Page 81 of A Rogue in Firelight

“My father need not know,” she said quickly. “Mrs. Barrow mentioned Mairi Brodie. A healer, she said, who helps people throughout the glens here.”

“She is skilled with herbal remedies and such, aye. And helps animals as well as people. She will know what to do for your lamb.”

“Donal and his mother live at Invermorie, which is—your castle, as Glenbrae?”

“Aye.” He sounded curt.

“May I hold the lamb?” she asked, and he shifted the blanketed weight into her arms. The creature slept as they rode on. Ellison looked up at the castle and wondered about the laird’s family living there when he did not, for he kept a small house at the distillery, as she had learned earlier. What did the widow Mairi Brodie mean to him? She sensed something in his voice, in the way he held back the truth and did not meet her curious glance.

Soon Donal halted the cart before the castle entrance just as an older gentleman came through the arched doorway. He was white-haired, wearing an old patched frock coat of pale blue with saggy knee-breeches, hose, and red slippers. Grinning, he waved.

“Donal!” He waited as Donal handed Sorcha Beaton to the ground and handed the reins to a young boy who ran across the dusty yard to take the horses. “And—is that Glenbrae?”

Ronan stepped down, turning. “Sir Ludo! Good to see you!”

“It is you! Where are my spectacles,” Sir Ludo muttered, patting his old-fashioned coat, finding a pair of eyeglasses and perching them on his nose. “This is a surprise! Have you come to stay? And who are these pretty lassies? Is that a child in that plaidie?”

Taking the lamb, Ronan handed Ellison down. “A lamb,” Ronan said, drawing back the cloth. “It is injured. We came to see if Mairi could tend to it.”

“She will. And here I was thinking ye had a wife and child at last!” He clapped Ronan’s shoulder. “You are wet. Did it rain? I thought it was a fine day.” He looked up at the sky. “Well, come inside and Mairi will sort you out. First introduce me to these ladies.”

“Sir Ludovic Brodie, this is Miss Ellison Graham and Miss Sorcha Beaton. Ladies, this is Donal’s grandfather.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Ellison said, as Sorcha murmured the same.

“And I am pleased to make your acquaintance, ladies,” Sir Ludo said, taking each one’s hand in turn with a broad smile. “Welcome. Graham and Beaton! Two fine Scottish names. What part of Scotland are your people from?”

“Sir Ludo is writing a history of Scotland and is keen on family trees,” Ronan said.

“Fife, I believe, sir,” Sorcha said. “My grandfather said ours was an ancient line.”

“The Bethune line, perhaps. And Miss Graham? There are many branches of Grahams. The first to come to Scotland were French. Norman, you see.”

“My great-great-grandparents were from Strathearn, sir,” Ellison said.

“Who is your father? I know many Grahams. Is he of Strathearn as well?”

“My father is Sir Hector Graham. We live in Edinburgh.”

“The Deputy Lord Provost! Glenbrae, we are in fine company indeed. I know the name, but not the man. I must write this down. I keep a record of Highland lines when I can. Where is my journal and my wee pencil too,” he muttered, scrabbling in his pockets to extract a notebook and pencil stub.

“Sir Ludo, you will have Miss Graham’s heart with your scholarship,” Ronan said as the old man led them toward the entrance while Donal ran ahead to open the door.

“Strathniven and now Beatons and Grahams! Excellent! Glenbrae, Donal told us of your circumstances.” Sir Ludo cocked a bushy white brow.

“I will tell you the rest, but first we must get this lamb into Mairi’s care. We found it in the hills above the Lealtie Burn where we were fishing.”

“So that is why you are all damp-like. Did you bring fish for supper?”

“We did, and are happy to share. So Mairi Brodie is at home?”

“This is your home, lad. And of course she is here.”

Puzzled, Ellison wondered at Sir Ludo’s remark as they went through a second door and entered a foyer.

The castle room was wide, high, and cool, with a tiled floor and wooden staircase to one side, a stone fireplace to the other, and vaulted ceiling over all. Stained glass in tall windows cast rainbows over the floor. Hearing a step, Ellison saw a woman coming down the staircase.

She glided, slim and graceful and beautiful in a plaid green gown and rumpled apron, black braids wrapped around her head. She crossed the foyer, lovely as a medieval Madonna, her brown eyes as warm as her smile.