“I should hope so.”
Duff bent down to kiss her waiting lips.
“I told you, Ian! Here they are, sparking in the dark!” a customer shouted and, with a good-natured laugh, Duff and Skye parted. With a final wave to those who had come outside to “see the sparking,” Duff started home.
Duff Tavish MacCallister was the fifth generation to live on and work Three Crowns, the property that was first bestowed by King Charles II upon Sir Falcon MacCallister, Earl of Argyllshire and Laird of Three Crowns. Falcon was Duff’s great-great-great-great-grandfather. The title passed on to Falcon’s eldest son, Hugh, but died when Hugh migrated to America. The land stayed in the family, passing down to Braden MacCallister, who was Duff’s great- great-great-grandfather. The land passed through the succeeding generations so that it now belonged to Duff.
Three Crowns got its name from three crenellated hills that, with imagination, resembled crowns. The family cemetery was atop the middle crown, where Sir Falcon MacCallister and all succeeding generations, down to and including Duff’s father, mother, and only brother, lay buried. Duff was the last MacCallister remaining in Scotland.
Duff raised Highland cattle on Three Crowns. He liked Highland cattle, not only because they were a traditional Scottish breed but also because they required very little in the way of shelter, enjoying conditions in which many other breeds would perish. Cold weather and snow had little effect on them, and they seemed to be able to eat anything, getting fat on what other cattle would pass by.
Duff had read of the great cattle ranches in the American West, and how they required many cowboys to ride atop the huge herds across vast areas. But because the Highland cattle were so easy to handle, and he had only three hundred acres, Duff was able to manage his farm all alone. He did have something in common with the cowboys of the American West, though. He oversaw his herd from the back of a horse, and this morning he saddled his horse. Then, as the sun was rising, he took a ride around his entire three hundred acres, looking over his cattle. It was a brisk morning and both he and his horse blew clouds of vapor into the cool air.
His horse whickered as he rode through his small herd of cattle, distinctive with their long hair and red coloring. The cattle were grazing contentedly, totally unresponsive to the horse and human who had come into their midst.
As Duff rode around his herd, he imagined what it would be like when he had a son to help him run the farm. He and Skye had spoken often of it.
“What if our first child is a girl?” Skye teased.
“Then we shall make her a princess, and have a son.”
“But if we have only girls?”
“Then I will make them all tomboys, and they will smell of cattle when they go to school.”
“Oh, you!” Skye said, hitting him playfully.
Duff also planned to build a place for Skye’s parents so they could live on Three Crowns with them. For now, Skye’s father, Ian McGregor, enjoyed a good living running the White Horse Pub, but there would come a time when he would be too old to work. When that time came, Duff promised Skye, Ian could retire in comfort in his own house, right there beside them.
As Duff reached the southern end of his property, he saw a break in the fence. Ten of his cattle had gone through the break and were now cropping the weeds that grew on the other side of the Donuun Road. Duff slapped his legs against the side of his horse, then rode at a quicker pace until he reached the break in the fence.
“Who told you cows you could be over here?” Duff said as he guided his horse through the break and across the road. He began rounding the cattle up and pushing them back across the road toward the break in the fence. It wasn’t a particularly hard thing to do: Highland cattle were known not only for their hardiness, but also for their intelligence and docile ways. He had just gotten the last cow pushed back through the break, when Rab Malcolm rode up. Malcolm was one of Sheriff Somerled’s deputies.
“Your cows are trespassing on county property,” Malcolm said. “You could be fined for that, you know.”
“My cows were keeping the weeds down along the side of the county road,” Duff said. “I should charge the county a fee for that.”
“Making light of the offense does not alter anything,” Malcolm said. “I saw your cows on the road. That is a violation and you could be cited.”
“Cite me or ride away, Rab Malcolm,” Duff said. “I’ll not be listening to your prattle.”
Malcolm was wearing a billyclub hanging from his belt. He lifted it from his belt, then used it as a pointer, pointing it directly at Duff.
“With your wild carryin’-ons last night, ’tis an enemy you have made of the sheriff,” Malcolm said. “And in this county, ’tis not a smart thing to make the sheriff your enemy.”
“Sure’n the Somerleds and the MacCallisters have been enemies for two hundred years and more. I doubt that there is anything I could have done last night that would make it more so.”
“You will see,” Malcolm said. “The sheriff was very angry. I’ve never seen him more angry.”
“Be gone with ye, Malcolm. ’Tis enough of your mouth I’ve listened to today.”
“See that your fence is mended, Duff MacCallister. I will not have commerce along this road disturbed by the likes of your cattle,” Malcolm said, just before he rode away.
Because the cattle frequently pushed through the fence at one point or another around his ranch, keeping it mended was an ongoing operation. Duff had long ago acquired the habit of carrying in his saddle bags the tools and wire he would need to perform the task. He dismounted and took out his tools and wire. Duff’s horse stood by patiently for the fifteen minutes or so it took to make the repair.
Chapter Two
“I’ll not be playing the pipes at my own wedding,” Duff said that evening at the White Horse Pub. “For sure
