affairs. She didn't want to fight her great-uncle, and she didn't want to hurt him, but she was determined to have her say in how the mining business was conducted. "Leave it to me, Mark Menzies. I will see you, and the men, tomorrow at the site."
"Thank you."
He rose to leave; even as he stood, the office door banged open and Gawain strode into the room.
In his late fifties, this younger brother of her grandfather remained a tall, broad-shouldered, able, and powerful man. His dark MacGinnis hair was still only peppered with gray, falling long and thickly to his shoulders. He dressed in the Highland manner, kilted each day, and Shawna could well imagine him as one of the war chieftains of old, entering into ruthless combat with any enemy who dared threaten the sanctity of their homeland. He was a fierce man, bound strictly to the land. He knew how to wrest the best crops from their land, how to raise the best cattle. He was equally able as a businessman, and though Shawna was titular head of the family, it was the nineteenth century, and she, Gawain, her other great-uncle, Lowell, and her cousins Alistair, Alaric, and Aidan were all involved in managing the family's interests.
"Ah, Uncle," Shawna murmured. "You're in good time. Mark has come to talk to me about the new shaft. I've suggested that we could have a service—"
Gawain waved a hand impatiently. "Put on whatever pretty show you must, my dear. Menzies, you shouldn't bother Shawna with these difficulties, man, you should be coming to me."
"Beggin' your pardon, sir—" Mark began, but again, Gawain waved a hand in the air.
"The matter is settled for the moment then, eh? Get on with you then, Menzies, back to your own doings if you will, I'm a busy man and I need a moment with my niece."
"Aye, then, tomorrow, Lady MacGinnis," Menzies said, and quickly quit the office.
"That was quite rude," Shawna commented.
Gawain merely replied, "I've other matters of greater importance at the moment."
"Such as?"
Gawain tossed a letter down upon the table. Shawna looked at her great-uncle, arching a brow. "Take a look, girl. It's from America."
Shawna picked up the letter and saw the American postal marks on it. She started to read, but Gawain's hands landed suddenly on the desk, and her eyes were drawn to his. Blue, like her own. There was a startling resemblance among MacGinnis family members. Ink black hair with an exceptional cobalt gloss and startling blue eyes marked them almost irrefutably as MacGinnises. Family members had, as well, high, cleanly defined black brows and a way of lifting them that connected them all as kin.
"Read!" Gawain commanded, his "r" rolling especially deeply with his irritation.
She knew instantly, of course, that it was from Andrew Douglas. As she touched the letter, great waves of guilt seemed to wash over her. She had been in a sorry state herself the last time she had seen him, but she would never forget his pain at his brother's death.
She quickly scanned the words on the paper, trying to keep her fingers from trembling. He had always reminded her a great deal of David. Although Andrew had definitely inherited certain features from his mother's family, he still looked like a Douglas and had his father's build. The brothers had been of the same height and muscle structure, both of them like lions, so powerfully built, so sleek, so agile. Capable of great courtesy—and great violence, she believed, if thwarted.
If known to have been betrayed.
Every word of this letter was polite and courteous. Andrew was coming to Craig Rock. He didn't know how long he would be staying, nor exactly when he would be arriving. She wasn't to make any changes in the management of the estates; she had done so well in his absence thus far. She was not to vacate the master's chambers of Castle Rock, nor depart that residence for Castle MacGinnis. He had recently married again, and was happy to be attended by his new wife and friends on his trip to his
"Thank you."
He rose to leave; even as he stood, the office door banged open and Gawain strode into the room.
In his late fifties, this younger brother of her grandfather remained a tall, broad-shouldered, able, and powerful man. His dark MacGinnis hair was still only peppered with gray, falling long and thickly to his shoulders. He dressed in the Highland manner, kilted each day, and Shawna could well imagine him as one of the war chieftains of old, entering into ruthless combat with any enemy who dared threaten the sanctity of their homeland. He was a fierce man, bound strictly to the land. He knew how to wrest the best crops from their land, how to raise the best cattle. He was equally able as a businessman, and though Shawna was titular head of the family, it was the nineteenth century, and she, Gawain, her other great-uncle, Lowell, and her cousins Alistair, Alaric, and Aidan were all involved in managing the family's interests.
"Ah, Uncle," Shawna murmured. "You're in good time. Mark has come to talk to me about the new shaft. I've suggested that we could have a service—"
Gawain waved a hand impatiently. "Put on whatever pretty show you must, my dear. Menzies, you shouldn't bother Shawna with these difficulties, man, you should be coming to me."
"Beggin' your pardon, sir—" Mark began, but again, Gawain waved a hand in the air.
"The matter is settled for the moment then, eh? Get on with you then, Menzies, back to your own doings if you will, I'm a busy man and I need a moment with my niece."
"Aye, then, tomorrow, Lady MacGinnis," Menzies said, and quickly quit the office.
"That was quite rude," Shawna commented.
Gawain merely replied, "I've other matters of greater importance at the moment."
"Such as?"
Gawain tossed a letter down upon the table. Shawna looked at her great-uncle, arching a brow. "Take a look, girl. It's from America."
Shawna picked up the letter and saw the American postal marks on it. She started to read, but Gawain's hands landed suddenly on the desk, and her eyes were drawn to his. Blue, like her own. There was a startling resemblance among MacGinnis family members. Ink black hair with an exceptional cobalt gloss and startling blue eyes marked them almost irrefutably as MacGinnises. Family members had, as well, high, cleanly defined black brows and a way of lifting them that connected them all as kin.
"Read!" Gawain commanded, his "r" rolling especially deeply with his irritation.
She knew instantly, of course, that it was from Andrew Douglas. As she touched the letter, great waves of guilt seemed to wash over her. She had been in a sorry state herself the last time she had seen him, but she would never forget his pain at his brother's death.
She quickly scanned the words on the paper, trying to keep her fingers from trembling. He had always reminded her a great deal of David. Although Andrew had definitely inherited certain features from his mother's family, he still looked like a Douglas and had his father's build. The brothers had been of the same height and muscle structure, both of them like lions, so powerfully built, so sleek, so agile. Capable of great courtesy—and great violence, she believed, if thwarted.
If known to have been betrayed.
Every word of this letter was polite and courteous. Andrew was coming to Craig Rock. He didn't know how long he would be staying, nor exactly when he would be arriving. She wasn't to make any changes in the management of the estates; she had done so well in his absence thus far. She was not to vacate the master's chambers of Castle Rock, nor depart that residence for Castle MacGinnis. He had recently married again, and was happy to be attended by his new wife and friends on his trip to his
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