Page 10 of A Rogue in Twilight

“What did she say to Sir Walter?” the lady demanded.

“What is going on over there?” the king boomed to an aide, looking toward them.

“Your Majesty, only a visit among friends,” Sir Walter answered with a friendly smile. The king turned away, and Scott leaned toward Elspeth MacArthur. “My dear,” he whispered fervently, “am I to understand that you have the Highland Sight?”

“Sir, I—” She looked flustered, and her gaze caught James. “May we go?”

“Of course. Sir Walter, Miss MacArthur may need to sit. I’ll find her a spot.”

“Certainly,” the poet said.

“Farewell, Sir Walter. I am—I do apologize.” She sounded and looked miserable, and released James’s arm to take up her skirts and hurry ahead.

“Struan, if I were you,” Scott murmured, “I’d pursue that lass. She’s a rare one.”

“She does seem a rare bird,” James agreed. He meant to pursue her, to be sure, but only to find out what the devil was going on.

Handing his great-aunt over to William, he stepped ahead to follow the girl. She had slipped through the press of chattering people to flee into the corridor beyond, but he followed the silver gown, the bobbing white feathers and that jet gloss of hair. Closing in on her, he took her arm firmly and guided her toward an anteroom just off the corridor.

“Come with me,” he said sternly, marching beside her, his cane tapping as they walked. The smaller room was quieter than the other areas. Tall ferns, potted rhododendrons, and large vases of fragrant roses were arranged around the room. The air was thick with a mingled, natural perfume.

James tugged the girl behind some rhododendrons and roses, and glared down at her. “What was that all about?” he demanded.

She stared up at him. “What?”

Glowering, waiting for her to relent or apologize for embarrassing his esteemed friend, he felt surprisingly disappointed. She was lovely, delectable really, yet was not the innocent she seemed. She had done a scheming thing back there. Her beautiful eyes distracted him, but he refused to look away. “Miss MacArthur, Sir Walter keeps his identity as a novelist a close secret. I happen to be aware of it as a family friend. Now, I do not know your game here, but—”

“No game. The knowledge just came to me. I did not mean to offend anyone.”

“Sir Walter is convinced that you have The Sight. It is a poor joke to play on a gentleman who cherishes such things as part of Highland lore he loves and protects.”

“I do have the Sight,” she said.

“It may amuse you to fool others, but I will not tolerate a mockery of my friends.”

“But I do have it! Sometimes I just know things. And then I just say them. It is not always the best thing to do, I admit.” She looked distressed, and her remarkable eyes flashed silver. “And you, sir, are rude to accuse me and confront me so.”

Scowling, forming his answer, he glanced over his shoulder as others entered the room. “There you are, James!” Fiona said, coming toward him.

“I am shocked!” Charlotte said, strolling in with Lady Rankin. “Outraged!”

Elspeth MacArthur glanced at James. “I suppose I am ruined now.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “I scarcely touched you.”

“I mean for insulting Sir Walter Scott.”

“Nonsense,” he said more softly. “He seemed amused.”

“Are you sorry, then, for scolding me?” she asked sweetly.

“I did not scold. All is well,” he said more loudly, as the others approached.

“What is this?” Lady Rankin asked. She and Charlotte came toward them first, headdress feathers waving, silk and satin trains sliding like plumed tails.

“Yes, what is this?” Charlotte demanded.

“She was feeling faint,” James said.