Page 29 of A Rogue in Firelight (The Whisky Rogues #1)

R onan watched high rainclouds through the tall windows in the Parliament House foyer. The bells of the cathedral rang again, drowning other noises, but he could hear the skirl of pipes and beating drums as Highland regiments practiced for tomorrow’s procession. He ought to be there, he thought, with them, with Sir Evan, who had sent word to invite him.

But he would stay here while Ellison did whatever she had come to do. Had she told her father of the marriage yet? Had Corbie done something to pressure her? Staving off worry, he waited silently beside Hugh and Sorcha, while Corbie and Pitlinnie stood apart, looking annoyed. Lord Jameson crossed to the entrance while speaking with Robertson, his clerk.

“Darrach.” Corbie approached. Ronan turned stiffly. “You can go on your way. Miss Graham has important business to discuss with Justice Beaton and Sir Hectory.”

“I can wait,” Ronan said in a flat tone.

“Take my advice.” Corbie lifted his chin high. He was not tall, but had a way of radiating arrogance. “Leave the girl be.”

Ronan pulsed a muscle in his jaw, took a breath. Two. The hall was nearly empty, for the place was closing down. Three regimental soldiers stood a few yards away. Jameson was near the door. He gauged his options as thunderclouds rumbled in echo of his rising temper. But this was not the time to heave Corbie by his coat tails, much as he ached to do it.

“What do you mean, sir?” he finally asked.

“The paper Miss Graham is delivering today is an application for annulment.”

Ronan flared his nostrils. “How would you know that?”

“She confided in me. Quite upset, feeling she had made a mistake, that she was coerced. I consoled and counseled her.”

“Ah.” Ronan turned away, sucking in a breath. Then he rounded back, hand clamped in a hard ball, reared back, and slammed Corbie’s jaw.

Thrown back, Corbie stumbled into Pitlinnie, who roared at Ronan. The regimental soldiers came running. Ronan opened his fist, balled it again, and hit Pitlinnie with bullish force, knocking both men down like dominoes on the marble floor.

He spun on his heel and walked away. Two soldiers veered after him, with Hugh and Sorcha in their wake along the length of the enormous hall.

Jameson stepped in his path. “Darrach!”

Ronan stopped mid-stride. “Sir,” he growled, still simmering. Let them arrest him. He hardly cared.

“I read your bride’s petition,” the justice said. “To be honest, I might have done the same to those bastards. Guards!” he called. “Leave this man to me. Take those two and hold them for Lord Beaton’s decision. It will come shortly.”

“My lord, thank you—but I do not understand.” Ronan shook his head in confusion, wondering why the girl’s petition for annulment made Jameson sympathetic to him.

“Take a walk. Cool your head. Then find her.”

“My lord,” Ronan said, and shoved through the doors into a light rain. Hugh and Sorcha hurried after him.

“Ronan! What in blazes was that?” Hugh asked.

“What they deserved.” He turned. “Miss Beaton, my apologies. Can we take you back to Lady Strathniven’s house?”

“I will wait for my brother. Lord Darrach, what you did was just magnificent!”

He flexed his aching hand and gave her a bitter smile. “It did not feel that way.”

“Are you coming back inside?”

“I have an important errand. Hugh, are you with me? I am off to Calton Jail. Miss Beaton, your brother will be looking for you soon.”

He cleft through the hordes filling the square and strode down the long slope of the High Street. He did not wait for Hugh, knowing he would keep up.

Here was her chance to explain, Ellison thought. Mustering courage, she straightened her posture and faced her father. She was sure that whatever Corbie had told him was slanted.

“Adam said,” growled her father, “that you married this fellow Darrach in a Highland ceremony. Unthinkable! But he explained the circumstances, and assured me that you wisely decided to correct your regrettable impulse. Adam’s offer to marry you stands, and he hopes you will agree. You are fortunate.” He glowered, but then shook his head. She felt his deep disappointment more than his anger with her.

“I am sorry Mr. Corbie told you first. It was not his place. I tried to find time at home, but you were too busy to listen. I wanted to tell you the whole of it. Corbie left out certain details.”

“Best forgotten, I am sure. But he said you were compromised, so at the least, I assume that Darrach recognized his obligation.”

“I was not compromised. I owe him my life.” My heart. “He is not what you think.”

“I am usually a good judge of character, and so I was surprised, I admit. MacGregor, er, Darrach, seemed a solid enough fellow once I met him. But you will make amends today, and we will discuss the matter later.”

“He is more of a gentleman than many others we know, Papa.”

“I did think today that he demonstrated a noble spirit and gentlemanly manners as well. Even so, his actions toward you were wrong and he should pay.”

“Papa—”

“Soon this unpleasant situation will be done and we can forget about the Highland spectacle—and the little spectacle of our own making.” He shook his head again.

“Papa, listen to me. I am not filing for annulment.”

“Corbie said you were submitting the papers. I suppose I am expected to witness them.”

“Listen. I submitted a complaint against Mr. Corbie and Pitlinnie.”

“Why would do that?” His gray eyebrows snapped together.

“I am accusing them of conspiring to kidnap me and endanger my life.”

“What?” He leaned toward her.

“But for Darrach, I do not know what would have happened to me that night. If Corbie had succeeded, I would be married to him now, and would certainly seek an annulment and charges of abuse in addition. Papa, this is why Darrach and I married impulsively—he wanted to protect me and prevent Mr. Corbie’s hateful scheme.”

Her father scowled down at her. “Ellison, this is madness.”

“It is the truth. I am married, aye. And I am happy, Papa. I chose this. I love him,” she emphasized. Her hands were shaking, her limbs were shaking. She continued. “You need to know that Adam Corbie is not the good man you think him to be. He and Pitlinnie planned to destroy Ronan MacGregor and take over Glenbrae whisky. And Corbie only wants to marry me so that Lady Strathniven will leave her estate to him. She is undecided. I think she sees more of the truth about Corbie than she wants to admit.”

“She has long been of two minds with him.” Brow creased, he sighed. “Adam tells this story differently.”

“I am sure he does. And I am sorry that you must learn the truth like this.”

“How did I miss this if it is true? I saw no indication of such behavior. Is it possible I have not paid attention to what goes on around me?” He spoke half to himself then.

“You are so busy, Papa, with much on your mind, and daughters you have raised alone. You do the best you can.”

“Too busy, though. Beaton is calling us over. Let us hear what he has to say. And I must read your account.”

Discussing the accusations and documents did not take as long as Ellison thought. Justice Beaton and Sir Hector were quick of shared mind, terse and efficient, and quick to conclude that Ellison’s claims were warranted until more was known.

“Sir Hector,” Beaton said, “I believe you need to employ a new secretary.”

“Whatever the truth is, my lord, I cannot give the man the benefit of the doubt where my daughter is concerned. As for this other fellow, Pitlinnie, I only know he makes a good whisky and is a generous donor to the city.”

“He donates to gain favor with the government,” Ellison said.

“That could be,” Beaton said. “He has some English peers in his pocket, I think. But I cannot guess what he would want with that.”

“He wants Glenbrae,” Ellison supplied. “He wants credit for the finest whisky to be his, not Darrach’s. If Mr. Corbie gains Strathniven and Pitlinnie has Glenbrae, they will combine and make a large profit for themselves. And even rise in the government.”

Both men frowned at that. “Interesting,” said Beaton. “Your daughter has a keen mind, sir. She might be correct.”

“She has a very keen mind, my lord. She is a writer, I wish to add. If her—husband gains the estates of Darrach and Strathniven someday, it might be a good thing for all.”

“Well, for now we can only try to resolve this situation. Was there mention of annulment, Miss? Or should I say, Lady Darrach?”

“Not at all, my lord.” She folded her hands calmly, fingers still, spirit calm and certain. She felt burdens leaving her shoulders, and thought of Ronan waiting for her outside. All would be resolved and they could find their happiness together—if her father ever recovered from the news of her marriage, she thought.

“I may have misjudged Lord Darrach,” Sir Hector said then, and she stared up at him.

“Many have been misjudged here,” Beaton replied. “The law will rectify it. Lady Darrach, thank you for bringing this to the court’s attention. I will pursue it. For now, I think it best to order Corbie and Pitlinnie to be detained until things can be sorted out. Your accusations have some weight.”

“Thank you. I did not want to cause trouble, but this had to be brought to light.”

“They will have a chance to defend themselves and the outcome remains to be seen.”

“Thank you, Lord Justice.” Though he was Sorcha’s older brother, she had only used his various formal titles.

“I am glad to help, my dear.” He stood. “And glad to assist Lord Darrach, knowing of his bravery in India. A worthy man. Now I must find my sister, who is waiting for me.”

Walking out beside her father, Ellison glanced around the hall but did not see Ronan. “They must be outside,” she said as they left the hall.

“I must say,” her father mused, “I began thinking differently about Darrach today. His willingness to place himself in jeopardy to help others is singular.”

“He would do anything for his friends and kin.”

“And for you. But what truly has changed my thinking is seeing you today,” he said, taking her arm. “You truly love this man. I saw that, and I saw how much he cares for you. He makes you happy—that is what I want for my daughters, though I may not show it. Even more, I saw a difference in you that I hoped to see someday.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Confidence. I saw you stand up for what you believe in.” He smiled ruefully. “I thought discipline might make you stronger and happier. Perhaps that was not the best course. It is not criticism that improves, I think, but love. You have shown me that, my dear. It is a hard lesson, I vow.”

“Oh!” Ellison said through tears.

“Sometimes you are more the image of your mother than your sisters. You have her heart and her imagination. You and Darrach will do well together.”

“Thank you, Papa.” She blinked away tears.

“We will talk further this.” He looked around. “I do not see him here.”

She whirled about. “I thought he would wait.”

“Something must have come up. I will tell my driver to take you home in my carriage. I have some work to do, and I must have dinner with the organizing committee. I will see you tomorrow.” He kissed her cheek.

*

“The king, a smuggler? I wish I had been there!” Linhope said.

“Wish we were all there, and out of here,” MacInnes said. “By God, it is good to see you, Ronan, and Cameron too.”

“Darrach,” Linhope reminded him, for Ronan had told them about the inheritance.

“Time we are done with the past, lads,” Ronan said. “I do not regret our efforts to finish the work my brother and cousin began. But we are fortunate that a solution has appeared.”

Cameron leaned a shoulder against the wall, arms folded. “Lord Darrach here discovered the remedy for this situation. We all owe him our thanks.”

“If this warrant for liberation holds, we will be released soon, aye?” MacInnes asked.

“It should hold,” Ronan said.

“And then?” Linhope asked.

“My advice to all of you is to behave,” Cameron said.

“I plan on it.” Iain scratched at his beard. “We need a barber and a tailor before we leave here.”

“I will send a barber in tomorrow,” Ronan said. “And a tailor too. We have no guarantee from the court as yet, you do understand that. But you should be ready to walk out of here with your heads high. If for some reason this petition is refused, I will find another way. I will not give up.”

“Everyone needs a lawyer like you,” MacInnes said, and laughed.

“You have both been of service here in Calton,” Hugh said. “That will count as well.”

“So, we need be Highland heathens no longer?” MacInnes asked.

“No more. Well, MacInnes may always be a roughshod Highlander,” Ronan teased.

“I prefer it. And hardly feel like a gentleman now.” He scratched his overgrown beard.

“One hundred and three days? You are certain?” Linhope asked.

“By all counts, aye.” Hugh said. “Steps in setting up charges and a trial were missed.”

“You may want to thank the king for that—the chaos of his visit may have interfered with procedures,” Ronan said.

“If you have freedom,” Hugh cautioned, “you are done with the free trade.”

Ronan laughed. “The laws will change soon, and smuggling will not be as profitable for anyone.”

“If things can be resolved quickly, you lads may be able to enjoy part of the festivities around the royal visit,” Ronan said. “I want to introduce you to the friends who helped me. Lady Strathniven is one of them. And Miss Graham—you might remember her.”

“The angel who visited us in the dungeons? Bonny lass,” MacInnes said.

“She is Lady Darrach now.” Ronan grinned.

“What!” They stood, clapped shoulders, laughed and congratulated him, asking what had happened.

“I will explain later, I promise,” he said. “That reminds me, another friend will be very happy to hear of your release, when it comes. Especially you, Linhope.”

Linhope looked puzzled, but a smile quirked his lips. “Who might that be?”

“Mairi Brodie.”

“Darrach,” Linhope said, shoving a hand through his long blond hair, “when you send fresh clothing and gear here for us, remember that the royal Stewart sett is my right and honor as Viscount Linhope. And send a good deal of soap.”

*

Never had Ruari seen a lovelier sight than Lady Isabella standing on the castle parapet in the moonlight. Its light cast a burnishing glow over her and turned the sandstone walls to silver. She sighed. He sighed too, from his post at the wall.

He was her loyal guard and seneschal now, and must protect her. Keep her safe. Love her from a distance. It would have to be enough.

Far off, under the moonlight, he saw the glint of steel among the shadowy trees, and heard the soft thunder of many hoofbeats.

“Lady,” he said. “Go inside. Do as I say. They must not see you here.” He guided her to the narrow door in a corner tower. “Hurry!”

He turned back, picked up his bow and quiver of arrows. He did not know if he would see the dawn. But if Isabella was safe—

Ellison set down the pen, seated in her candlelit bedroom. Outside, the purple bloom of summer darkness gathered. She had hoped Ronan would come to the house that evening and she had waited, but he never came.

But she could go to him. He was her husband—and staying in her own house just a block away. Like her father, he might have duties keeping him away this evening, since the procession of the clans was set for the next day. But she could wait for him. She had a key.

Smiling at the thought, she rose, grabbed her jacket and bonnet, and readied herself. Finding courage for the larger things—escaping the ancient tower, standing up to Papa and Corbie—she was finding it in other ways too. She was stronger now, and grateful to Ronan for helping her discover that. Changes might come on their own, wrought by time and necessity, but in mere weeks, she had reclaimed her bolder self, the girl she had been years earlier.

But she was different now, wiser, more sure of herself. She still felt easily worried and anxious, but she was finding ways to push past fear, not shrink away and concede. She knew that she could stand in the face of the storm and know she was loved, and knew how to love in turn.

She wanted to see him desperately and could not wait longer. He was just one street away, and she was his wife now.

Moments later, she slipped out of the quiet house into the darkened street. Gas lamps, newly set throughout the city, twinkled like stars overhead as she hurried along George Street and turned up the slope of North Castle. A lamppost glowed at the corner, gas lines having been laid in the city a couple of years earlier, to light her way.

She hurried over cobblestones through shadows and pools of gaslight. Ahead, she heard a carriage rolling away, saw its shadow pass out of sight.

The curved front window of her own house, she saw, was dim, with just a little light inside. She slowed, wondering if he was home—wondering for a moment if she should turn back to George Street after all, and wait. No, she told herself. This was what she wanted.

Ronan sat in the single chair in the parlor of the empty house, swirling the glass in his hand, watching the amber liquid flash and swirl. He looked up at Hugh Cameron.

“I do not have much food in the house, if you are hungry. All I can offer is an excellent dram of Glenbrae whisky. King’s favorite, by the way.” He sipped again.

Hugh huffed, leaning a hip against a sturdy table, for there was no other seat. “I suspect you have had a good bit of that fine Glenbrae by now.”

“Not enough to erase discovering that my bride is discarding me. But drink is not my wont and I have a headache now. Perhaps I shall finish drowning my sorrows tomorrow.” Ronan set the glass on the floor. “I need a maid,” he said, glancing around.

“You need more than a maid,” Hugh drawled.

His jacket lay on the floor beside his valise and a pile of tartan, his kilt for the next day, topped by a bonnet fixed with the two feathers of a chieftain. He would wear that gear tomorrow as part of Sir Evan’s retinue in the procession. “I need a maid and furniture for a maid to dust. And food, and a cook to cook the food.”

“Settling in, are we?”

“And I need the wife who has thrown me over because she took advice from a fellow half my worth. Half my size, at least,” he groused.

“Not nearly half your worth. Feeling sorry for yourself is useless. You will sort it out.”

“She’s annulled our wee wedding.”

“She will change her mind.”

“She changed her mind about the wee wedding, sir. She seemed happy,” he added. “I thought we were happy.”

“Her father is a powerful influence.”

“Rat Corbie is a powerful influence too. More than I thought.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “One good thing about this damnable royal visit,” he began.

“I am hard-pressed to think of one just now.”

“With all the chaos in the city, Corbie forgot to count the number of days we were in prison. Hah!” Ronan said.

“It was brilliant of you to notice it.”

“I am a bit fou,” Ronan said then, feeling as if his head spun a little.

“Get some rest. My driver is waiting to take me back to my mother’s house. Her place is overrun with guests and good cheer.”

“Well, this is not a cheerful place for you, so go on. I will see you tomorrow for a very important day, so they say.”

“It is an honor for you to ride beside Sir Evan, as he requested. Are you up to it?

Ronan waved a hand. “I will be. Until tomorrow, sir.”

“Good night. Get to bed.” Hugh stepped out and closed the door.

Hearing the vehicle wheels creak, hearing hoofbeats, Ronan leaned forward, arms on his knees. He was not so very drunk, as such things went, but he was very tired. And unhappy. Miserable, he thought. That was the word. Miserable without her.

But with her or without her, he would be fine eventually. If he had to live without Ellison Graham, by God he would. He would try to forget her, or at least make the effort.

For now, bed. He stood, wavered a bit.

Hearing footsteps, a knock, he stopped. He had not yet drawn the latch on the door.

“Come in, Cameron! What did you forget?” he called.

The door opened and a woman, slight and graceful, entered in a sweep of dark skirts. Her delicate face was shadowed by a wide hat fussy with ribbons and heather fronds. She looked around. He saw an angel’s face.

“Ah,” he drawled. “The wee landlady.”