He found her in the practice meadow walking her border collie.
“Always dogs!” he chided her. “Don’t you ever associate with people?”
“I’m fond of beasts!” Marge Hutcheson called back. “And you qualify. Want to walk with us?”
“I might as well. I’ve just had a run-in with that husband of yours, and I need to work off steam.”
Marge raised her eyebrows. “I assume you mean Walter.”
“I said your husband, didn’t I?” He flushed. “Oh, sorry. I forgot that he’s been even more of a damned fool than usual. Anyway, the bit of fluff is such a nonentity that I keep forgetting she exists.”
Marge smiled. “Colin, you old liar! I’ll bet you haven’t even met her.”
“Well, who says I have to? When a man of Walter’s age makes a fool of himself over a skinny teenager-”
“Oh, Colin, stop blustering. I’ll bet you’ve been at it all day.”
“Pretty well.” He grinned.
“Get anyone’s goat?”
“Fair to middling. That Maid of the Cat accused me of being in drag.”
“Served you right, you old bully! I’ll bet you liked her for it, too.”
“No respect for her elders,” he grunted.
“That’s my friend Elizabeth MacPherson, so you leave her alone. And what have you been after Walter about? Not his marital status, surely.”
“No. He’s trying to convene some lynch mob against me at the hospital, so I threatened to hit him where it hurts: in the pocketbook!”
“You’re going to sue him?”
“Nah! Then the lawyers get all the fun. I’m going to see that he loses a bundle on that lakefront property he bought. Get it zoned against condos.”
“Colin, you really are incorrigible.” Marge shook her head. “How is Walter doing in his investments, anyway?”
“How do you think? You were the only one with a grain of sense about it. Clever of you to hand them over to him. I doubt if he’ll be able to afford his childbride at the rate he’s going.”
“Well, I expect she has money of her own, if it isn’t tied up in Scotland.”
“Scotland?”
“See!” cried Marge triumphantly. “I knew you hadn’t met her! Colin, you really should behave so that people would invite you places. You’d learn so much more that way.”
“Scotland, eh? What’s he done, found Flora MacDonald?”
“Better than that, from what I hear. Walter says she’s the niece of a Scottish nobleman.”
Colin Campbell grunted. “Some of those lords are poorer than schoolteachers.”
“That’s what I said.” Marge nodded. “But Elizabeth is sure Walter said he was a duke.”
Colin Campbell snorted. “The only duke Walter knows is the university in Durham. Lousy basketball team!”
“Oh, leave poor Walter alone.” Marge sighed. “What’s done is done. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to? You still have that ugly brute of a bulldog?”
They walked off together down one of the Glencoe Mountain nature trails, too far from the festival grounds for the participants to be startled by the sound of Colin Campbell-laughing.
CHAPTER SIX
“A DOCTORATE in biology is not required to keep ducks in a cardboard box,” said Cameron between clenched teeth.
“No, but in order to drive a car, one must remember which side of the road to drive on,” said Geoffrey sweetly. “How are the ducks?”
“They’re huddled in the box, saying cheep, cheep, cheep.”
“They’re lying, then. They cost me six bucks apiece. The problem is, how are we going to smuggle them into the herding box?”
Cameron raised his eyebrows. “We? I’m supposed to meet Elizabeth soon.”
“That’s true. I do want to make sure she’s distracted. You can take her the cat, too.”
“How do I explain that?”
“Tell her the truth. Tell her you’re giving me advice about Brigadoon. Just don’t mention ducks. Is this our turnoff-at the church?”
“Yes!” called Cameron. “First Assembly of God.” He laughed. “I suppose they put the chrome and wheels on elsewhere.”
Geoffrey nodded approvingly. “Elizabeth’s taste in men is improving.”
Cameron, who had heard his share of Southern feud stories and been warned about America’s tendency toward firearms, said uneasily, “Of course, my… um… intentions toward her are strictly honorable.”
Geoffrey hooted. “You’re on your own, then. I’m not vouching for Elizabeth.”
Lachlan Forsyth was straightening his rack of books on Scodand. No one ever put things back where they found them; but then the stall was so crowded, maybe they couldn’t reach the same spot twice. Jimmy’s parents had come and collected him for a dinner break, with wistful references to another party they’d been asked to, so Lachlan had offered to have the boy back through the Hill-Sing. He was a bright enough lad, and more help than trouble. Lachlan was that glad of the company, he might knock a bit off the hundred-per-cent profit he’d be making on the skian dubh.
A beefy man in an old-style wrap kilt rested his leather shield on the scarf display. Lachlan, thinking he looked familiar, edged closer.
“Stands Scotland where it did?” whispered the man.
“Alas, poor country!” said Lachlan solemnly. “Almost afraid to know itself!” “Right,” said the bearded man with a sigh of relief. “I’m a Wylie of Clan Gunn. Are we having a meeting here at the games?”
“We’ll risk it, laddie. And there’ll be a sign.”
“Good. Listen, how’s it going? I keep scanning Newsweek for car-bombings in Edinburgh, but so far nothing’s happening.”
“Which is as it should be,” Lachlan assured him. “Do you want a lot of commotion in the country like they have in Ireland, tipping the world off to what we’re planning? There’s nae strategy in that, is there? We’re stockpiling our weapons and waiting to do it all in one fell swoop.”
Wylie frowned. “How do you know the ordinary people will go along with it?”
“Ah, do you remember a few years ago when the Stone of Scone was stolen from Westminster Abbey?”
“Scone… That’s the thing you need at the coronation in order to be King of Scotland.” Lachlan nodded. “But they got it back.”
“Laddie, they think they got it back.”
Wylie of Gunn gasped. “So the Cause has the means to crown a Scottish king. Where is it? The Stone, I mean.”
Lachlan Forsyth hesitated. “At Tarbert,” he whispered. He was always afraid that sooner or later someone would point out that there were four places on the map of Scotland labeled Tarbert, but so far no one had caught on.
Wylie frowned. “I’ve been thinking about this earldom business, Mr. Forsyth. You know-getting a castle and all for helping to sponsor the revolution. And it seems to me that it would cost a pretty fair bit of money to keep up one of them things, wouldn’t it?”
Lachlan played his trump card. “Why, laddie, when we pull out of Great Britain and set up the republic-who do you think will get the North Sea oil rights?”
His co-conspirator grinned. “Outstanding! One last thing, though. You’re not letting any of these Campbells into this, are you?”
“What do you think?” said Lachlan slyly.
“Good. I reckon when we take over, we can pay them back for the Glencoe Massacre, and Culloden, and all the rest of it.”
“Spot on!” murmured Lachlan. God, these Americans are a bloodthirsty lot, he thought as the man sauntered away. One of them had even offered him some back issues of Mercenary Times so that he could order grenade launchers. At moments like these, Lachlan found it easy to convince himself that he was a hero for taking people’s money. At least he saw that they did nae harm with it. “Wise men buy and sell, and fools are bought and sold,” he said aloud. It was his favorite line from Walter Scott.