “The sheriff was very angry. I’ve never seen him more angry.”
“Be gone with ye, Malcolm. ‘Tis enough of your mouth I’ve listened to today.”
“See that your fence is mended, Duff MacCallister. I will not have commerce along this road disturbed by the likes of your cattle,” Malcolm said, just before he rode away.
Because the cattle frequently pushed through the fence at one point or another around his ranch, keeping them mended was an ongoing operation. Duff had long ago acquired the habit of carrying in his saddlebags the tools and wire he would need to perform the task. Dismounting and taking out his tools and wire, Duff’s horse stood by patiently for the fifteen minutes or so it took to make the repair.
Chapter 2
“I’ll not be playing the pipes at my own wedding,” Duff said that evening at the White Horse Pub. “For sure now, and how would that look? My bride would come marching in on the arms of her father, finely dressed in her bridal gown, looking beautiful, but there is no groom standing at the chancel waiting for her. ‘Where is the groom?’ people will say. ‘Poor girl, has the groom deserted her at the altar?’ But no, the groom is standing in the transept playing the pipes.”
Skye laughed. “No, I dinnae mean play the pipes at the wedding. But afterward, at the reception you could play the pipes. You play them so beautifully, ‘twould be a shame if ye dinnae play them.”
“A fine thing, Ian,” Duff said to Skye’s father behind the bar. “Your daughter wants me to work on my wedding day.”
“Duff MacCallister, for you, playing the pipes isn’t work. It is an act of love and you know it. Sure’n there’s no a man alive can make the pipes sing a more beautiful song than you.”
“So the two of you are doubling up on me, are you?” Duff said.
“And if we need another, there’s m’ mother,” Skye said. “For she would want to hear you play as well. Say you will, Duff. Please?”
Duff laughed. “Aye, I’ll play the pipes, for how can I turn you down?”
“Best you be careful, Duff, m’ boy, lest you let the lass know how much power she has over you.”
“Ian, do you think she doesn’t already know?” Duff asked. He put down his empty beer mug, then stood. “Best I get home,” he said. “Skye, would you be for stepping outside with me?”