Page 132 of A Rogue in Firelight

Ronan smiled. “There is still the dragon to confront in his den.”

“Sir Hector? He will see reason. He is more bluster than malice, in my experience. The real threat is from his secretary, it seems.”

“A matter I intend to address. Ah, here is our cart.”

Later, as they rode the short distance to the city, Ronan thought of the last time he had been in a hackney on the same streets. He had been baffled and weary, in need of a bath and burdened with participating in an unsavory scheme. Yet fate placed him in the hands of an angel.

He felt he was a changed man now, more firm of purpose, certainly lighter of heart, walking a path that had appeared unexpectedly. Ellison Graham was a gift in his life, and he was grateful. Whatever she needed, he would provide; whatever she wanted, he would give. He wanted her to feel more cherished, loved, and valued than she had ever known.

As the hackney drew up along the Canongate, Hugh turned. “I will leave you here, lad. Are you sure you will not join us? My mother has invited nearly every relative we have, I think.”

Ronan laughed. “I am off to my rented place, then straight to the dragon’s den. I will see you later at Parliament House.”

“You will find the key under an urn and the place in good repair. By the way, the judicial courts are open today but closed tomorrow for the royal procession, and will likely stay closed for a few days. Today is your best chance to put things right.”

“I will do my best. Look at that crowd,” Ronan said, watching the throngs that filled the streets. “I have never seen so many Highlanders in full, fierce gear. The gathering of the clans has surely come to Edinburgh.”

“Sir Evan expects you to be part of the procession, you know, as one of his chieftains, helping to display and promote the strength of the clans of Scotland.”

“He stated that in his letter, aye, so I brought my gear along. Let the grand Celtic spectacle begin as we show the English what authentic Scotland is all about.”

“Which His Majesty will miss if his ship does not dock soon. Either way, he is about to experience some miserably authentic Scottish weather.”

Laughing, Ronan bid him good day, and the driver progressed up the hill through the center of town. The streets were densely crowded as people moved in a noisy mass of color and bright tartan patterns. Bagpipes skirled somewhere as Highland units practiced for the procession, and above the other sounds, the bells of Saint Giles’ cathedral rang out the hour.

He reached into a jacket pocket to pull out one of the visiting cards that Corbie had delivered at Strathniven.John MacGregor, 6thViscount Darrach,it read,of Darrach Castle in Glen Darrach, Perthshire.A printed image depicted the crest of Clan Gregor, a crowned lion, a buckled belt, and the mottoS’rioghal mo dhream”—royal is my blood. The Gregorach, a proud clan, went far back in time.

“Driver,” he called. “George Street, if you please.”

The ride through crowded streets took longer than usual. Once the carriage stopped, Ronan asked the driver to wait, then went to the Graham house to knock.

The butler studied his card. “Lord Darrach. We understood you might call.”

“I would like to see Miss Graham if she has returned to the city.”

“Miss Graham has returned but is not home at present.”

“I see. May I ask if Sir Hector is available?”

“The Deputy Lord Provost has gone to his offices for the day. It is a busy time.”

“Of course.”

He returned to the carriage, disappointed to have missed Ellison and Sir Hector both. He wanted to resolve the situation—and he longed to hold his bride in his arms.

Next the driver stopped on the cobbled slope of North Castle Street in front of the house he was renting. Narrow yet elegant, its stone façade was set with a bow-curved window and a tall red door. Tucked beneath a stone urn filled with flowers, he found the key. He let himself into Ellison’s house.

Inside, the hallway divided a parlor to the right and a dining room to the left, with the kitchen at the back. Upstairs, he found two bedrooms and a bathing room. On the uppermost floor were three small empty rooms. It was a simple but handsome house, freshly painted, repaired, and scrubbed, and would be the perfect home for a newly married couple, and someday a family.

Just now the place was scarcely furnished, with a chair and table in the parlor, a chair and table in the kitchen, and a bed and small furnishings in an upstairs room.

Later Ellison could furnish it however she liked. They could live here, or rent it out, or sell it altogether. He would leave that up to her. In the Highlands, they would have Darrach Castle and perhaps other properties once all was sorted. Whatever she wanted, he meant to see she had.

He changed quickly from his plaidie and jacket to frock coat, trousers, waistcoat, and the lot. Downstairs, he stood looking out the wide bowed window in the parlor, with its view of Edinburgh Castle in the distance, high on a dark cliff overlooking the city. Rainclouds gathered overhead.

An odd feeling swirled through him. He frowned, trying to define it. Not weariness, though he was tired after the journey and a few trying days. Not dread, for he knew he and Ellison had made the right choice. Hurdles lay ahead, but he had hope.

Happiness, he realized. That was it. For the first time in years, he felt content.