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it to Andrew freehold. He had no way of knowing that Andrew would turn out to be so feckless. The estate was Andrew’s, free and clear; he could bequeath it or sell it or do whatever he wished, including throwing it all away on a hand of cards!”
    Her voice broke on the last words.
    “That fool! That stupid, selfish bastard—” Coll broke off and swung away, slamming his fist into his palm. He cursed, his voice low and vicious, and Isobel was glad he had spared her the names he was calling her brother—though, frankly, at the moment, she would have liked to say some of the same things to Andrew. “I dinna think he would do something like this,” Coll went on, in his emotion his voice slippingdeeper into a soft burr. “I should have made him stay here last time. . . .”
    “How would you have done that? Locked him in his room? Tied him down? He’s a grown man now, Coll, not some lad off at school, having a lark. He’s not green as grass in his first year in London. He is twenty-five years old. And he still can think of nothing but drinking and gambling!” She could not hold back her bitter words; they tumbled out of her, too long denied and pent up.
    “I should have knocked some sense into him,” Coll growled.
    “I’m not sure that is possible.” She sighed, her outburst draining her anger and leaving her weary. “He came into his inheritance too young, only seventeen when our father died, and Cousin Robert was so strict a guardian, kept him on too short a leash. It was no wonder he kicked over the traces when he turned twenty-one. I told myself he would get tired of spending his days in idleness, that he would have his fling, then settle down. That he’d come back home and be the Laird of Baillannan.”
    Coll let out a snort. “You are more the laird than Andy’ll ever be.”
    Isobel gave him a faint smile. “I did not say mine was a realistic hope.” The flash of humor left her face. “Oh, Coll! How could Andy have so little care for Baillannan? The land and the people and our family. It’s his inheritance!”
    “How could he have so little thought for you, I’d say!” Coll flared.
    “It’s not just me,” Isobel reminded him softly.
    “Aye, I know.” He let out a weary sigh. “’Tis your aunt and the servants and all the crofters, too. Baillannan will belike Duncally and the others—they’ll throw the crofters out of their homes. No doubt this Englishman will bring in a steward like MacRae, as the earl did.”
    “I heard one of MacRae’s men was tossed in Ferguson’s lochan two days ago.” Isobel studied her friend’s face.
    “So I heard.” Amusement lit his eyes. “It’s said he decided to go back to Edinburgh.”
    “Coll, have a care.”
    “You know me. I am a cautious man.”
    His words pulled a chuckle from her. “Indeed. I am well aware of the kind of caution you exercise. I’ve seen you swinging down into some cave you’ve discovered, nothing but a light and a rope and a prayer.” She sobered. “I know you hate the Clearances; I do, too. I cannot bear that so many families are losing their homes. But these men who are fighting the landlords will go to gaol if they are caught. Promise me you won’t do anything rash. I worry about you.”
    “And I appreciate that.” Neatly sidestepping her entreaty, he went on, “But right now, you are the one we must worry about. Are you sure this Englishman is telling the truth? He really holds title to Baillannan?”
    “He showed me the note of hand Andrew had given him. It was Andrew’s writing. He has the deed, as well.”
    “What will you do? You know I will help you in whatever way you want. And my sister will, as well; that goes without saying.”
    “I know.” Isobel smiled faintly. “You are a true friend, you and Meg both. But what can I do except take Aunt Elizabeth and leave Baillannan?”
    “You should not have to go anywhere. This is yourhome. Come, Isobel, this isn’t like you. Would you not fight for