Sarah Gabriel (15 page)

J
ames shrugged into a borrowed tartan waistcoat of dark green and black with thin stripes of yellow, lined in satin and neatly made. He picked up the neck cloth and wrapped it around the high collar of his fresh linen shirt. The borrowed things, which included leather boots, and trousers and frock coat of deep gray superfine, fit surprisingly well. Mrs. Graeme had brought them to him after showing him to a guest room where he could wash, change, and rest. The clothing, she had explained, came from Mr. MacArthur’s own wardrobe.

“He will be glad to lend these to you. He, too, is a tall man, wide through the shoulders,” she had said. “Lord Struan, I am grateful to you for taking care of Miss Elspeth and seeing her safe home.”

She had left, smiling, and inviting him to come downstairs for a hearty tea to be laid in a half hour.
Safe home
, he thought, savoring the phrase. He suspected that Mrs. Graeme knew that Elspeth had spent two days alone with him, yet had made no fuss. Tying the knot in the neck cloth, he wandered to the window and glanced out over the courtyard and modest
estate of nearly two thousand acres, so Elspeth had told him upon arriving. Kilcrennan was a respectable house, at its heart a converted old stone tower keep, added to over generations, so that it was a little tilted, a bit shabby, and cramped in places, with a patina of age and respectability. He glanced toward the outbuildings, which included the weaving cottages, as the housekeeper had explained. In the distance he saw blue mountains through a drizzle, beneath a sky that promised clearing in a day or so.

Seeing movement in the yard below, he glanced down and saw Elspeth coming down the steps from the house, the entrance being two floors below the window of his bedchamber. He saw that she had changed to a pale gray dress, with a pale shawl around her shoulders. As she hurried down the steps and away from the house, he wondered where she was going.

Even the sight of her stirred a feeling in him that tugged at him, as if he felt some inexpressible craving of the heart. He knew then how much he wanted to marry her, and that he would never feel right without that fey and fascinating girl in his life. His feelings went so far beyond obligation, or thoughts of his grandmother’s will, that he began to wonder if he was falling in love.

He scarcely had courage to acknowledge that, and he was glad when he saw the distraction of a gig and horse riding up the lane from the opposite direction that he and Elspeth had followed. Donal MacArthur must be arriving home. James watched until the vehicle drew to a halt. The man who stepped down was elderly yet robust, in a dark suit and red plaid waistcoat. When he removed his hat, his thick hair and beard shone like copper and silver. He flung his arms wide
as Elspeth stepped into them, and he enveloped her in a deep hug that she returned. From his high window, James could hear her laughter, and her grandfather’s booming reply.

“You’re home, wee girl! I worried that you might vanish on the moor!”

She laughed. “The fairies did not take me, Grandda. I was safe at Struan House.”

Mrs. Graeme approached, and rather than the cool greetings for servants that James was accustomed to seeing, she received a kiss on the cheek from the master, and the three of them stood together talking in animated conversation. Donal set his arm around Elspeth, and she put her arm around Mrs. Graeme. They were linked, the three, snug, supportive, loving.

James sucked in a breath. He felt a yearning that had long been there, unsatisfied, and the tug of its rising hurt. Years ago he vaguely remembered such scenes in his own home, the laughter of mother, father, of servants who were cousins, of such ease of affection—a touch on shoulder or head, a warm hand to hold his, and smiles, always those.

Old loneliness with no business renewing, he thought. As the outsider here, he felt it keenly. Then Donal MacArthur looked up, met James’s gaze, and nodded. Just once, direct, a silent, respectful, private introduction, perhaps thanks as well. Elspeth looked up and smiled. For a moment, James felt part of their circle.

Then he stepped back, turning away to knot the last of his neck cloth and shrug into the frock coat. With another glance for the sky, quickly darkening in the cool October twilight over a now-empty courtyard, he headed for the stairs.

Tea was supper after all, James discovered: a simple, generous spread served in the dining room, where he now sat with Elspeth and Mrs. Graeme. He glanced around the small, cozy room with its robin’s-egg-blue walls and creaking wood-planked floor, and at the table crisp white linens, delicate china dishes, and a silver ser vice that even his fussy aunt would be proud to lay out. The fare was excellent, too—hot rolls and salted butter, cold sliced beef and lamb, rowan jelly and sweet custard, and a variety of small cakes and biscuits, as well as steaming hot tea. Mrs. Graeme poured, and he noted that all but he added liberal sugar and cream. He had always taken his tea strong, fragrant, and unsweetened.

His Aunt Rankin, James thought, would have her nose out of joint when she discovered that the Highlands was not the crude, backward place she believed it to be, but quite civilized. She had maintained that opinion all her life, even when her sister, Lady Struan, had moved to Struan House. Lady Rankin had refused to send her wards, James and Fiona, to the Highlands to see their grandparents but for a week or two at a time, now and then. “You will catch your death of cold up there, and come home undisciplined and starved for civilization,” she had claimed.

That, of course, had never happened. He and Fiona had hunted for rocks, and Fiona had studied Gaelic, and each time James left Struan, he only wanted to go back. By the time he left Eton for Oxford and then University of Glasgow, and finally a teaching position in Edinburgh, he was too busy to visit his grandmother often. Thanks to his great-aunt’s over-bearing nature, he had not formed a habit of sum
mers spent in the Highlands, though he would not have objected.

Now, seated in the pleasant dining room, he glanced through the window at another stunning view of the mountains, and felt—well, at home, if he dared admit it. Or at least a place he could imagine as home. The warmth of this home and its inhabitants helped enhance that sense.

Mrs. Graeme poured the tea and filled their plates according to their whims—cold meat and rolls for each, rowan jelly for him, custard and a cake for Elspeth. James watched Elspeth, admiring her stunning yet simple loveliness. She had changed her wet things for a gown of pale gray wool, her hair was softly drawn up, and small pearls dropped from her earlobes. Her shawl was of creamy wool crisscrossed with soft green, purple, and rose, with a crocheted fringe.

“A handsome shawl, Miss MacArthur,” he said. “My sister would admire it.”

She smiled. “It’s one of my own weaving pieces. I would be honored if you would accept a similar piece for your sister. I would be happy to show you the loom later, if you…if you have time.” A blush rose high in her cheeks. He nodded, smiled.

“Please stay the night, Lord Struan,” Mrs. Graeme said. “It is going dark, and the roads will be no better on your way home than when you came.”

“I’ll gratefully accept the hospitality, if it is agreeable to the MacArthurs.”

“Of course,” Elspeth said quickly, and sipped her tea.

“Mr. MacArthur has just arrived and will join us shortly,” Mrs. Graeme said. He learned during their
conversation that the housekeeper was a family member as well, a cousin through Mr. MacArthur’s late wife.

“Graeme, aye,” he said. “I know Sir John, and I met Miss Lucie Graeme at the king’s reception in Edinburgh, when…Miss MacArthur and I first met. Sir John is a good acquaintance of mine, and a very fine road engineer. Naturally he had a keen interest in geology—” As he spoke, the drawing room door opened and MacArthur entered.

“Ah, Lord Struan! Good to meet you, sir,” Donal MacArthur said briskly, coming toward him as James stood to clasp his hand. “Welcome to Kilcrennan.”

“Lord Struan will be our guest for the night, Mr. MacArthur,” Mrs. Graeme said, sounding more like a wife than servant or even cousin.

“Excellent,” MacArthur said, helping himself to food, and accepting a cup of steaming tea, heavily sweetened, from his granddaughter.

“Thank you for the loan of clothing and boots, sir,” James said. “Unfortunately my own things got wet as we were crossing some high water.”

“Down by the Durchan Water, Grandfather,” Elspeth supplied. “It was very floody, but Lord Struan got us across, bravely and competently.”

“Then we’re further in your debt, sir,” Donal MacArthur said. “Souls have been swept away in lesser floods than we’ve had this week. I had a de’il of a time coming back from Edinburgh—would have been home sooner if not for the high waters and poor roads.” He leaned forward. “I understand that you are a professor at the university, sir.”

“Aye, Mr. MacArthur. I teach natural philosophy,
specifically the geological sciences, and do my own research as well,” James answered.

“Rocks and such, hey! A very good occupation, sir, and a good use of a fine education. Though you do not spend much time at Struan House, from what I’ve heard. Beg pardon, you’ve been viscount since your grandfather passed on a few years back, and yet Lady Struan herself told me that her grandson kept to the city.”

“Struan House was still my grandmother’s home then, and she enjoyed having charge of the estate. And I am much occupied with my lecturing duties, although my research sometimes brings me into the Highlands.”

MacArthur nodded, looking pleased. He speared a roll with a two-pronged fork, slathered it with butter and jelly, and glanced at Elspeth. “Stays much in the city, does the laird of Struan,” he said, tearing off a bit of roll and popping it into his mouth.

“I know,” she said tersely.

In the awkward silence, James gratefully accepted another slice of cold beef, offered by Mrs. Graeme, and turned his attention to cutting it into strips.

“Where’s the yarns from Margaret, then?” Donal MacArthur asked next. “Is your cousin well? And how did Lord Struan come to be taking you home? Much appreciated sir,” he added.

“I have not been to Margaret’s yet,” Elspeth said. She was staring into her tea, and then lifted her head, a pink flush on her cheeks. The spark of bravado in her eyes was worthy of anyone, James thought. “I was at Struan House, stranded by the weather.”

“Ah.” Donal set down his fork and looked from
his granddaughter to James, while Mrs. Graeme sat silently by. Glancing at Elspeth, James felt suddenly like a boy caught out at school. “And Mrs. MacKimmie away and all.”

“Why do you say that?” Elspeth asked warily.

“I saw Reverend Buchanan on my way home today. He told me that he and his father met the pair of you under interesting circumstances, were his words.” He set down his knife. “Is there something that the kirk minister knows and I do not?”

James sat up. “Sir, let me be frank. Miss MacArthur did stay at Struan House. She had a mishap while traveling over Struan lands and was injured.”

“She has a twisted ankle, Donal MacArthur,” Mrs. Graeme supplied quietly. “I looked at it myself this afternoon, and made her soak it in a salt bath. She must rest it.”

“Injured, aye,” Donal said. “Go on.” He fixed James with a stern stare.

“I happened upon her when she was injured, sir. Given the storm, I offered her the hospitality of Struan House. My housekeeper was detained elsewhere at the time.”

“And the rest of the household staff would be gone then, too,” Donal MacArthur said slowly, “due to the fairy riding at Struan.”

“Grandfather, none of it could be helped,” Elspeth said.

“Alone,” her grandfather went on. “Together.”

“I was treated cordially as a guest.” Elspeth lifted her chin. “Reverend Buchanan has no right to suggest otherwise, if he did so.”

James saw signs of temper flaring in Donal, a spark
in the leonine eye, a flaring of the nostrils, though the older man held his composure. He saw, too, where Elspeth got it.

“Elspeth had turned her ankle, Donal,” Mrs. Graeme reminded him.

“I slid down a muddy hill,” Elspeth said. “It’s stronger now, but at first I could hardly walk.”

“Aye, the situation could not be helped,” James said. “Between the girl’s incapacitation, the weather, the poor roads, we were unable to travel until the second day. I was unwilling to risk it, for her safety and that of the horse.”

“Two days!” MacArthur thundered, setting down his custard spoon. Mrs. Graeme leaned back in her chair. Elspeth’s cheeks flushed bright as she glanced at James again.

“Fortunately, Lord Struan was there to help,” Mrs. Graeme said. “Elspeth might have come to real harm if she had tried to make her way home.”

Donal MacArthur said nothing, tapping his fingers on the tablecloth. “Well, I will commend you for considering the horse, and my granddaughter’s well-being. But what of her reputation?”

“Sir, these were extraordinary circumstances,” James said.

“Indeed,” Elspeth added. “Grandfather, we saw the riding!”

MacArthur stared. “On Struan lands?”

“Aye. Both James—er, Lord Struan and I heard the horses. And I saw—” She stopped. “I will tell you about it later. It was altogether an exceptional night.”

“How exceptional,” her grandfather growled.

“Lord Struan was a thorough gentleman,” she said
with admirable dignity, though James dared not meet her glance just then.

“I understand how the situation appears, Mr. MacArthur,” James said. “And I realize such things can jeopardize a family’s reputation. I am prepared to make it right.”

“Make it right,” Donal MacArthur repeated thoughtfully. He regarded James and then Elspeth, and for those moments, James felt his heart pounding—strong, steady, anticipating. “Normally we would speak alone, you and me, sir,” Donal MacArthur said. “But this is not the usual, is it. As I understand it, you are offering to marry Elspeth?”

“I am, and I have already told her so.” Still James did not look at Elspeth, but he felt the intensity of her gaze.

MacArthur grunted. “And will you have the man?”