“The factor’s men?”
“Willie Grant and his g**g,” Watson said without visible emotion. “Acting on orders from Sir Hugh.” He lit his pipe. “Sir Hugh wanted to bring in sheep, which paid better than tenants. Since then, the bottom’s fallen out of the wool market, so he turned the entire glen into a hunting estate. Nobody lives here except the keeper and a few ghillies who work part-time and scrape up whatever other work they can find. When the people kept cattle, this was fertile ground.” Watson spat on the ground. “Look at it now, a blasted wilderness. Well done, Sir b****y Hugh b****y Murray and may the devil roast your soul.”
“Thank you.” Watters walked forward, finding his boots sinking into mud with every step. A cold mist descended from the hills, shifting with the wind to obscure par
