Page 72 of A Rogue in Firelight

“A gift from the Scots.” Succinct was best. “The king enjoys Highland whisky.”

“That is good for us!” Geordie grinned. “Though any Highland peat-reek the king drinks surely came to London through smuggling. And that’s a fine joke.”

Ronan chuckled. “Indeed. You can find me at Strathniven House for now.”

“Auld Rabbie told us. You have fine friends, sir,” Aleck said.

“Aye.” Ronan stepped back, raised a hand.

“Glenbrae,” Geordie said, “watch your back.”

“I will.” He crossed the yard toward the hotel.

Ellison sipped thelast of her tea, listening to Sorcha, and trying to quell a thread of fear. The young Highlanders who had gone outside with MacGregor had a rough look to them. He had not returned. What if he met with trouble?

What if he was not trustworthy after all, as Papa and Corbie predicted? What if he ran and was never seen again? Yet he had asked her to trust him. She wanted to.

Suddenly he was there at the table, so close she felt the solid warmth of him. She glanced up. He looked grim, cheek muscle jumping, eyes shadowed and somber. She felt the urge to reach out, offer hope, be his remedy.

The moment was not the flash of lightning she might have expected. Nor was it flowery or romantic. Rather it was tender, a gentle, certain flow of realization. She felt an expansion within, and longed to reach out and touch his hand. Love filled her.

His gaze met hers like a caress. She glanced away before he could read her feelings, clear as bells and stars in her eyes.

“Miss Graham, Miss Beaton. Are you ready to depart? The bill is satisfied and MacNie waits with the carriage. Let me help.” He picked up the wrapped packages, drew out Sorcha’s chair, then Ellison’s.

As they walked out, he touched her elbow lightly. The sensation lingered as she walked ahead, climbed into the carriage, and sat.

She was glad her bonnet shadowed her eyes, so that he would not see the revelation she felt within. So he would not know her silly, smitten heart.

They rode northward while Sorcha chattered about shops, dresses, tea and cakes, and plans for Edinburgh. Ronan murmured politely. His voice sank through her like hot whisky, honey, spice.

“You are quiet, Ellison,” Sorcha said.

She caught Ronan’s gaze, a searing blue flame. “I am tired. Just that.”

Chapter Fourteen

Ihave asecret—

“Lord Darrach,” said a soft, beautiful voice, “shall we—”

“I have a secret to disclose to you,” said he, “which cannot be divulged—”

“Lord Darrach,” Ellison repeated, “shall we discuss protocols for the royal visit?”

Ronan looked up from reading Jane Porter’s novel,Scottish Chiefs. He had secrets too. He smiled at her while rain tapped against the windows.

“Miss Graham.” Setting the book aside, he stood.

“Are you enjoying Miss Porter’s book?” she asked.

“I am sure Ellison Graham writes just as well, just as brilliantly.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, a tiny dimple emerging. “You have not read my work.”

“Someday I hope to. Is it time for our lesson?”

“Aye, we must review the protocols for the royal visit.” He saw she held a copy of Scott’s leather-bound booklet.