Shauna laid the book down and gestured for Mari to sit beside her. “It daesna surprise me my uncle goes on about that. Have ye heard of Culloden?”
“Wasn’t that when old King George defeated the Jacobites?”
“Aye, but ’twas a wee bit more. The English king feared Scotland would continue to rebel in spite of the massacre, so the Crown declared the clan chiefs no longer held power over their people. Playing the pipes and wearing the tartan were outlawed as well.”
Mari hoped the Scots girl would not think her totally stupid. “I do not think I understand.”
“Ye canna be expected to.” Shauna paused and then continued, “With the lairds stripped of their powers, they no longer had need to raise numbers of armed clansmen, nor did they need the tacksmen who had managed the farms and tenants since the lairds now had time to do it themselves. So the first clearances came as the tacksmen left for other parts.”
Mari frowned. “They were not forced to leave?”
“Nae then. Many of them were able to read and write and could find places in the towns of Edinburgh and Glasgow and even farther south. ’Twas when the Englishconsultantscame, explaining there was much money to be made in grazing sheep that the crofters—who knew nothing about shepherding sheep—were seen as being a burden on the scarce supply of food. ’Tis when the reigning landlords began driving them out.”
“But where did they go?”
“Mostly to the coast to burn kelp for the new industries. I dinnae understand much of it, but some of Shane’s ships carry the dried kelp to the Continent.”
“Why would that make your uncle and his brother angry?”
Shauna paused again. “Sometimes, if crofters dinnae want to move, the landlords burned them out of their homes.”
“That is awful. Was the Countess of Sutherland one of those landlords?”
“Aye. Just last year she burned over two hundred homes in one day in the middle of winter. Some crofters starved. Some froze to death on the way to the sea.”
“How terrible,” Mari exclaimed, shuddering at such a plight. She had seen Elizabeth Gordon Levenson-Gower, the Countess of Sutherland, on one occasion at a ball. The woman had been haughty and did not deign to speak to anyone less than an earl. Mari had no idea the woman had been responsible for such mayhem in Scotland.
An idea began to form in Mari’s mind. Perhaps Duncan and Broc would not hate the English so much if they knew at least some English sympathized with them. Perhaps she could be some sort of goodwill ambassador by engaging the men in conversation and winning their confidence.
It was certainly worth a try while she was here.
The family had their evening meal in a room they also used for breakfast rather than eating in the great hall where most of the servants, groundsmen and guards took their meals. Mari had wandered through the cavernous room earlier in the day, amazed it still had such a medieval feel to it. Tapestries graced the stone walls, although she wasn’t sure how old the weavings were. At the far end of the rectangular room was a raised dais with a long table and heavy, high-backed armchairs reminding her of when Jillian had received title to Newburn and Mari had accompanied her to the English court. The MacLeod crest of the horned bull, with the mottoHold Fastemblazoned above it, hung on the wall behind the dais along with numerous shields and swords, including huge claymores. Perhaps in times past, those weapons needed to be handy, but Mari was just glad she didn’t have to eat in a room that reminded her of war.
Although the smaller dining room had something of the feel of a war room this night. Broc, sporting a black eye and swollen nose, sat across from her, staring sullenly at his plate. Duncan sat beside him, his face grim. Jamie sat to her right, and she could practically feel anger roiling off him. To her left, Bridget’s rigid posture suggested she too was watchful. Shauna and Fiona conversed quietly at one end of the table while the twins, seated at the other end, seemed oblivious to the tension.
She might as well begin her campaign of befriending Jamie’s uncle and his brother. Once they realized not all English people were bad, things would be better. Mari smiled brightly. “I have an interest in what happened with the Clearances.”
Both ends of the table went silent. Broc looked up, his eyes menacing while Duncan set his mouth in a tight line. Jamie turned sharply toward her. It wasn’t exactly the reaction she’d expected from any of them. Perhaps if she explained… “I was talking to Shauna earlier—” Mari fumbled, surprised at the stricken expression on Shauna’s face. What had caused that? “Er, she was quite helpful in explaining the horrible plight of the crofters.”
“’Twas the damn English—”
“There will be nae cursing at this table,” Bridget said in a voice that brooked no nonsense.
Broc stabbed the meat on his plate with a vengeance that made Mari cringe. He certainly had a temper.
“I understand that,” she said in what she hoped was a conciliatory tone, “but not all English feel that way. I would like to learn more.”
“’Tis a subject we nae discuss,” Jamie said with finality.
There he went being bossy again. With an effort, Mari managed not to glare at him. Couldn’t he see that she was trying to be nice?
“How am I to learn then? I do not think it is too much to ask—”
“Enough, lass. As long as I am head of this table, there will be nae discussion.”
Mari kicked him under the table, wishing mightily that Ian had not taken his dinner with Jillian. Of all the insufferable—ooh! Jamie had kicked her back, although it was more of a tapping of his boot than anything else. Still. She gave him an indignant look, but he just smiled benignly at her. Something about his smile made her wary…and then she felt his boot again, only this time it circled her foot, nudging it toward him where he trapped her calf between his legs.
He spooned some gravy over his meat and then proceeded to slice a small portion that he lifted to his mouth. “Ye really should eat before yer dinner gets cold,” he said.
