Highland Laddie Gone

white stripe and two green ones. Ah… here it is. He’s an enemy. Aiiii!’ ”

Elizabeth laughed. “Silly! How did they really do it?”

“Haven’t the foggiest. Never did much history. But if you want to know anything at all about seals-”

“No thanks. Not even to hear you trill your r’s. Anyway, we’re here. There’s the MacDonald banner.”

“Ummm. Must be half the bloody clan on the lawn, too. Now, who are these people again?”

“The Hutchesons. My friend Marge is our host’s ex-wife. And he wants you to meet his present wife, who’s from Scotland. Does that make sense?”

Cameron sighed. “It does today.”

They threaded their way through the crowd to a redwood picnic table laden with bottles and plastic cups. Behind it Walter Hutcheson was acting as impromptu bartender. He was still wearing his kilt, belted half plaid, and wool Prince Charlie coatee. The MacDonald clan badge on his Balmoral flashed in the lamplight. He eyed Cameron’s less formal attire with a superior smile, and Cameron grinned back.

“Hello, Elizabeth,” he said pleasantly. “You’re old enough to drink, aren’t you?… And you must be our visiting Scot. What can I get for you?”

“Straight Scotch-no ice,” said Cameron.

The camper door opened, and a tiny blonde appeared, carrying a stack of napkins. She was easily the most elegant person there, in a long dress of white silk offset by a diamond pendant. “1 might as well be wearing a feed sack,” thought Elizabeth. The new wife looked very aristocratic indeed.

“Heather, dear, I’ve found you another Scot!” said Walter, helping her down. “Now don’t you bother with her title, young man. You’re in a democratic country now. My wife, Heather Hutcheson, this is…” Dr. Hutcheson’s voice trailed away. He was staring beyond them into the crowd. “Well… good land. What’s he doing here? Excuse me.”

He edged through the throng and disappeared. After a few moments of awkward silence, Cameron introduced himself and Elizabeth.

“Batair didn’t tell me there was another Scot about,” said Heather, frowning. “Where’s your home?”

“Edinburgh.”

She smiled. “Aren’t Americans funny? They think just because we come from the same effing country, it ought to be straight in, cup o’tea, feet under the table-Ke-rist, what’s that?”

“He’s the Chattan mascot,” said Cameron, pointing to Cluny just as the bobcat rubbed his back against Heather’s legs.

“Eeee!” she cried. “What did you want to bring a sodding animal for? This party is dead posh!… Ooo, what a ming! Is it the cat or your bird there?”

Cameron’s jaw tightened. Elizabeth looked around for the bird. “So you have a title,” he said smoothly. “You know, I’ll bet you come from a dear green place in the west.”

Heather smiled. “And you’re Clan Sloane, of course.”

“Did you two go to school together?” asked Elizabeth, to whom the conversation made very little sense.

“I went to Fettes,” said Cameron. “How about you?”

“Park.”

“Oh. Bellahouston?”

Elizabeth, who was still lost, smiled and tried to look intelligent, despite no one’s paying her any mind. “Is Bella-what’s-it a college?”

“Been here long?” asked Heather, ignoring her.

“No. Just arrived.”

“Fast work. Shagged the scrubber yet, Jimmy?”

Elizabeth seized on a familiar word. “Jimmy? Is that your nickname, Cameron?”

“Sometimes,” said Cameron softly. “And her ladyship’s nickname is Senga.”

“She sounds much more Scottish than you do,” Elizabeth remarked. “Such a wonderful accent.”

“Oh, toffee-noses talk like the Beeb,” said Heather.

Cameron sighed. “Look: if there are no further strikes on Morningside, the Gorbals will be safe as well. Got it, Senga?”

Heather shrugged. “Fair enough, Jimmy.”

“Right. We’ll be off, then, your ladyship.” Cameron turned to Elizabeth. “Come on, hen.”

When they were out of earshot, Elizabeth said, “At first I thought she was mad at you because you didn’t treat her like one of the nobility. Then I got really confused. I guess you got along okay, though.” She sniffed. “After all, you called her your ladyship, and me, hen.”

Cameron smiled. “You got the best of it, lassie.”

Walter Hutcheson tried not to look worried as he maneuvered his way toward the uninvited guest. He hoped that Colin hadn’t come to continue their argument about the lake property.

“Evening, Colin,” he said cautiously. “Can I get you a drink?”

Colin Campbell scowled at the party in general. “Oh, why not?” he grumbled. “As long as you don’t go off playing the host. I need your attention for once.”

“Is anything the matter?” asked Dr. Hutcheson in his professional voice. He couldn’t think of a likelier candidate for a stroke.

Dr. Campbell followed his host back to the picnic table, trying to converse over recorded bagpipe music. “Now, you know we don’t always get along, Walter,” he said in an urgent undertone. “But the one thing we have no problem with is fraud. Remember that resident at the hospital who turned out to have a medical degree from a match-book? You were on my side about that fast enough.”

“Well, of course, Colin,” said Dr. Hutcheson mildly. “It was a matter of ethics, for the good of the organization, and all that. Why?”

“Exactly. I came to tell you that we need to call a meeting of the festival committee first thing tomorrow. There’s something extraordinary going on. I happened on to it by chance.”

“Here you are, Batair,” Heather pouted. “Why did you go off and leave me with that prat and his bird? And we’re nearly out of ice, as well.”

“Sorry, dear,” he murmured. “I just need to have a word with Dr. Campbell. Colin, may I present my wife, Heather.”

“How do you do?” said Colin stiffly. “I’ve heard of you.”

Heather turned on her new husband. “Oh, Batair! Have you been telling folk about my family connections again? You promised you wouldn’t! I don’t want to be treated any different.”

“Heather, I didn’t-”

“That sort of secret doesn’t keep,” said Colin with a sour smile. “I found it very interesting. I believe you’re to be congratulated on a new cousin.”

“What?”

“Your uncle, the Duke. Once again a proud father, I believe.”

Heather frowned. “You know him?”

Dr. Campbell remained noncommittal. “I mustn’t take up the hostess’s time with family chitchat. You’ll have to see to your guests. But sometime we might talk about it.”

“Colin is quite a hobbyist in genealogy,” Dr. Hutcheson remarked. “Now, what was it you wanted to see me about?”

“Oh, the fraud business? Perhaps we ought to wait until the committee assembles in the morning. I’ll have the materials with me then. It’ll save time.”

“Look,” said Heather, “do you want a drink?”

“What are you having?” asked Colin Campbell. “Babycham?”

He was still laughing as he walked away.

CHAPTER SEVEN

GLENCOE MOUNTAIN loomed dark against the sky. In the light of a quarter-moon, the stalls and clan tents