Summer of Love Read Online Free

bottles of claret.
         While they talked, Mary MacGregor baked the trout, occasionally asking
a question. Twice, she tried to change the conversation, probing into
Andrew’s background. His answers remained evasive, giving away little,
except that before joining Mr. Graham he had spent four years at the
university in Edinburgh.
         Helen only briefly returned to the room, helping her mother serve the
food. She ignored him completely, as if he wasn’t there. But he did not mind.
In fact, it gave him greater leisure to observe her, to imprint her face into his
memory. It was her pronounced cheek bones, the high forehead, the big eyes,
and the strong chin that imparted to her face such strength, such a bold cut.
She was slender, but looked strong. Her bosom proudly swelled under her
little jacket.
         After dining on one of the trout, the talk turned to the clouds of the
political storm gathering in the country, but particularly in the Highlands,
threatening another rising of the Jacobites in support of Charles Edward
Stuart’s quest to regain the crown of Scotland he considered rightfully his.
Dougal MacGregor expounded his theory that, if such a rising occurred,
surely this time most of the Highland clans, except for the Campbells, would
unite to get rid of the English and help restore Scotland as a free nation once
and for all. Only when he finished did he seem to remember that his visitor
was a Campbell, and he added with a chuckle: "Yes, master Andrew, we
may end up on opposite sides. But right now, let’s enjoy that excellent claret
of yours."
     
    * * *
     
    Helen pricked her ears when she heard an unfamiliar voice. Visitors to their
clachan still were a novelty—a welcome diversion from the daily drudgery.
She quickly brushed down her jacket and petticoat, intent on going outside
to still her curiosity, and stirred the broth once more. By then she heard her
father enter the cottage, followed by another person. Turning, she recognized
the factor’s new helper. In her initial surprise, she almost answered his smile.
Annoyed that her face had betrayed her, she stormed out of the cottage, only
to be called back to do her father’s bidding.
         Why was he here? Had he come to see her? Again she felt those eyes
searching hers, almost begging. She was not going to give him the satisfaction of staying. No, she would rather finish the washing her mother had
started. But her thoughts remained with the young man. She suddenly
regretted that she had not stayed to listen to their talk. It would have been
worth it; fed her craving for news and knowledge for days to come.
         After finishing her chores at the river, she lingered around outside the
cottage. Only her father’s booming voice carried to her, while the young
man’s was nothing more than an undistinguishable murmur. She purposely
ignored him while helping her mother serve the two men, and left quickly,
taking portions of trout to her siblings, wondering if he had brought the fish.
What did he want? Had he really come to see her? No, it must have been on
factor’s business. Hadn’t the old man asked her mother if she had something
for him?
         When she heard the two men get up from the table, she quickly busied
herself with her little brother. She only stole a glance at him as he rode away.
At the copse of oak he looked back and waived. Her pulse quickened. She
kept herself from responding and slowly turned away. Maybe he had really
come to see her, but she reminded herself that he was only a Campbell of
Argyle.
     
    2
    Some four weeks later, Andrew returned from another of his visits to the
earl’s tenants, up Glen Dochart’s way. As he dismounted in the yard of the
castle, a familiar voice startled him.
         "Look who’s here! … Andrew!"
         He turned and faced the condescending grin of Francis McNabb.
         "Hello, Francis. Taking a break from university? I thought you had at least
another year to