Page 42 of A Rogue in Firelight

“If we are fortunate, my lady.” Catching Ellison’s glance, he tilted his head, eyes sparkling with amusement. He was enjoying this too much, she thought. “Please excuse me, ladies. I thought to find Donal Brodie this morning to see if we can ride out. I would very much like some air and exercise.”

“Donal is at your disposal, and so is Mr. MacNie. We have horses, a carriage, a gig, and an estate you can explore. I hope you will be back in time for luncheon.”

“I will do my best. My lady. Miss Graham.” He stood. “Will lessons begin today?”

“After luncheon,” Ellison replied. Nodding, he left the room.

“My dear,” Lady Strathniven said, “I believe your work is done before it has begun.”

“He does have the makings of a gentleman,” she agreed faintly.

“Now that we know MacGregor’s secret about speaking English,” the lady whispered, “we must keep it safe.”

Nodding, Ellison felt sure the Highlander had far greater secrets.

*

“How are yourmother and Sir Ludovic?” Ronan asked as he and Donal walked toward the stables. Pausing in the shade of a few birch trees, he turned.

“Mother is well. She is busy with herbal concoctions and helping those who come to her. She is much needed in the glens, at Strathniven too at times, and she sells her potions on market days. Grandda Ludo helps keep her healing garden.”

“Is Sir Ludo still writing his history of the clans?”

“Aye. It is enormous now. He hopes to publish the manuscript someday, though Mother thinks he will never finish. He constantly adds more, but it keeps him content.”

“I am glad they are well.” He clapped a hand on Donal’s shoulder. At sixteen, the lad was tall, black-haired, and handsome, with his mother’s brown eyes. Ronan had known him since his birth; he was Mairi’s only child with her first husband, who had succumbed to a fever when Donal was small. In the years Ronan had been at university and thinking himself in love with Mairi, his brother William, a year younger, had married her. He had managed to accept the shock of it. Will had been a good father, the only one Donal knew. Since Will’s death, Ronan had done his best to take care of the family.

Although he held Invermorie Castle as Glenbrae’s laird, he had invited Mairi to live there with her son and her father, Sir Ludovic Brodie, an impoverished knight; Ronan had moved to a cottage on the distillery grounds. Invermorie Castle needed a family, not a bachelor. And he wanted distance from Mairi Brodie, far enough for his heart to recover, close enough to keep an eye on William’s family.

He had thought to marry someday, but now, thirty years old and recently a prisoner, he had suspended thoughts of the future. Time would tell.

“I help at Invermorie and here at Strathniven, and the distillery too,” Donal was saying. “I bring in some coin since Da died—and then your arrest.”

“Lad, whatever happens, I will always take care of you, your mother, and your grandfather. Now, tell me what you have heard.”

“We knew last May that the Whisky Rogues were taken, though only we knew exactly who you were. The reports said excise men grabbed you unfairly in Culross.”

“More or less.”

“Then how are you here at Strathniven, Uncle?”

“Liberated on a detail of the law, but temporarily, if Sir Hector Graham and his secretary have their way.”

“I know them. Sir Hector is decent enough. His clerk is another sort.”

Ronan huffed in agreement. “Your work here is appreciated, I am sure.”

“Mr. MacNie sent a message last week asking me to work at the house for a while to act as valet to a guest. I agreed. Luckily it was you!”

“Lucky for both of us, even if you do not know how to tie a cravat.”

“Grandda and Mother gave me advice. Will you visit Invermorie soon?”

“If there is time. I suspect you were hired as my guard more than my valet.”

“But you are a free man now.”

“It is complicated. Best keep watch over your rascal of an uncle,” he teased. “How goes it at the distillery?”