Page 14 of A Rogue in Firelight (The Whisky Rogues #1)

“S uch a warm day,” Sorcha said, fanning herself with a painted silk fan as she sat beside Ellison in the carriage. “Perhaps it will feel cooler in Kinross.”

“The closeness in here makes it warmer,” Ellison said.

“Kinross feels good breezes off Loch Leven,” Ronan said. “You will enjoy the outing either way.” He looked toward Ellison and she turned her head, remembering shared kisses in the tower stair. She had brazenly asked him to kiss her again. Embarrassment whirled through her.

At supper last night and breakfast today, he had been polite but distant, and Ellison was sure his opinion of her was unflattering. Never again would she follow a ratafia nightcap with strong whisky. But that had led to those unforgettable kisses.

“How nice you could come with us today, Lord Darrach,” Sorcha said.

“Aye,” he said, though Ellison noticed a subtle wince at hearing the title.

“We need not stay long,” Ellison said. “We only need to visit the seamstress and do a few errands.”

“It’s so exciting,” Sorcha went on. “My aunt is kind to include me in her party in Edinburgh so I can attend the king’s reception for the ladies, too. Mama does not care to go, since the crowds are expected to be so large. She has a delicate constitution.”

“More than enough reason to avoid the city this summer.” MacGregor flashed a blue glance toward Ellison, then away.

“Sir, do you have some business in town as well?” Sorcha asked.

“I can visit one of my solicitors, who has an office in Kinross.”

Interesting that he wanted to see his lawyer, Ellison thought, frowning. She hoped it would not involve talk of smugglers, prisons, or some means of escaping the king’s introduction and any connection with the Grahams.

Trust him, she reminded herself. She had agreed to do that. If she had made a blunder last night, it was not only the drink, but because she felt at ease with him. Would he feel the same now, or think her a silly young woman—worse, a desperately lonely widow?

Reaching the main street through Kinross, MacNie drove the carriage at a leisurely pace, passing Muir’s Inn on the left, then headed toward Green’s Hotel, closer to the shops. Ellison had requested they stop there, thinking it would be a good meeting place once they finished their errands. Green’s served an excellent tea, and she hoped there might be time for that.

As a groom ran through the yard to help with the horses, MacGregor stepped out first, turning to hand Sorcha, then Ellison down. Setting her hand in his, she thought he pressed it slightly in some silent message. Apology? Promise? Affection? She dared not hope as she stepped down.

He pulled his hat low over his brow, tugged at his coat collar, and glanced about, as if wary of being recognized. Ellison felt sympathy more than suspicion, seeing that.

“Where would you like to go first, ladies?” he asked.

“The seamstress’s shop is there along the High Street.” She pointed nearby. “We can easily walk. Where is your solicitor’s office?”

“Near the town hall.” He gestured the other way. “I will go there, and meet you here at the hotel later. Would that suit?”

“You need not hurry,” Ellison said. “We will visit other shops as well. Lady Strathniven gave me a list of errands. But I hope we have time for tea here at Green’s.”

“I would enjoy that,” Sorcha said. “Lord Darrach, I hope you can join us.”

“An honor, Miss Beaton. Will an hour do?”

“Perfect,” Ellison said, turning to see their driver returning. “Mr. MacNie, we will come back here in an hour. I think you have errands of your own, am I right?”

“I do, Miss. Mail and such, and I will see the blacksmith about getting some new harnesses.”

“Very good. We will see you soon.” She took Sorcha’s arm and turned away.

Pulling down her bonnet brim against the sunlight, she walked with Sorcha along the High Street. After a moment, she looked back to see MacGregor walking in the opposite direction. He had not worn his Highland gear—perhaps because some might know him, she realized. In dark trousers, coat, and tall hat, he looked like an ordinary gentleman on an ordinary day, though so tall and striking a figure would catch attention wherever he went. The sureness in his stride said he belonged here, knew where he was going, and knew what he meant to do.

He had more secrets than he would ever reveal, she thought.

*

“Ronan! I am surprised to see you in Kinross—and pleased.” Hugh Cameron took Ronan’s hand, his clasp warm and strong. “I thought you were still in Edinburgh. I recently had an interesting letter from the Provost’s office concerning you. A pardon, of all things. Very unexpected.”

“It was. I will explain. Do you have time to talk?”

“Time for the lad who memorized every law book in the university’s library with me, matching pint for pint and book for book? Always! It is good to see you after these troublesome months for you. Take a seat.” Hugh sat in the leather chair behind his desk while Ronan took the chair opposite. “So, out and free. How the devil did you do it?”

“Free for now. I am skeptical, but I had some luck via the king, if you believe it.”

“I must hear this. Are you back in Perthshire to stay? The letter was unclear.”

“Soon I must return to the city for the royal visit. First, have you had any word about Linhope and MacInnes? I understand they were transferred to Calton Jail.”

“Aye, notice of that came to our Edinburgh office—Alan Smithson is looking into their situation.” Cameron shook his head. “Calton is not a good place.”

“True. Alan will make sure of their treatment.”

“He will. He wrote that Linhope told the warden about his medical skills, which are needed there, so he has some privileges, and MacInnes is allowed to assist him.”

“Good. Did they need to reveal who they are?”

“No questions, I think. Any medical experience is useful there.”

“That is the best we can hope for until I find a way to get them released.”

Hugh shook his head. “Not easy. What do you have in mind?”

“I found a detail that might help lift the charges. Innocence is not enough.”

“Innocence has gradients. You were lucky to obtain a pardon. But once a trial date is set for the others—well, we will try to avoid that. Let me know what you need.”

“Aye. Otherwise, is there news about the estate?”

“Nothing much. I was preparing a letter for you and was going to send it to Smithson so he could find you. But here you are.”

“Here I am. What more do you know? Sorting out the estate is a slow process.”

“Given the commotion of the king’s visit in the city, even slower.” Cameron picked up a sheaf of papers and rifled through them, choosing a page. “I wonder if you had much news in the dungeons. Are you aware that old Sir John Murray-MacGregor died this summer?”

“I heard. Sad, that. And Sir Evan is now clan chief.”

“Then you will have guessed that your cousin will take time to review clan issues before any decisions can be made. The Darrach matter will come to him.”

“Aye, the clan chief has the right to absorb forfeited or abandoned lands and titles into his own holdings. He may decide to do that and have done with it. My cousin Darrach left a bit of a tangle.”

“He did. The matter went to the Court of Sessions and the Lyon Court to help sort out the heritable claim, but it is difficult, since Darrach left no will.”

“He talked about it but never completed one, as I recall. He never thought it was pressing. He was young, and had other things on his mind.”

“The business with your brother William.”

“Aye. We do not know what Darrach preferred. He was not married, and might have left some to William, but both are gone and we may never know.”

“No one has come forward in all this time, so there are no claimants so far. The court might have sent it to Sir John MacGregor as a clan matter, but his death delayed that. So it will go to your cousin Sir Evan, as clan chief, to decide.”

“The courts will be glad to be quit of it.”

“The land and title could still come to you.”

“Evan may be disinclined to choose a man accused of criminal activity.” He knew Evan MacGregor well, though they had kept their distance over the last few years.

“But now that you are free and clear, according to the documents I saw, you could write to Sir Evan to inquire. I hear he will be in Edinburgh soon for the festivities. You could meet with him there to discuss it.”

“I doubt he would welcome seeing me.”

“Surely time has softened that old matter?”

Ronan shrugged in silence, feeling the old hurt surface. The rift was strong between him and his cousin following the events after the battle that had wounded both of them.

Hugh sighed. “Aye, well. You should know he has agreed to lead the Highland contingent in Edinburgh during the royal visit. Sir Walter Scott and the Lord Provost wanted to honor him as a war hero admired by many.”

“They could not find a better representative of Highland dignity than Evan Murray-MacGregor. He will assemble an impressive tail of chieftains in full regalia.”

“He will, as will the other clan chiefs in attendance. They will muster men, horses, weapons, plaids and all to roll out a great showing of Highland clans. They say all of this may even cause a shortage of tartan cloth, with thousands eager to show Scotland at its finest. We may never see its like again. A great celebration of Scottishness.”

Ronan nodded. Reluctant to be part of a ruse in meeting the king, he yet felt a strong pride within about being Highland and Scottish. He wanted to witness the spectacle, feel the swell of Scottish strength borne on this wave of royal excitement. But he would rather avoid any debacle.

“I will write to Sir Evan to let him know you are free, since he is aware of the arrest as chief of your clan. As for the charges, which I am certain were unfairly assigned to all three of you, Smithson and I can make some headway.”

“The charges were unclear and remain so. It is to our advantage.”

“True. Ronan,” said Hugh, giving him a severe glance, “would you be willing to speak frankly about your situation if this comes to trial?”

“About William and Darrach? I will not expose them. Let them rest in peace.”

“Your stubbornness is only to your detriment.”

“We agreed to hold back the full truth, short of hanging. I will not dishonor my brother and my cousin.”

“To your peril, you are an honorable man.”

“Huh. If you have word on the other matters, you can send a message to Strathniven House for now. But in Edinburgh,” he said, “send word either to Lady Strathniven in town or Miss Ellison Graham at her father’s home. Only those two. There are few I can trust.”

“The deputy lord provost’s daughter? I did not realize you knew the Grahams, or Lady Strathniven either.”

“We met only recently. Both have shown me kindness and discretion.”

“Do they know your history?”

“Not entirely.”

“I see. What is this business to do with the king? You mentioned something.”

Ronan huffed. “King George is so fond of Glenbrae whisky that he wants to meet the distiller.”

Hugh chuckled. “No wonder Sir Hector found a way to release you. Save face, clean up the prisoner, is that it?”

“Exactly. Once I am presentable, I will be introduced at the royal levee.”

His friend laughed again. “They must be scrambling to hide the truth about you.”

“My incarceration did pose a dilemma.”

“Do they know about your connection to Darrach?”

“Not entirely. They decided to elevate me to the viscountcy on the chance. An odd coincidence, that.”

“You must be joking.” Hugh’s grin faded. “Very well. I do not want to know the details. Not good for either of us. But I will write to Sir Evan on your behalf.”

“I doubt it will do much good. He has been angry with me for years.”

“It would be helpful to have his answer and be done with it.” Hugh tapped a finger on the desk, his brow furrowed. “Well. Aught else I can do, Ronan?”

“This.” Ronan reached into a pocket to bring out a note he had written late one night after poring over volumes of law in the Strathniven collection. “I suspect they were so eager to grab the Whisky Rogues that they may have overlooked some details.”

Hugh studied the page. “This is accurate? The first of May? Interesting.” He returned it to its envelope.

“Another matter, if you will. Do you know much about the will left by Colin Leslie? I believe it was made in your Edinburgh office. He died less than two years ago in Edinburgh. A poet, I think.”

“Sir Arnold Leslie’s lad? Aye. Not my client, but I know something of it. Tragic, that. Drunken fall from a horse. Young lad, I believe.”

“Aye.”

“He left a young widow.”

“The deputy lord provost’s daughter, aye. She inherited Leslie’s house on North Castle Street, but she cannot gain access to it. Some of Leslie’s relatives are protesting the will and have taken up residence there.”

“That cannot be allowed if the dispute is unresolved. I will send word to Smithson to look into it. He might be aware of the situation. If they refuse to vacate, I will go there myself and toss them out.”

“Leave it to me. You do not need to be arrested for disturbing the peace.”

“Just get them evicted. If the place needs cleaning and repair, I will pay for the work. You have access to my account per our agreement before I, er, became a tenant of Edinburgh Castle.” Hugh quirked a brow and Ronan nodded. “It is a favor for a friend.”

“Quite a favor. Quite a friend, is she?”

“I owe the young lady a debt of kindness.”

“Write out a draught, then, if you will.” Cameron opened another drawer and drew out a leather wallet of bank drafts, which he slid across the desk surface.

Writing out a generous amount, Ronan handed it back. Hugh nodded. “It will be done. When you return to Edinburgh, where will you stay?”

“The hotel on Princes Street. My usual place.”

“You had best inquire. Every available hole is filling fast with the crowds expected. I will stay with my mother in the Canongate during the royal visit. You are welcome there. She has always been fond of you.”

“Thank you. How is your mother?”

“Very well, but the royal visit has her at sixes and sevens. She is no fan of the Crown, being raised by staunch Jacobites, but she is insatiably curious. I will escort her to some of the events. You know she would be delighted to see you.”

“Good. I will let you know my arrangements.” He stood, and so did Hugh.

“Take care, Ronan. If the king learns the truth about the Glenbrae distiller, it could go poorly for you. Your young lady’s father may regret his decision to release you.”

“She is not my young lady,” he said, earning a keen glance from Cameron. “And I know the risks.”

*

“Here we are,” the seamstress said, carrying a gown of wine-colored satin draped over her arm. A shop girl followed with a second gown in deep blue silk. They laid the dresses out on a sofa, and the girl withdrew. The seamstress, Mrs. Fowler, smiled at Ellison and Sophia. “Lady Strathniven ordered the blue for you, Miss Graham.”

“It is beautiful,” Ellison breathed, reaching out to touch the blue gown and the wine-colored one as well. The dresses had graceful falls of creamy lace at bodice and sleeves, and lace ruffles in deep rows around the hem.

“And headdresses to match,” the woman said, “with nine feathers, just as the viscountess specified.” The shop girl returned with the head pieces, one turban-like in black silk with white feathers, the other a narrow blue band with pearls and feathers.

“These are gorgeous!” Ellison was extremely pleased with the blue gown, which was a dreamy confection in deep blue silk with ruffles of plaid silk along the hem. The shop girl added a long swath of matching plaid which could be worn over the shoulder and pinned with a brooch.

“Lady Strathniven asked me to make the blue gown to the same measurements as the mourning dresses we made for you a while ago.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Fowler. This is unexpected, and so kind.”

“I am glad you can be done with somber colors. They take the roses from your cheeks. The blue suits your complexion well.”

Ellison nodded, the silk sliding through her fingers like water. Was she ready to leave mourning colors behind? The blue was a brighter, more joyful color than she had worn for a year and a half.

“It is time, Elly,” Sorcha said gently.

“Perhaps.” For some reason she thought of Ronan MacGregor. Would he agree?

“The train is very long, the required length for a royal reception,” the seamstress explained. “We have been making gowns with these long trains for weeks. There is such excitement over the king’s visit! Now, for you, Miss Beaton,” the woman continued, turning, “I had a note from Lady Strathniven requesting that you be fitted for a gown as well, to be added to my lady’s account.”

“Oh, my goodness, what a wonderful gift.”

“I have a pale green satin that would complement your hazel eyes. We could combine a green bodice with a creamy white skirt. It would be demure and very pretty for you. Come this way. We can look at trims and laces as well.”

While Sorcha went with Mrs. Fowler, Ellison tried on the blue gown with the help of the shop girl. It shaped to her form like perfection, and its elegant long sleeves and neckline flattered her shoulders and slender collarbones. She twirled, spirits soaring. It was wonderful to wear something beautiful after hiding in subdued tones for so long.

She knew she could move on from mourning. She had not only lost her young husband, but had lost herself somehow. Her life had taken a darker turn into loneliness and guilt. The gorgeous blue silk spun as she turned, its susurration exciting. She would wear the gown—and she imagined Ronan MacGregor dressed in Highland finery, tall and handsome, at her side. In an assembly room filled with hundreds, thousands, of others, she would see only him. And he would see only her.

Stop , she told herself. He was to attend one royal event quickly—and then vanish from her life.

Soon, with the gowns wrapped and Sorcha’s gown measured and promised, they left the shop with their string-and-paper parcels, spent a little time on other errands, and then walked back to the hotel.

Her heartbeat quickened when she saw Ronan standing with Mr. MacNie. He turned to see her, and his smile emerged like a sunbeam, warmth enveloping her.

She smiled shyly, filled with a sudden certainty. He cared for her. She saw it in that moment. And suddenly she wanted to be in his arms, divinely alone, just the two of them, just the moment and the future—

Of all her unlikely dreams, that was the most improbable.

*

“Mama fears the city will be so crowded during the king’s visit that she dare not go to Edinburgh.” Sorcha set down her tea cup to lean toward Ellison, across from MacGregor in the tea room of the hotel. “She is disappointed, but it is for the best.”

“With her delicate health, she should stay home,” Ellison said.

“I promised to regale her with the gossip when I return,” Sorcha said. “Do you think I could stay in the city with my aunt? I did not ask.”

“I am sure of it. I will ask for you.”

“Thank you.” Sorcha smiled. “Lord Darrach, will you stay in the city as well?”

“Hmm? Oh, aye.” He sounded distracted. Ellison stole a glance toward him. For several minutes he had looked around the dining room as if on guard.

“What delicious tea,” Sorcha said. “I love a Bohea blend with just a hint of orange flavor to it. Mama prefers Chinese green, though I find it bitter. Which do you prefer, Lord Darrach, black or green?”

“Tea? I, uh, usually black tea.”

Ellison spread strawberry jam on a scone as Sorcha chattered on, and glanced toward Ronan. He nodded politely yet did not seem to listen closely, his head half-turned as if very distracted.

Noticing two young men seated in a corner who also glanced their way, she frowned, feeling a bit alarmed. She patted the packages that sat on the empty chair beside her. “Shall we leave, sir?”

“Soon. You bought something pretty, I trust? You came back looking pleased.”

“Gowns for the ladies’ reception in Edinburgh.”

“Ah.” His gaze touched hers, blue as the silk of her gown. He lifted his cup and sipped, again glancing toward the men in the corner.

“Do you know them?” she asked quietly.

“Aye.” He rose to his feet. “Ladies, forgive me. I see friends and must greet them. Enjoy your tea and cakes. I will be back shortly.”

*

What brought Aleck and Geordie Muir to the hotel’s tearoom? This was not a usual stop for them. Had something happened? Crossing the room, Ronan resisted the urge to look back. Of course Ellison was safe, he told himself. These lads were not scoundrels, though that sort might be around, unnoticed. He felt wary, prickly with it.

“Sir.” Geordie glanced past Ronan. “You keep gentle company today.”

“I do. Good to see you both. We can talk outside.” He led them out and through the yard in the afternoon sun, pausing under the shade and privacy of beech trees.

“I saw your grandfather,” he said.

“He told us you came to the distillery,” Geordie replied.

“We came to Kinross today for supplies and saw Mr. Cameron in the street,” Aleck added. “He said we could find you at the hotel.”

“Is there news?” Ronan sensed tension. Rabbie Muir was loyal as old oak, but these young lads had to make their own way and take care of a mother and sisters. They might do whatever was necessary. Pitlinnie could tempt young lads like these two to do smuggling and underhanded deeds if funds were needed. “You can be honest with me.”

“Good news, and some not so good,” Aleck said. “Geordie will take over the work of the farm from Grandda. Our lad will be married soon.” He clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Mary MacGillie down the way.”

Geordie nodded. “She works at Strathniven House.”

“I met the lass. Cheerful and capable, and just as ginger-haired as you. We may expect bonny ginger bairns someday.” He grinned. “I wish you both well.”

“We would be honored if you would come to our wedding in the autumn.”

“I will do my best. What other news?” He saw Geordie glance at Aleck.

“We would like to open our own distillery,” Aleck said. “Did Grandda say?”

“He did not. But it is a good plan.” Ronan waited, expecting more.

“Have you seen Pitlinnie?” Geordie asked briskly.

“I have not had the pleasure,” Ronan drawled. “Something I should know?”

“He makes more profit than ever moving goods, and no one is the wiser. Those who know keep quiet about it.”

“Safety is a good reason.”

“Sir, we could earn extra money with him,” Aleck said.

“If you truly want to work with that rascal, go ahead.”

“Some of our cousins are doing so, but they are not as discreet as Pitlinnie thinks,” Geordie said. “They tell us what they know.”

“So we heard Pitlinnie says he wanted you and your friends out of the way, and so it was done,” Aleck said.

“The arrest? Did Pitlinnie put the excise on us?” Ronan asked sharply.

“He might have arranged it.”

Ronan thought of Dawson, the excise officer who had led the ambush and arrest in Culross. He was not to be trusted. “What else?”

“Pitlinnie tells his men you are more than you seem, and dangerous. He says you will inherit Darrach and claim the credit and profit for whisky-making in these glens. Says all whisky-men in this region should beware Glenbrae once he becomes Darrach.”

“I see,” Ronan said. “All lies. Let me know what more you find out.”

“He said you are a wolf among sheep.”

“You two are hardly sheep. Keep quiet and stay smart. It will protect you.”

Geordie nodded. “Sir, we saw him recently near Invermorie. He saw Aleck and me and told us you are ruined. Told us we can earn good coin by joining his lot. Aleck refused straightaway. But I—I am thinking about it.”

“Soon you will be a married man, and someday have a family to support. So you want to build a life. It is understandable.”

“But I am loyal to you, sir.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Sir, if we ever need an advocate in court, would you stand up for us?” he asked.

“If you go with Pitlinnie, lad, you may well need me one day,” Ronan drawled.

“I do not want to go over to him,” Geordie said. “But his runs are profitable.”

“They are. Tell me, how does Pitlinnie know anything about me?”

“From your sister-in-law, Mairi Brodie,” Aleck said. “He visits as a neighbor and treats her well. He makes himself useful and is wooing her.”

“He wants to marry her?” Ronan narrowed his eyes.

“If she would agree,” Aleck said. “What he wants is all of Glenbrae, including Invermorie. Mairi Brodie is a way to get that.” He swept an arm northward.

Marrying Will’s widow would level a direct blow against Ronan. “That cannot happen.”

“We hope not. Do you have work for us, sir?” Aleck asked. “We have not moved Glenbrae whisky over the hills since you and your lads got locked away. We sell through the shops in Kinross and Perth. Legitimate but slow to put coin in our pockets.”

“Best keep a low profile for now. When the tax laws change next year, there will be little profit from illicit trade, and harsher penalties. You will make more legitimately.”

“What is harsher than hanging?” Geordie asked. “Or being pistol-shot on a hillside, like your brother and cousin?” He spit on the ground.

Ronan felt a muscle pump in his cheek. “The laws will help legal distilleries.” He was loath to scare them, so promoted the tax laws as promising, even if they were not.

“Is the free trade done?” Geordie asked.

“Nearly.”

“Just as well.” Aleck echoed Ronan’s tone like a lad after his father. At times, Ronan had felt like an older brother, even a father, to these two.

“Lads, keep an eye on our goods. Let me know what Pitlinnie does.”

“If I went over to Pitlinnie’s crew, I could learn more,” Geordie said.

“I would never send you into the fire. If your cousins will share information, take no more risk than that. And watch their backs as well as your own. Kin are kin.” Geordie and Aleck nodded, looking relieved.

“We will check the goods stored near Darrach Castle soon as we can,” Aleck said.

“Good. I will need your help to move them and arrange shipment to Edinburgh. It must arrive in time for the king’s arrival.”

“The king!” Aleck said.

“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 the last 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.”