A Highland Folly by Jo Ann Ferguson Page A

as if to grip the sides of his pulpit but halted himself with a flustered expression.
    â€œMy friends,” he said with an uneven smile, “it is my honor to host this meeting, but I shall step aside to leave you in the capable hands of the man who organized it. Sir Busby?”
    Sir Busby rose. Rubbing his hands nervously against his light brown breeches, he said, “Lady Kinloch, I would like you to speak first.”
    â€œMe?” When the dozen people in the room turned to look at her, she slowly stood. She did not want to speak first. She wanted to sit and listen and consider the opinions of others, but she should have known that as shy as he was, Sir Busby would seek someone else to address this group.
    â€œGood evening,” Anice said. When her voice did not quiver and crack on the phrase, she was able to smile. “Sir Busby and I had hoped to gather a consensus on the issues that surround the bridge project.”
    Quickly she realized she did not need to say more. The villagers were eager to express their opinions as to how the road would change the village and disrupt fishing on the Abhainn an Uruisg. When she saw heads nodding in agreement, she realized that the hatred of the project had rallied the cantankerous villagers who seldom could agree on anything. She wanted to beg them to heed her desire for clear thought, but she doubted if tonight was the time for good sense. Tonight these people needed to express their anger. Mayhap, if she were to call upon them individually, she might help them realize that rage would gain them nothing from the government. Calm facts were what they needed to send to London.
    She sighed. If she were to call on all her neighbors and take time to listen to their opinions of the road as well as the weather and each other, she would be still giving them a look-in by the time the road was finished. She had little time to spare even though the lambing was nearly over. This time of year the Kinloch family and their retainers were kept endlessly busy with that important chore. Although she had been amazed that everyone was expected to take a turn, she had come to look forward to the quiet hours she could spend in the barn, far from family and all their requests.
    â€œDo you agree, Lady Kinloch?” asked Reverend Dole.
    â€œI am sorry.” Her face burned, and she feared she was blushing, but she would not be false with the minister. “I was lost in my thoughts.”
    â€œWe were speaking,” Sir Busby said with a smile, “of the worries we share about the disruptions that will be caused by blasting.”
    â€œWill it be near anyone’s house?”
    â€œThat is not yet sure.”
    â€œOf course,” grumbled Catriona Tawes, the mayor’s wife, “this might all be moot if you had not saved that roadman’s life on the hill.”
    â€œWhat?” Anice glanced at Sir Busby. He was as puzzled as she was. “I don’t understand what you are talking about, Mrs. Tawes.”
    â€œâ€™Tis not like a Kinloch to be coy, Lady Kinloch,” the gray-haired woman returned, her voice still sharp. “You should have left that man there on the hillside instead of helping him.”
    â€œI still do not understand what you are speaking of.”
    â€œLady Kinloch, it is well known throughout the village that you saved that man from someone who was shooting at him on the hill near the old castle.”
    â€œI cannot speak to what you have heard, Mrs. Tawes, but the truth is that Lucais MacFarlane saved me . If not for him, I might be dead.” Anice frowned, then wished she had not. Lifting off her bonnet, she pointed to the bruise that was still tender and a variety of colors. “I suffered no more than this and a cut hand because he was there to push me away from the ball fired at us. No matter how I feel about the bridge and the road, I know that I owe him my life.”
    Conversations erupted from all corners of