Page 22 of A Rogue in Firelight (The Whisky Rogues #1)

“S uch a glorious day!” Sorcha said as she sat beside Ellison on the leather seat of the big black barouche. “I am so excited! Thank you for suggesting I wear my pink gown. And you look lovely in your gray-blue satin. How nice that we can go to Duncraig a bit early to help Mama and Aunt Strathniven.”

Ellison smiled, sobering quickly when Corbie stepped inside the carriage to take the opposite seat.

“You must be looking forward to seeing our lady aunt, Cousin,” Sorcha said.

“She should have been here, not at Duncraig,” Corbie said.

He had been especially disagreeable ever since his arrival, Ellison thought, and wondered if Corbie noticed a closeness between her and Ronan and resented it. But she would not ask. As the vehicle rolled down the earthen lane, she glanced out the window.

Near the stables, she saw Ronan mounted on a bay stallion, with Donal beside him on a roan mare. Both men wore Highland gear, with dark jackets and waistcoats over wrapped plaids in the tartan that MacGregors favored, a handsome pattern of dark red crisscrossed with forest green. She swelled with pride to see them, both so handsome, with the singular dignity of Highlanders.

Earlier, Ronan had told her they planned to arrive at Duncraig later in the day, after a visit to Invermorie. The Muirs were still searching for the missing whisky and he wanted to talk to them, and see how Geordie Muir was faring. She suspected he had no desire to ride in an enclosed space with Corbie, nor could she blame him.

“Lord Darrach knows the dance begins at seven o’ clock?” Sorcha asked.

“He does. He means to visit kin first, and he and Donal Brodie will come later.”

“At least he is taking his valet with him,” Corbie said.

“Donal has been a help,” Ellison said. “In truth he is Darrach’s nephew.”

Corbie shook his head and waved a hand in a futile gesture. “There is so much we do not know about this man.”

“We know that he is an educated and well-mannered gentleman who will be a credit to Scotland—and your party, sir—in Edinburgh.”

“Let us hope so.”

“You do not seem to like Darrach much, Cousin Adam. You just need a chance to know him better,” Sorcha said. “He is a most excellent gentleman, and a handsome, congenial bachelor. Mama will be so pleased to have him there this evening. Though I must say he seems quite fond of Ellison.”

“Does he,” Corbie drawled. “I hope you have not become infatuated, Miss Ellison. Such attachments rarely end well.”

She said nothing, gazing out the window.

“Even if Elly is not infatuated, I am,” Sorcha said brightly into the silence.

Duncraig House was a small castle out of a fairytale, with round towers and conical roofs, set prettily against a heathered hillside topped by green pines. As Ronan and Donal arrived at twilight, a stable boy came forward to take their horses, and they walked toward the entrance. Carriages were still arriving and guests were climbing steps toward the arched entrance, though he and Donal trailed behind the rest. Golden light twinkled in leaded windows and fiddle music drifted outward in the purply dusk.

When Donal slowed, Ronan turned, sensing the lad’s hesitation. “You are as welcome here as anyone, Donal.”

“Though I am a laird’s son, I am just a stable boy and a valet for now at Strathniven.”

“That does not matter. Everyone is welcome at a cèilidh. But there is something you should know. You know that I might be given the Darrach title and inheritance.” He drew a breath. “Indeed, the courts decided to grant it to me.”

Donal began to whoop, but quickly stifled it. “Truly?”

“Which makes you a viscount’s nephew—and his heir.”

“What!” Donal gaped at him now.

“I have neither wife nor offspring as yet. I mean to secure an inheritance for you.”

“One day you will marry and have heirs of the body, surely.”

“We cannot know what the years will bring.” His future and his freedom, too, were uncertain as yet. But as soon as all was clear, he meant to marry Ellison Graham if she would have him. He thought of it constantly now and saw no other course for him. But he was pragmatic, and would to take care of any eventuality. “No matter what happens, you can be assured of an inheritance from me.”

“Uncle, I am honored.”

Ronan clapped his shoulder. “Go inside with your head high, lad. You are a young man with a certain future. You have integrity and intelligence, and you will have an education and an inheritance. And you are not bad to look at, you rascal, for you take after your mother. Listen. One day you will ask a lass for her hand. But be sure that both of you know what a privilege it is to have someone’s heart, more than anything else.”

“Aye, sir. I am grateful. We are not blood kin, I know.”

“You are like a son to me. I will honor that all my life.”

These short weeks had taught him, more than any other stretch of time had, that love mattered most—family, friends, the love of one’s life. Nothing else sufficed.

Ronan walked beside Donal toward the warmth of lights, music, chatter, and merriment—and the promise of the lass who waited for him.

The vast interior twinkled with candlelight and lamplight sparkling over chandeliers, wine glasses, dishes, and glittered over jewels and silks. Under a high ceiling, walls were festooned with swaths of greenery and flowers. Guests clustered about, women in bright frocks, men in tartan or coats and trousers. The crowd was colorful and busy, some talking, some swaying, some already dancing to the music of fiddles and drums wafting through rooms open for the occasion.

Ellison tapped a foot, standing with Sorcha, Lady Strathniven, and Sorcha’s mother. Everywhere she looked, she saw smiles and lively exchanges. But she did not see Ronan MacGregor.

A filament of worry went through her and she hoped nothing had gone wrong. But she knew that if she could join her life to his, she might have to accept an element of danger in what he did and who he knew. He never seemed to mind it much, and she wanted to understand better the calm and confidence that fueled him, even gain some herself.

Turning as she glanced about, she caught her breath and ducked her head, but was too late to avoid Adam Corbie’s glance as he waved and saw the group of ladies.

“Miss Ellison, a moment please. I must speak with you.”

“Mr. Corbie, perhaps this is not the time.”

“I will not keep you for long. I have a message from your father. I have just been through the library—a handsome room that you will want to see. Let me show you.”

Lady Strathniven waved at them. “Ellison, if Adam has a message from Sir Hector, it must be important. We will wait here for you.”

Dread spun like a wheel inside her as she walked with Corbie, who took her elbow to guide her through the crowded room. Entering the library, a beautiful room that she could scarcely take in for her anxiousness, she turned.

“What is it?”

He sighed. “I am concerned about you and this MacGregor fellow.”

She bristled. “No need. We did what was expected of us, and he is ready to meet the king. He will represent Scotland admirably. His manners are impeccable, and he knows just what to do and say. He is very—presentable.”

He waved all that away. “He fooled us, especially you. Now he claims to be heir to a title—and a lawyer as well, which he never mentioned before. If it is true, he has kept a great deal from us—and you.”

“The important thing is that he can be introduced, and my father can sponsor him without a falsehood about his identity. What word did Papa send for me?”

“I will inform him that there is improvement in the rogue’s demeanor and appearance.” He stepped closer. “But I have a greater concern.”

She moved back. “What is that?”

“You are clearly infatuated with him, and you have had too much freedom at Strathniven, too susceptible to his influence.”

“He is more a gentleman than anyone I know, I assure you.”

“Truly? We suspect he plans to move illicit goods through the Highlands, which he arranged while he has been up here at our expense and hospitality.”

“Is that all? He is preparing to send whisky to Edinburgh for the king. Papa requested it. That is hardly smuggling.”

“I fear you have been na?ve and easily led. Thank God I can look after you now.”

“What you can do is go back to the city and tell Papa that Lord Darrach can be presented, so you both can earn whatever accolade you expect. Just remember that you owe your success to Ronan, Lord Darrach. His title makes this process so much easier for you. Am I correct in assuming Papa gave you no message for me? Then we are done here.”

“Sir Hector will be greatly disappointed in you.”

“That is not surprising. I would like to go back to the party.” She turned.

“One more question.” He took her gloved forearm in a tight grip so that she could not step away. “Have you gone entirely mad, Ellison?”

Dumbstruck, she pulled against his hand. “What do you mean?”

“I heard you are engaged to MacGregor now. What possessed you? Come this way. We might be interrupted here.” He dragged her toward the French doors that led to the terraced gardens.

Hearing his name, Ronan looked around to see Lady Strathniven waving. She stood with a smaller, younger version of herself, clearly her sister, as Sorcha stood with them. Then Ellison would be nearby; he had been looking for her ever since he entered.

“Darrach! Let me introduce my sister, Mrs. Beaton,” she said. “Viscount Darrach is our guest at Strathniven.”

“Madam, good to meet you. Thank you for the invitation. And Miss Beaton, good to see you again.” He smiled as Sorcha returned a sweet, happy grin.

“Look over there, sir,” Lady Strathniven said, pointing. “That is the Earl of Huntly and his lady, and just there is the Duke of Atholl. There are so many I would like you to meet. They will welcome a newly inherited peer.” She looked proud as a peacock. “Your cousin, Sir Evan MacGregor, and his wife could not attend, as they have already gone to Edinburgh.”

Ronan nodded, feeling a surge of relief. He did not relish that reunion.

Lady Strathniven pointed out guests to him, rattling off names, many familiar. Some he had encountered in the Scottish parliament; others had recognizable names and titles, including clan chiefs—MacDonald, Stewart, MacIntosh, Fraser, and more. As the fiddle music soared and chatter filled the room like the roar of the sea, he looked for Ellison and did not see her.

“An excellent turnout, Mrs. Beaton. You must be pleased,” he said.

“We are fortunate, my lord, that many were in the Highlands for the summer and had not yet left for the festivities in Edinburgh. You will go south as well, I think?”

“I will, madam. May I ask if any of you have seen Miss Graham?”

“She went with Cousin Adam to look at the library,” Sorcha said. “You know her penchant for books.”

“Aye. Thank you. I have—a message for her.” He turned just as Lady Strathniven tapped his arm with her fan.

“Someone you must meet, Darrach. Sir Neill Pitlinnie. He is the one who gifts us with a supply of his whisky.”

“Ah.” Glancing that way, he saw Neill Pitlinnie in deep conversation with a Highland man he did not recognize. “He makes excellent whisky. Give him my compliments.”

“He is a friend of my nephew Adam as well,” Lady Strathniven went on. “They met in the Edinburgh High School. Boyhood friends, you see. So we are treated to a supply of whisky. Sir Neill is very good to us.”

“Is he,” Ronan murmured.

“Sissy dear, the dancing will begin formally soon,” Mrs. Beaton told her sister. “The principals will dance first. The highest ranking, you know,” she clarified for Ronan.

“That would be the Duke of Atholl and his lady, and the Duke and Duchess of Gordon, whom we are very pleased are here,” Lady Strathniven said.

“You may dance too, Sissy, as hostess. We will need a fourth couple for a foursome. Sir Evan is not here, and besides, he is lame now.” Mrs. Beaton had her sister’s forthright manner, Ronan noted.

“Perhaps Corbie will be my partner. Darrach, would you dance as the fourth peer with the principals? Perhaps Miss Graham would be your partner.” Her eyes twinkled.

“It would be an honor. First I must find her—and your nephew.” Inclining his head, he made his way across the crowded room, his earlier anticipation transforming to concern.

“Betrothal?” Ellison pulled against Corbie’s grip. She wanted to cross the terrace and escape into the house, but he held fast. “What do you mean?”

“Do not try to deny it. I was told of it almost as soon as we arrived.”

Her stomach sank. “Who—”

“Neill Pitlinnie told me. Does Sir Hector know?”

Her heart pounded fiercely. “Pitlinnie! I did not realize you knew him.”

“Since school days. He said he had the news straight from you when he saw you with MacGregor out in the hills at night. Why?”

“We were out for the day. That is not your concern.”

“If you foolishly promised to marry him, it is very much my concern. I genuinely care for you and would give you the life you deserve. Is it true?”

She did not answer that, pulling against his hold. “Do not listen to rumors.”

“I will if it means you are in the thrall of another rascal who will bring ruin to your family. Your father must hear of this before someone else tells him the news.”

“I will tell him the truth when I see him.”

“So you did promise?” He yanked her close and she stubbed the toe of her slipper on a stone, stumbling into him. “Then someone must save you from disgrace again.”

“I do not need saving. Let go,” she said between her teeth, twisting her arm.

“This will ruin your father. He is poised to take the Lord Provost’s position.”

“Lord Provost!”

“When Lord Arbuthnot steps down in a year or two, your father could be appointed, especially if he succeeds with the royal visit. He could be granted a title as well as promotion. You cannot destroy what he has worked for!” His grip was bruising.

“I would never do that.”

“We can fix your grave error. I have a solution.”

“You worry over nothing. You will get what you want. Lord Darrach will only bring credit to my father—especially if he lets him go free afterward.”

“MacGregor wants to benefit, so he coerced you into marriage, is that it?”

“He did not, because he—”

“Loves you?” Corbie laughed bitterly. “Is that what you think? He sees the advantage of a father-in-law who is chief of the constabulary so he can keep out of prison despite his criminal actions.”

She stopped struggling, breath heaving. His cruel words felt like a visceral blow. She had brought scandal to her family once. But Ronan would never deceive her.

“We cannot risk bringing him to the king, especially if he is still smuggling up here. He will be arrested as soon he reaches the city.”

“He did everything you asked. You cannot betray him. His title is legitimate and he is innocent of the other charges.”

“And you believe that! Poor lass.” He shook his head. “But you can still save your father’s reputation and yours too.” He moved closer, bending her arm to press it between them. “Sir Hector could lose all. Now listen. This is how we will fix it. We will announce our engagement,” he went on. “That will erase the rumors and protect you. MacGregor will be forgotten after the royal visit.”

She felt dread rise like bile. “I would never marry you.”

“Sir Hector and my aunt have hoped for our union since we were young. Surely you knew that. It will make them happy.”

“No,” she said firmly.

“You were coerced—threatened—by a reprobate, and came to me for help. So romantic, just as you like. We will mend any harm to your father. Solved, you see.”

“Not solved. You need my consent.”

“If you want Darrach and his friends safe, you will agree. Save all of them from hanging and let them be banished. Be the heroine in our story, my dear.”

She felt cold all over. Numb. She had known he could be vile, but not like this. “You could not harm them!”

“Not me. The law will do it. MacGregor’s actions will bring about his hanging and that of his friends. His lands will be lost. His family will be evicted. Marry me instead, and we will do what we can to lessen their sentences.”

“Stop,” she moaned, as tears stung her eyes. “You cannot mean this.”

“I only care about you. I only want to help you.” He released his fierce hold to take her hand. She froze as he raised it to kiss her knuckles through her glove.

“No,” she whispered. “Leave us alone. I will tell Papa what you have said.”

“I could not stop your first ill-fated marriage, but I can help you escape this one. We will be happy together, you and I. You will forget your infatuation when you see how proud your father will be. We will be content and elevated in life. You will be Lady Strathniven.”

She gasped, realizing that his hope of inheriting Strathniven rested on her. “Elevated?” She grasped the word. “Your aunt will learn the truth.”

“But will she believe it? Think of your father. He could be Lord Provost someday. And I might become Deputy Provost in his place.”

If she agreed to this, she knew Corbie would make sure Ronan suffered more than her father ever would. Corbie would ruin him utterly. Ronan’s life and their happiness together stood in the balance here and now.

But if she refused, if she relied on newfound strength and determination, she might only destroy what she loved most in the world.

She felt the fight drain out of her. “Let me think about it.”

Corbie pulled her to him, leaned to kiss her. She angled her head away and his lips smeared her cheek. “Make the right decision, Ellison.”

She could not betray Ronan’s love and trust in her. Yet that could save his life, and if it did—he could never learn the truth.

Corbie leaned to attempt another kiss, but she torqued away. “Later, you will be glad you did this,” he said, lips eager even as she avoided him.

“Stop! Let me think.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw a tall shadow stride across the terrace. An arm reached out swiftly out to shove Corbie aside.

“Leave her be,” Ronan snarled.

Corbie stumbled. “How dare you interrupt a private conversation?”

“Am I unwelcome?” Ronan demanded, turning to Ellison. She set a trembling hand to her chest above the lace at her bodice.

“Not at all,” she said breathlessly.

Taking her arm, Ronan turned to face Corbie. “The lady does not wish your company, sir.”

“We were discussing matters that are none of your concern.”

“Miss Graham?” Ronan asked.

Lifting her chin, she stood close to Ronan, relieved to feel his steadiness and calm, and the banked power he radiated. He was all she could ever dream of and all she could ever want. Yet she might have to distance herself, detach her heart from his, else Corbie would ruin him.

As she looked from one to the other, she felt a well of strength rise in her. Take the risk , a voice within seemed to say.

“The rumor of my betrothal to Lord Darrach,” she said, “is true.”

“My God, woman, you are a fool. You will regret this!”

Ronan bristled beside her, squared his shoulders. She saw the pulse in his jaw, the blue flash in his eyes. She set a hand on his sleeve.

“Miss Graham,” he said in a hard voice, “explain it to the gentleman.”

He was leaving it to her, though the very air thickened between the two men. And she was about to add fuel to fire.

“It is true,” she repeated. “I will marry Lord Darrach, if he is still amenable.”

“He is amenable,” Ronan said.

Love warmed all through her, strengthened her further. His resolve made her certain, his composure fed calmness into her. She straightened her spine. “We will be married as soon as it can be arranged.”

“You will come to disaster over this. Think carefully, Ellison. The price of your stubbornness is too high,” Corbie snarled.

Ronan stepped forward. Ellison tapped his arm. “No,” she said. “Mr. Corbie, perhaps you would return to Strathniven now in the carriage. I will find a ride later.”

“I will do better than that. I will go straight to Edinburgh.” Corbie glared at Ronan. “We gave you every privilege, and you preyed on a vulnerable widow. It will not go well for you now. What did you think to gain?”

Ronan’s arm tightened under her hand. “Nothing you could comprehend, sir.”

“I only wanted to protect her from such a scoundrel as you. I only wanted to guarantee her safety so her father will know she kept her honor with you.”

“I will tell Papa what he needs to know. Best leave now, Adam.”

“Enough,” Ronan barked. “Leave now if you wish, sir. But Lady Strathniven expects you to partner her in the first dance. Go tell her what you have decided. Go on, before I show you the door.”

He pointed toward the French doors. Corbie stomped away. “This is not finished!” he snapped as he yanked open the door and went inside.

“I have never wanted to kill a man so much in my life,” Ronan growled.

Ellison gave a half-laugh, half-sob. “I am glad you controlled the urge.”

“Barely.” He took her hand. “Are you all right, lass?”

She nodded as a wave of relief and love rinsed through her, rocking her nearly to her knees. She leaned her head against his chest, and he held her.

“I am fine now. Thank you for ending that.”

“You ended it, love, and far more nicely than I would have. But I have a feeling this is not over. What did he really want?”

“To complain about my poor judgment. And demand that I marry him.”

He swore softly. “Small-minded man. He wants something more, but what? With luck he will be gone soon. But in Edinburgh, be sure to keep your distance from him.”

“He thinks I should obey what Papa wants. But Corbie wants it more.”

“That troubles me about him. Do you feel ready to go back inside?”

Nodding, she walked beside him, but her legs and hands trembled, and she could not shake the awful sense of dread that turned her stomach. So much of this bad situation was her doing, and hers to fix. She had gambled that Corbie’s threats were empty, but now she was not certain. He was bitter and angry, and would cause a rift with her father and trouble for Ronan if he could. And she felt responsible.

In these past weeks, she had begun to feel a deep desire for happiness, dreams she had given up. She desperately wanted love and contentment and freedom with Ronan, and had begun to believe it was possible. But now all that had changed.

“Ronan.” She stopped in the center of the silent, beautiful library. “What now?”

“Why, Miss Graham,” he murmured, “I am thinking we should marry, and soon.”

Her heart thumped, thrilled, wishing it could be so. “But—”

He leaned down to kiss her gently, sinking a new feeling through her knees. She clutched at his lapels. He drew back to look down at her. “But?”

“Perhaps we should keep it to ourselves.”

“I should speak to your father first. Widows do not need permission—but in this case, it is better for you if I go to him.”

“If Corbie does not poison the waters first, aye. But I can undo whatever he tells Papa, I think. But can we keep our plans to ourselves for a little while?”

“If that is what you want, let them wonder. Is Miss Graham is engaged? And is he a rogue or a viscount?”

She smiled. “A frog or a prince?”