Page 29 of A Rogue in Firelight

The landscape streaming past grew even more familiar. In these glens, he knew every hill, path, and cave; every castle, croft, and bothy. There he would find home, kin, friends; enemies too.

Soon he saw the church steeple and market cross of the small town of Kinross. The coach drew to a stop in the forecourt of an inn he knew as well. And he was wary of being recognized by its patrons.

Bain stepped out of the hackney, stretching. “A coach waits for you over there,” he said, pointing. “The driver will take you onward. I wish youslàn leat, deagh fhortan.”

Ronan stepped down into a drizzling rain. “Luck to you as well,” he replied in Gaelic. “If you and the hackney man want a pint and a meal before you return to the city, the fare is good here.” Across the yard sat a black brougham, old but well-kept, with two stocky horses, black and chestnut. The driver, an older fellow, sat beside a youth. Both pulled plaids and caps against the rain. Waving, the driver climbed down to approach.

Feeling a jolt to see a man he knew, Ronan pulled a swath of his own plaid over his head against rain and recognition.

“Ben MacNie here for the guest, sir,” the older man told Bain, and gave Ronan a keen glance. Head lowered, Ronan nodded in silence, glancing at the familiar face of a friend. MacNie had rough-carved, amiable features, a gray beard, and sharp blue eyes that studied him. Glancing past him, Ronan felt another tug when he saw the face of the young man seated on the driver’s bench.

He caught his breath. His ruse was all but done, and depended on these two.

“This is Mr. MacGregor. He speaks little English,” Bain told MacNie.

“Does he now,” MacNie drawled. “Come from Edinburgh with a military guard? I thought we were to fetch a gentleman guest.”

“He is a guest of Lady Strathniven.”

Keeping his head down, Ronan nodded curtly at the introduction, and wondered why the devil they would send him to Strathniven. What did they want of him?

“Aye well.” MacNie watched Ronan. “Sir, I am steward and factor at Strathniven House and estate, and keep the stables too. I will say the MacGregors are a good lot. My stable lad is of that ilk.Fàilte,” he added in welcome.

“Tapadh leat,”Ronan murmured, head down.

“Lady Strathniven looks forward to your visit. We should go.”

“She is a kind lady,” Ronan replied carefully.

“Aye. This way, sir. Good day, Sergeant.”

Ronan thanked Bain and followed MacNie across the yard. The driver had guessed by now, no doubt, and soon enough the lad would too. He had to count on their silence. And he was determined to discover why he had been sent here.

Chapter Seven

“Balor!” Ellison calledas the terrier scampered ahead, pausing to glance at her as if considering his choices, though the leash limited those. Tail wagging, he came to her when she called again, and took the bit of oatcake she offered from a pocket.

Keeping pace with the dog as he explored the damp hillside, Ellison raised her face to the drizzling rain, enjoying its soft, clean wetness and the freedom she felt. At Strathniven, she felt untethered and could reclaim herself for a little while.

Balor enjoyed the same, and because he was good about returning when she called, she let him off the leash. Then she called him back for a pat and praise, and followed where he went.

She was glad of a little time to think about what was expected of her with these lessons, how she should proceed with tutoring, and how she felt about this scheme. A gentleman was essential for this royal request. She knew that. But she disliked Corbie’s barely veiled threats and her father’s desire to have little to do with it.

Thinking of Corbie, she shivered. His disrespect toward MacGregor revealed a colder heart than Ellison had realized. For all his haughtiness, she had not thought him capable of cruelty before, but now, she was not so sure. If her father expected her to accept a match, he and Corbie would be sorely disappointed.

Looking around, she saw Balor happily nosing nearby. A burst of wind stirred her skirts, and fat raindrops splattered the turf, the rocks, her bonnet. “Come here, Balor!”

Digging and busy, the dog ignored her. Walking closer, Ellison glanced down to see the road that swept north from Kinross to curve around the foothills. Mr. MacNie would bring the coach carrying MacGregor along that road, and soon the lessons would begin. She breathed in, feeling a thrill at the thought of this adventure.

Hearing a bark, she saw Balor running along the slope, tail wagging madly. She followed a rough path between heather, gorse, and rocks, determined to fetch him. Rain was falling in earnest now, and it was to head back to the house.

“Balor!” The dog forged ahead through brush and bramble, nose down, tail straight, silently intent on a quest. Sighing, Ellison followed. “Come here!”

Distant thunder rumbled, and the dog bolted like an arrow. Ellison knew he hated thunder and lightning, usually hiding under furniture. Now he ran in a panic.

“Balor!” She turned, searching the slopes. He had vanished, having found some niche behind a rock or a bush. Spotting his little dark rump beside some gorse, fearing his coat would be full of the painful spines, she ran toward him.

More thunder, then a bright crack of lightning overhead. The rain turned to a downpour. Running, heels sliding, she nearly fell, catching herself with a hand splayed on the turf, a knee to the mud. Scrambling to her feet, she hurried, calling out. The delay of her fall, then a new round of thunder, caused Balor to flee again.