Sarah Gabriel (21 page)

“Neither does she, not the whole of it at least. I am an old man, older than most suspect. Who knows how many years I have left, and I have many secrets. But Peggy, with her fine soul, accepts my past. She loves me in return, I think. Aye well.” He sighed and lifted the reins again. “Ellie, I have made my mistakes. I want to right one of them by telling you the truth, and keeping you from making a mistake as well.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her heart thumping.

“Do not stay at Kilcrennan if it is only for me,” he said. “Do not sacrifice your own happiness so that I
can continue weaving in the manner that I do, and visiting the Fey world on my appointed day. Because I would rather be quit of it.”

“So if I found someone to love—” She stopped, hardly daring to say more.

“Let the spells break, Elspeth. We cannot let ourselves live in fear of what the fairies might do, should they be displeased. Accept Lord Struan’s proposal.”

“But even if we could sort the rest, he prefers to live in the Lowlands and in the city, while I want to stay here at Kilcrennan. I love this place. And you, and Peggy.”

“It is a problem, true,” he said. “But surely there must be a solution. Go tell your laird that you love him, for he loves you, too, I think.”

Feeling hope bubbling up inside her, Elspeth smiled, and suddenly wanted to jump out of the gig and run to the house. But she sat, twisting her gloved hands in her lap, and breathing faster. “If I did that, and all spells broke, what about the weaving? Your beautiful, magical work—”

“A weaver is what I am. I would just be a slower one.” He smiled, and she saw a glimmer of sadness, and of courage, there.

“And what of the fairy treasure?”

“They insisted that it must be found, but I do not have it. We could bargain with them again. They do love to bargain,” he said wryly.

“They will not trade with you again over this,” she said. “I know it. I feel it.” She tapped her upper chest. “They would be wrathful. It is too much risk for you to take.”

Donal flexed the reins to turn the horse up the graveled drive to Struan House. “There is another reason
for you to marry Struan. He saw me at the weaving, did he not?”

She glanced away, remembering what else had happened that night that only she and James knew about. “He did see you using the gift,” she answered carefully.

“That secret must stay with us. So he must become part of the family.”

Elspeth gasped. “You gave him the fairy brew deliberately!”

Donal chuckled in answer. Seeing that he was not about to stop and turn away from Struan House, Elspeth hastily smoothed her skirt, a light wool of indigo blue, and tugged at her shawl, a plaid of cream, blue, and green, her own weaving. As Donal slowed the gig near the entrance, she heard someone call out, and saw Angus MacKimmie walking toward them to greet them and take the horse.

Donal waved. “Greetings, Angus. Go on, Elspeth,” he said quietly. “Go find your laird. Tell him,” he said, leaning sideways, “that you want to be the new Lady Struan.”

She was not certain what would happen, but she felt hopeful, at least. She leaned to kiss her grandfather’s cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“The truth,” he reminded her. “It is time.”

Wondering how she could ever explain the truth, she rose to step out of the gig, and saw James walking down the steps toward her. He reached up for her, and she rested her hands on his shoulders. “Good afternoon, Lord Struan,” she said, smiling.

“Miss MacArthur,” he said, and she noticed how blue, how serious his eyes. He set his hands at her waist and lifted her down. A thrill went through to
her bones as he set her lightly on her feet. “This is a surprise.”

She looked up at him, suddenly nervous, for he seemed tense. He stepped back, and she saw others walking toward them. Among them were familiar faces—Sir John Graeme and Fiona. “John!” she said, startled. “And Miss MacCarran! I beg pardon, I had forgotten you might have guests,” she murmured to James.

“Indeed I do,” he said quietly.

“How good to see you again, Miss MacArthur,” Fiona MacCarran said, stretching her hand forward to take Elspeth’s briefly.

“Cousin Elspeth, how nice,” John said, kissing her cheek. “I came north on business, and was not sure I would have time to visit Kilcrennan. Cousin Donal!” He walked away to greet Elspeth’s grandfather.

James touched her elbow. “Miss MacArthur—you have not yet met my youngest brother, Patrick MacCarran.” She smiled up at the young man who resembled the viscount, though his hair was darker, his eyes golden brown, his smile impish. As two others came down the steps, Elspeth turned again. Her heart pounded when she recognized the blond woman walking with a tall, dark gentleman.

“You remember Miss Sinclair,” James said then.

“I do,” Elspeth said. Smiling rather smugly, Charlotte Sinclair stood so close to James that her shoulder touched his arm. Feeling the jolt of that, and feeling she should not have come, Elspeth stepped back. “How do you do? What brings you to the Highlands?” she asked politely.

“We came with Lady Rankin to visit James—Lord Struan—and to tour your lovely Highlands.” Char
lotte turned her smile on James. “I’m determined to lure him away from his books and into the mountains to tour with us tomorrow.”

“Lord Eldin,” James said hastily. “please meet Miss MacArthur of Kilcrennan.” Elspeth turned almost gratefully toward the stranger.

“A true Highland girl. I am charmed.” He looked like a dark, avenging angel, his face stern and almost impossibly handsome, his physique as perfect as his neatly cut suit of clothing. Elspeth sensed something compelling yet unsettling about him. He inclined a nod and extended his gloved hand, and she rested her fingers in his.

Then the world went dizzy around her, and shadowy as if with smoke, and she could scarce breathe.
James
, she thought,
James
—and reached out for him, grabbing his coat sleeve almost blindly.

L
ike ghostly images, she saw two scenes before her—the current moment, with James and Eldin both watching her, and at the same time, a little beyond where they all stood, she saw the two of them wearing the red jackets and dark tartan kilts of the Highland Black Watch, holding guns and surrounded by a smoky haze.

She stared at the two men in the vision, and then looked at James, who was watching her with deep concern—he wore a gray frock coat and waistcoat and buff trousers, his neck cloth neat and snowy, his thick brown hair gilded in the sunlight. He looked like a privileged gentleman. Beside him, Lord Eldin, a stranger to her until that moment, tall and severely handsome, also watched her, dark eyes narrowed.

James appeared in the ghostly image as a Highland officer in red jacket with white crossbands, and the dark blue-and-green tartan favored by the Black Watch. Soot smeared his face, and he had a bloody gash at the knee. He leaned on his upright bayoneted gun, planted in the road that was there—but not there. Beside him, Eldin held a bayoneted firearm
ready. He fired it, threw it to the ground—and both men disappeared.

Mere seconds had passed. Breathing ragged, Elspeth tightened her fingers in Lord Eldin’s, for he still gripped her hand. An earlier vision had shown James wounded on the field at Quatre Bras, and she knew he had lost a friend, his cousin. Now what she saw was more vivid.

She tore her hand from Eldin’s. “You—” she whispered. “You were there! You saw Struan wounded, watched the other die—”

“Elspeth,” James said, taking her arm. “Come inside.”

“What did you see?” Lord Eldin asked her sharply. “Is it the Second Sight?”
Da Shealladh
, he said, the Gaelic surprising her.

“Come away,” James said, and set his arm firmly around her to lead her up the steps to the house.

“What is wrong?” Patrick MacCarran ran toward them.

“Miss MacArthur is feeling faint. I’ll take her inside,” James answered. “Tell Mr. MacArthur that she is fine, only needs to sit down.” Patrick turned away. Behind her, Donal MacArthur and Sir John stopped their conversation as Patrick went toward them.

The warm, solid pressure of his arm around her felt safe and good, and Elspeth let herself lean into his strength a little. He led her into the foyer and down the corridor to the library. The others, somewhat puzzled, wandered inside more slowly.

“What the devil happened?” His voice was quiet, patient rather than angry.

“Why did you tell them I felt faint? I am fine.”

“Am I supposed to tell them that you are having
one of your fairy spells? They would never believe that, my girl.” He sighed, looking at her sternly. Elspeth touched his arm, surprised and grateful that he had not denied it outright, as before.

“Do you believe it, now?” she asked.

He frowned. “Just tell me what happened.”

She sighed. “Very well. I saw you and Lord Eldin together on a battlefield—your leg was injured, but you were standing, leaning on a bayoneted gun. Lord Eldin had a gun, too, and fired it, then set it down. Both of you were dressed for the Black Watch.”

“My God,” James said. “Sit down,” he said, taking her arm. “You may feel fine, but you are shaking like an aspen tree. I do not understand this, but I will concede that something out of the ordinary happened.” He led her to one of the wing chairs by the fireplace. “Would you take some whiskey, or tea, perhaps?”

“Not whiskey,” she said with a half laugh. “Tea would be nice.”

“Mrs. MacKimmie was already preparing tea for everyone, I think. Mrs. MacKimmie!” he called. “Drat. Stay here,” he said, touching her shoulder. “I will be back. The others may descend upon you any moment. I promise to be right back.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles quickly.

She took in a deep breath. “James—” But then she stopped, for the time was not right. As he left, she leaned back in the wing chair, but felt uneasy. Hearing footsteps, she turned to see Lord Eldin crossing the library floor.

“Miss MacArthur.” He came closer. “Are you well? I was quite concerned. We were just speaking, and you seemed overcome.”

“I am fine. It was nothing.” She rose to her feet.

“So you have the Sight,” he murmured, looking down at her.

She felt wary. “Why do you say that?”

“I know something of it.” He reached up to touch her brow with his gloved fingertip. “Ah. Fairy-held Sight,” he said. “Interesting.”

“That’s madness, sir,” she replied. But she felt something odd about Eldin—that he understood far more than he would say, and that he might be a threat to James—and might not. She frowned, puzzled, watching him. “Who are you?”

He laughed and turned just then, as James came striding across the room, his steps echoing with slight unevenness on the wooden floor. To Elspeth, that rhythm was welcome and dearly familiar. James approached and took her arm in a protective way, facing Eldin. Behind him, her grandfather, her cousin, and the others entered the room.

“Cousin Nick,” James said brusquely. “I believe Mr. MacKimmie is bringing your barouche round just now.”

“Excellent.” Eldin inclined his head. “Good day, then. I regret that there is no time to take tea with you, though I am grateful for the hospitality. Miss MacArthur, do take care,” he said smoothly.

“Sir,” she replied, and felt James’s grip on her arm tighten.

Eldin left the library just as Mrs. MacKimmie and a housemaid entered, carrying trays that held a porcelain teapot, cups, and plates of food. As Mrs. MacKimmie set a tray down, the others gathered near the fireplace, murmuring their concern to Elspeth.

“Really it was nothing.” Embarrassed, she felt heat rising in her cheeks.

“You seem fine,” Fiona said gently. “Perhaps it was the chilly air.”

“We are having autumn winds after so much rain,” Mrs. MacKimmie said, as she set out the tea things. “The wind may have blown into her, wee lass that she is.”

“Lord Struan was overly concerned. I am fine,” Elspeth said. Her grandfather lifted his fingers to his brow briefly, and she realized that he was asking if it was the Sight. She nodded in answer.

Fiona sat in the chair opposite to pour out the tea. Elspeth accepted a steaming cup, as did most of the others. Once John Graeme was assured that all was well, he said farewell and left to join Lord Eldin in the barouche. The rest—Donal, the MacCarran siblings, and Charlotte Sinclair—remained in the library. Elspeth’s incident seemed soon forgotten, which was a relief to her.

“This is a substantial tea,” Charlotte remarked, looking at the generous spread of foods, including cold beef in small rolls, sausages, sweet and plain biscuits, a fruit compote, and slices of lemon cake.

“A Highland tea, miss,” Mrs. MacKimmie said. “Near enough to a dinner, this. The laird often takes his tea this way now, with a small supper later. There will be soup later this evening, if that suits. Lady Rankin requested an informal meal for all this evening, as she is tired from her journey.”

“We do need an early evening before our outing tomorrow,” Fiona said. “This is excellent, thank you, Mrs. MacKimmie.”

While they spoke, Elspeth glanced at James, who remained standing beside her chair, a cup and saucer cradled in his hand. “I’m quite mortified,” she told him softly.

“It is forgotten,” he replied. “My great-aunt is still napping, exhausted from traveling, and Sir Philip has wandered off to look at the gardens—or there would have been much more drama over your welfare.”

“I should go,” Elspeth said, setting her cup on a small table. “I only came by today to, ah, offer help with your work, as we had discussed.”

“I’m glad you did.” He leaned an elbow on the back of her chair, and she looked up to see that his eyes were the sincere blue of a summer sky. She wanted to stay, and yet felt uncomfortable, now that the house was full of others who were important in James’s life, when she was uncertain of her own position.

“Struan,” Charlotte called. “We want to hear about this beautiful library, and also about the curiosities in the display cases. Come tell us about them!”

“A moment, Miss Sinclair,” he answered. “Fiona is quite knowledgeable about geological matters herself. My sister makes a particular study of the fossils that occur naturally in limestones and other rock,” he told Elspeth, who nodded.

Charlotte Sinclair’s stormy frown told Elspeth that his reply did not please her, but Fiona rested a hand on her arm and began to explain something about the stones and objects in the display case.

“I should have remembered that you were expecting guests. You are too busy to work today. We can discuss your grandmother’s book later. I will leave with Grandda.”

“Stay,” James said quickly. “I’d like you to stay. You and your grandfather must at least finish your tea.”

Donal MacArthur, who stood studying the painting over the fireplace, glanced over his shoulder. He was sipping a cup of tea in one hand, and nibbling at a bit of lemon cake held in a napkin. “Thank you, sir,” he said, swallowing. “I do have some work to do this afternoon. Perhaps Elspeth could remain here until I return for her.”

“She may stay as long as she likes.” James glanced down and met her gaze.

Forever,
she thought. She wished she could stay with him that long. But she was unsure how he felt about marrying her now. With Charlotte Sinclair here, perhaps he was glad to be free of his obligation. She wanted to tell him the truth as her grandfather had urged, but with the guests present, there was no chance for a private discussion. And Charlotte was so intently possessive of James that Elspeth wondered if his impulsive offer of marriage still stood.

And that hurt like a blow to the very heart—she had not thought of him with someone else. “Grandfather, Lord Struan already has several guests.”

“If he does not mind, than we will not,” Donal said. “I will be back later, Elspeth, which will give you time to assist Lord Struan with his paperwork, if he likes.”

“Certainly.” James began to accompany them to the library door, but Charlotte hurried over to take his arm, smiling.

“You’re leaving?” Charlotte asked. “So nice to see you. Struan, you really must tell us about the pretty stones in the case.” She tugged on his arm. With a quick glance for Elspeth, James walked away.

Donal leaned down as they walked into the corridor. “That one has the face of an angel and the manners of a magpie,” he whispered, and Elspeth laughed.

“I had better stay to be sure the magpie does not claim your blue stone,” she said.

“Aye, do that. I did not have a chance to look close at the stone, but I believe it is the one, and we must have it back,” he said. “Best that you stay and claim your ground, hey? You do have an agreement with the man.”

“I am not sure of that,” she replied, “but I will not squabble over a man with another woman. If he wants me, let him show it, or I am gone back to Kilcrennan, where I will stay, no matter what he does.” She lifted her chin.

“So you have changed your mind. Good. But you are still too stubborn.”

She sighed. “Grandda, listen.” Quickly she explained the vision she had seen earlier. “Afterward, Lord Eldin knew that I had the fairy gift, and he had the knack of it. He did this,” she said, and put a fingertip to her brow.

Donal frowned. “There is something strange about the man, I admit.”

She nodded. “I feel sure he is an old enemy to James, and he may still be a threat. He wants something, but I do not know what that might be.”

“Well, Eldin is gone now, and we’re better off away from that one. Elspeth, I will be back soon. While you are here, take a moment to look at Niall’s painting.”

“I know—James pointed out that some of the women look like me. I hoped that meant that they look like my mother as well.”

“They do indeed. I met your mother once.” He
touched her chin. “Go study the picture again. There is something more I noticed, and I wonder if you will see the same.”

“Very well,” she said, puzzled. When Donal left, she returned to the library.

James stood with the others by the glass-front display cases, talking about the rock samples on the shelves. Elspeth remembered standing there with him on an evening when they had been alone together—blissfully, passionately alone. And now Charlotte Sinclair pressed her shoulder against his, her blond hair shining in the sunlight beside the chestnut and gold gleam of his hair. They were beautifully matched, Elspeth saw, as they leaned together to look at the stones.

She went to the fireplace to gaze at her father’s painting, admiring the landscape of a moorland rinsed by moonbeams, with the details of forested hillside and a doorway to the fairy realm. Here and there, the same lovely, dark-haired girl appeared, like a medieval painting showing different moments in the same picture.

Then she noticed a new detail. To one side of the painting, she saw a dark rock wall and the narrow mouth of a cave. Within those shadows was the glimmer of jewels and gold—tiny dabs and dots of color that depicted a cache of gold and treasure.

She stepped to the side for a better perspective, nearly stumbling into James, who had come up behind her. She grabbed his sleeve. “James, look,” she whispered. “There, to the far right. Do you see the treasure chest?”

He studied the painting, then nodded. “Interesting. I had not noticed it before.”

“My father included so much in the picture—the fairy riding, and likenesses of my mother, and now some hidden treasure. What if he meant to leave clues?”

“The legends are well known in the glen, so your father put them in the picture.”

“Do not give me your logic. It means more, I know it.” She tilted her head. “And that rocky outcrop looks familiar. I’ve seen it somewhere.”

“Good. We will find the cave, the treasure chest will be inside, and the fairies will dance at our wedding.” He had a wry edge to his voice, and she glanced up.

“You still do not believe.”

“None of this is easy to accept, Elspeth.”

“I wish you would trust me.”

“I
do
,” he murmured. “But do not expect me to accept clusters of fairies tromping about my garden, or at your home…or in our lives. I do not put my trust in fairy stories.”