Page 23 of A Rogue in Firelight

Turning the page to read on, she could not concentrate, eager for the carriage to arrive for her escape north. She had looked forward to time alone to write and think about her life. Now she had work to do.

Exciting work! Smiling, she turned another page without reading.

Adam Corbie was a doomsayer and her father was skeptical, but she felt deliciously eager for this challenge. She was glad MacGregor would have a little freedom in the north too, and she was sure he would make a convincing gentleman.

She refused to think about what might happen to him after the royal visit.

In the hallway, she heard her father and Corbie talking. Setting the book aside, she glanced around the library with its high bookshelves, polished table, handsome chairs. She loved the comfortable refuge of a beautiful, peaceful library. Strathniven House had two handsome libraries where she could—

Papa and Corbie entered, dispelling peace with some petty argument.

“I do not want a military translator,” Sir Hector said. “Ellison will do that. This must be kept among the few of us.”

“I arranged for a regiment soldier to translate on the journey, since MacGregor will be taken north under military guard. It is part of the agreement for temporary custody, sir.”

“I am looking into a conditional pardon, which relieves me of direct custody.”

“The escort ensures that the ladies need not travel with him.”

“Fine. Otherwise, Ellison must be the only translator and tutor for this infernal nonsense. You have arranged all the details?”

“Yes. He will be taken north in a few days and cautioned not to set a foot wrong. Ah, Miss Ellison! We did not see you hiding there.”

She peered around the chair. “Good morning. I was not hiding, Mr. Corbie.”

“Silent as a mouse. I have prepared a list of the tasks that require your attention.” Corbie took folded pages from a pocket. “Sir, if your daughter follows my directions, all will go smoothly.”

“Fine,” grunted Sir Hector, taking the paper Corbie handed him.

Approaching them, Ellison took her copy and read the list written in Corbie’s spiky handwriting.

Barber and a bath,it said. Burn the plaid and Highland kit etc. Acquire one set of proper clothing and shoes from a man of matching size. Avoid unnecessary expense.

Blushing at the quick image of MacGregor in a bath, muscled and gleaming—stop that, she told herself—she tried to envision him neatly groomed in a dark coat, snowy cravat. But she could only imagine him in Highland plaid looking grand.

She cleared her throat. “Mr. Corbie, we cannot burn a Highlander’s plaidie. It is an insult.”

“Fleas,” Corbie said curtly.

Ellison went on reading.Teach simple English phrases suited to the occasion. Give school examination for reading skills.

“An examination intended for children? I will not do it.”

“Meals are to be taken alone in his room,” Sir Hector said, reading his copy. “He may join an evening meal only to practice manners. Very thorough. This will do.”

“It will not do,” Ellison protested. “You must allow the man some dignity if you expect him to act the gentleman. And I should decide on the lessons.”

“The list is just to ensure the process goes quickly,” Corbie said.

“Papa, you know this will need time.”

“I do not know how much time we can spare, my dear.”

“Two or three days ought to do it,” Corbie said.

“Tutoring and even finding appropriate dress will take more time than that. Unless you want to present him to the king as he is.”

“A filthy smuggler in rags?” Adam Corbie scoffed.