Isabel nudged Michael under the table with her knee to get him to stop glaring.
“Here you are, lass,” Lachlan said as he handed her a full cup of hot tea. The last thing she wanted was more tea, but she knew she was going to have to take a sip or two so that she wouldn’t offend the man. She wanted him to keep talking about the MacKennas.
“The rain hasn’t let up,” Lachlan remarked as he reached for a scone. “My daughter owns this store, and she swears she makes a nice profit,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t know how she could. Since I’ve been here the last couple of days, only a dozen or so customers have made purchases. Of course, the weather hasn’t helped.” He popped a bite into his mouth, washed it down with a gulp of tea, and then asked, “Now, where was I?”
“You were telling us about the MacKennas,” Isabel reminded. “What clan is fighting with them? Could it be those ornery Buchanans?”
Lachlan chuckled. “No, not the Buchanans. According to Rory, the MacKennas aren’t fighting with any other clan. It’s infighting that’s going on.”
“They’re fighting with one another?” she asked, trying to clarify.
“Exactly so. There’s a lot of gossip flying around, but this is what I know to be true. A man named Compton MacKenna owned the land for nearly fifty years. He never married, and when he died, he willed the land to a relative.
“Compton moved to America when he was a young man, and he only returned to the Highlands a couple of times.”
“He left his land all those years without knowing... ,” she began.
“Oh, he knew everything that was going on. He had hired a groundskeeper, a man named James Gibson, and my cousin Hamish, who I’ll admit likes to poke his nose into everyone else’s business, told me Gibson was paid handsomely to keep his eye on the property and to let Compton know if there were any problems. James died a while back, and the job of groundskeeper has been handed down to his son.” He thought to add, “That’s what Hamish tells me, anyway.”
Isabel still couldn’t discern what the fighting was all about. Michael was as impatient as she was to get to the root of the problem.
“Who’s making the trouble?” Isabel asked.
“Is someone contesting the will?” Michael asked a second later.
“I was just getting to that,” Lachlan said, reaching for a cake. “There’s a man named Clive Harcus who’s claiming to be the legitimate son of Compton MacKenna. He insists he’s the rightful owner.”
“Does he have proof that he’s the legitimate son?” Isabel asked.
“Not so far, according to Hamish and Rory. I hear new stories about Clive Harcus nearly every day. I swear his name is etched in my memory. Word is, he moved into a cottage on MacKenna land and is pushing all the other tenants out until they’re willing to pay him a high rent. Rory says people are afraid of him. He’s a bully, and mean, real mean.”
“Is that gossip or the truth?” Michael wanted to know.
“It could be gossip, but from all the incidents I’ve heard about I’m thinking it’s true. Rory says one day Harcus is going to kill someone. He’s got a temper big enough to do it.”
When he saw the shocked look on Isabel’s face, Lachlan reached over and patted her hand. Then he sought to lighten the conversation and launched into a humorous story about one of the MacHughs.
“Were there any clans living above the MacHughs?” Michael asked. He already knew the answer, for he’d looked over the map, searching for his cousins the MacAlisters, out of curiosity. That clan did live above the MacHughs, and Michael was interested in what Lachlan would have to say about them.
“Oh my, yes, there were other clans living up there. Some descendants still are.” He named several clans, added a few spicy tidbits about each one, and then said, “Way up there, hanging on the water are the MacAlisters.” He smiled when he said their name. “Now, there’s a rowdy bunch to rival the Buchanans.”
For another fifteen minutes Lachlan regaled them with colorful stories about different clans while he devoured every bit of food on the tray.
Michael paid cash for the food and left Harry a handsome tip. Isabel also purchased three maps. Lachlan insisted on giving her his address and phone number. Should she run into any problems or need directions, he wanted her to call him.
Once they were back in the car and on their way, Isabel said, “You wanted to laugh when Lachlan was talking about those rowdy Buchanans.”
“I wanted to tell him who I was.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. You would have embarrassed him.”
She wasn’t paying attention to where they were headed. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but there were still heavy clouds overhead, chasing after them. It was dark and gloomy, and she knew they were in for another downpour.