Page 97 of A Rogue in Firelight

“He did not say.”

“But we can guess.” Ronan stood, hands fisted as he paced back and forth. “We have to stop this from going forward.”

“We could if there was another way to absolve the debts.”

“What if I find a way? We can convince Evan to delay the sale. Buy time.”

“Perhaps we could, given the royal madness overtaking the city. I will ask Sir Evan to wait until after the royal visit. Courts and banks will not operate normally for a little while anyway.” Hugh stood. “That might give us until September.”

“Fine. Keep me informed.”

“For now, accept the grant and title that are offered, and wait on the rest.”

“If I accept the condition, then I am agreeing to give up Glenbrae. I do not agree.”

“For now, do it. You have never been afraid of a challenge. We will find a way.”

After Hugh haddeparted south for Kinross, Ronan saddled a horse and rode north for Glen Brae. Reining in, he sat for a long while looking at that familiar profile of hills, watching the golden rim of the sun sink below the cloud cover and vanish behind that distant, beloved blue ridge.

He could never give up Glen Brae.

Going back to Strathniven, he stabled his mount and stepped into the house just as an inky gloom overtook the sky. In the hallway, Ellison and Sorcha were walking out of the dining room and he greeted them, though his smile was flat. As Sorcha took the stairs, Ellison paused, eyes wide as she considered him.

“You rode out. Is something wrong?”

“I had an errand. I apologize if I missed supper.”

“Mrs. Barrow is keeping a plate warm for you in the kitchen. Sorcha feels a bit better, we thought to go to the parlor to read together. Will you come?”

“I will leave you to it.” When she nodded and took a step, he touched her elbow.

“Ellison. We must talk,” he murmured low.

She blinked, nodded. “When?”

“Tower library,” he whispered. “Late.”

Chapter Nineteen

“What is it?”Speaking in a whisper when Ronan finally appeared at the tower library door, Ellison stood back for him to enter. The hour was very late, the room glowing with candlelight, the house, the world, filled with a deep hush. She stifled impatience, pushed away worry as best she could. Impatient to see him, unable to concentrate on her writing, she wondered what he wanted to talk about.

She had read her father’s letter so often that she still held it creased in her hand. “You have news?”

“I thought we could talk here for some privacy. It is a delicate matter.”

“Sit, please,” she urged, but he stood, and so did she. “What is the trouble?”

“Not trouble, exactly.” He looked down at the letter clutched in her hand. “I think you have something on your mind too. You are nearly shredding that envelope. Was there more in your father’s letter than you did not mention?”

She drew a breath, then sat in a chair by the window. Ronan sat as well, settled, folded his hands. His patient gesture, his willingness to listen touched her deeply and suddenly. “Papa is sending Mr. Corbie here. You know that.”

“He wants to be sure the frog has become enough of a prince to pass muster.”

“Perhaps. But Corbie’s other intention,” she said, “is to bring me back to Edinburgh with him. Papa declares it here.” She waved the envelope. “I did not tell you before, but I am to return within days. Papa will send a guard for you. But we promised to attend the cèilidh.”

“Send Corbie back alone or with the guard. I will take you to Edinburgh myself.”

“I thought you came here tonight to refuse to be part of the introduction.”