The Virgin of Clan Sinclair by Karen Ranney Page B

impassable, the grass gone, replaced by rivers of mud. Her feet sank to her ankles and each step weighed more than the one before. Her clothing was dragging at her, including the hated bustle. She finally resorted to bending over and clawing at the mud, determined to make it to the top.
    The rain was blinding, the thunder so close it felt as if it were grumbling in her ear.
    A hand on her elbow startled her. She glanced to her left to find the earl there, his hair slicked back by the rain and his clothes as sodden as hers. He gripped her arm and helped her get her balance. Together, they made it the rest of the way.
    On a pleasant day she could have seen Kinloch Village, but this downpour was unlike anything she’d ever known. Now she could barely see past the bridge, if the stone footbridge had been there. The Water of Kinloch, normally a narrow, undulating river, was so wide and deep that it looked like the ocean.
    Just beyond was Kinloch Village. Half of the houses clung to the cliff, their foundations carved into the stone. The rest would flood.
    Hannah and Jack’s house would be in danger, as well as those of most of the maids who didn’t choose to live at Drumvagen. Every morning a contingent of them could be found walking toward the house, their laughter marking the start of the day, their smiles and quick conversation something she’d come to expect.
    Ellice moved forward, the earl’s hand dropping from her arm. Wiping her muddy hands on her dress, she stared toward the village, stunned by so much potential destruction.
    She turned to face him. “The village will flood,” she said. “What are we going to do?”
    His features arranged themselves into a mask. Was he going to simply turn and walk away? Or worse, say something cutting and cold?
    “We need to get back to Drumvagen,” he said.
    “We need to do something. I’m not a Scot,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the rain. “Nor am I altogether certain I like Scotland. But I can’t sit by and let people lose their homes. You go back to Drumvagen. I’m staying here.”
    “What do you propose to do by standing there?”
    “Something. I don’t know. Something.”
    She folded her arms and stared straight ahead, trying to figure out something to do. Had Macrath any machines that might be moved into place to block the flow of the river?
    Her face was sheened with rain, droplets falling from her nose. She hadn’t thought to grab a coat or a shawl, but it would have been soaked in only minutes anyway.
    “Can you sew?” he shouted at her.
    Surprised, she turned to look at him.
    “Can you sew? We need to get back to Drumvagen and see if your housekeeper has any extra muslin. We need bags filled with sand to serve as a dam against the river.”
    She blinked at him. Bags of sand? Would they work? At least he’d come up with an idea. She didn’t have one.
    Turning, she descended the hill with Gadsden at her side.
    The next hours proved her initial thought of him correct. The Earl of Gadsden was very much like her hero, Donald.
    She’d never seen anyone work as tirelessly. He was ahead of all of them in filling the wagon with sand, shouting orders, commanding the men who’d come in the dozens from Kinloch.
    Drumvagen wasn’t in danger because the house was on a much higher elevation than the village. Even if the water did come this far, only the basement would be affected.
    They set up operations in the gazebo. The white painted structure, nestled in a clearing in the woods, was equidistant between Drumvagen and the village. There, they finished sewing and loading the sandbags before carting them down to the river. The gazebo also served as headquarters for information. The maids who weren’t involved with the sewing came to bring them news from the house, along with tea and food. In turn, they learned the status of the flooding, to take back to the house.
    Ellice had no patience for needlework, but this was nothing like the intricate