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“And there’s the distillery,” Grant said. “I don’t think anyone in Dunlaggan or in this whole district is lacking for good work or land.”
“No, we’ll just be robbed blind or murdered in our beds,” Jennie retorted. “What good will those jobs do us then, I ask ye?”
Grant shifted slightly so he could see the rest of the gathering. Although some were clearly annoyed with Jennie’s last outburst, others looked worried—or fashed. And when Highlanders got fashed, trouble usually followed.
“Sir Graeme and I will run this gang to ground soon enough,” he said. “These troubles will not be allowed to continue.”
“And do ye know who they are?” asked one of the other crofters. “Because my wife wilna even go out to milk our cow in the shed first thing in the mornin’. She’s that scared.”
“Mayhap you could go do the milkin’ for her, Bob Perley,” Monroe tartly said from behind the bar.
Only a few chuckled.
“I understand your fears,” Grant replied. “But I give you the word of a Kendrick that we’ll bring an end to these criminal acts.”
Jennie snorted. “Och, that means ye dinna have a clue. Why, it’s just like when them Barrs were runnin’ amok, makin’ life a misery. And what happened to them, I ask ye? Nothin’. They’re still runnin’ things.”
Patty left the bar and stormed over. “It’s nae the same thing, Jennie Robertson. There was only one Barr causin’ all the problems, and he’s in the clink now in Edinburgh.”
“Says the woman married to a Barr,” sneered Jennie.
“Why, ye—”
Grant swiftly rose and got between the two women. “Patty, she’s talking nonsense. Everyone knows Magnus is a fine man.”
Monroe, who had hurried over to join them, gave his daughter a quick hug. “It’s nae worth the trouble, love. Go back to the bar, like a good lass.”
“I’ll nae have her defamin’ my husband, nor the Kendricks,” Patty replied with a scowl.
Grant flashed her a wry smile. “Not to worry. We’re used to it.”
The vicar, who’d also risen to his feet, cast a worried look around the room. His brother, on the other hand, looked pleased.
“Such angry words are uncalled for, Mrs. Robertson,” David said in a gentle reproof. “The Barrs are a very decent family. They’re our neighbors and our friends.”
The woman snorted. “Save yer lecturin’ for Sunday, vicar.”
“And ye can save yer drinkin’ for somewhere else, Jennie Robertson,” Monroe snapped, “if ye canna keep a civil tongue in yer head. That goes for yer husband, too.”
Mr. Robertson almost fell off his stool. “Nae need to be hasty, Monroe. The missus didna mean nothin’ by it.”
While Robertson and the missus launched into an argument, with the vicar manfully trying to referee, Grant headed to the bar for another pint. When he was halfway there, the pub door opened and in came Kathleen and Jeannie.
“There you are,” Kathleen said. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”
He bit back a smile, taking a moment to relish the picture she made. Only his Kathleen would think a riding habit in an improbable shade of primrose was suitable for a jaunt in the country—or anywhere, for that matter. But improbable suited her perfectly, and she looked as pretty as a field of daisies on a bright summer’s morn.
“Not by yourselves, I hope,” he said.
Kathleen looked at Jeannie. “Told you he’d say that.”
Her sister giggled.
“Yes, how foolish of me to worry about your safety,” Grant sardonically replied.
“You’ll be happy to know that Jeannie and I were accompanied by a groom.”
“I am happy. And surprised.”
