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Page 15 of A Rogue in Twilight (The Whisky Rogues #2)

“Echo my thoughts. I am working on a book about geognostic science. Three years ago I studied in Freiburg with Abraham Werner, who developed the theory of geognosy, which looks at the earth as a whole. Either someone told you, or—”

“Or I just knew,” she supplied softly.

About to speak, he only poured more tea in her cup and his. “While I am here at Struan, I want to explore the rock formations in these hills. If your grandfather found agate nearby, that could be meaningful for my work.”

“If you wander these hills, be careful. You may encounter the Daoine Síth. ”

“The dowin-shee?” He looked puzzled.

“It means the people of peace in Gaelic. The fairy folk. The caves and hills in this glen are their territory. Geologists should take into account that otherworldly creatures may inhabit the subterranean earth.” She smiled.

“Not if they value their reputations.” He sat forward. “I am also here to study my grandmother’s work on fairy lore. Perhaps you can help me understand some of it.”

The thought excited her, but she only smiled. “Studying the rocks here might bring some surprises. Fairies are everywhere here, or so they say.” She felt a little mischievous. Sitting here before you, she thought, if family lore is true.

“I cannot believe in fairy nonsense, but I promised to work on her unfinished book, and I must honor that. Tell me about the fairy riding custom,” he added.

“They ride in this season of the year especially, but might be seen at other times. The ‘time-between-times’ are the hours when the curtain between our world and theirs can grow very thin—dawn, twilight, midnight, mist, and some holidays too. Halloween, and so on.”

He tapped fingers on the table, thoughtful. “Just when visibility is poor enough to allow for tricks of the eye and mind. I see.”

“I think you do not see,” she murmured. “Though you could, if you wanted to.”

He quirked a brow again. “Well, the custom has frightened the living wits out of my staff. Between the banshee in the foyer, the ghosts in the house, and the fairies in the garden, the maidservants who came from Edinburgh have packed up in haste and left. They could not get away fast enough.”

“Southrons.” She laughed. “Highlanders do not mind such things.”

“Even the Highland staff have gone because of this fairy riding business. From what I hear, everyone avoids Struan House and lands this time of year.”

“Not everyone. But no one wants to be taken by the Fey, you see. Legend says they ride through this glen and across this estate at this time each year. Neither you nor I should stay here, come to that.”

“I am not intimidated by legends.” Then he smiled, and it was so warm and genuine that she felt herself relax. “But you are the expert, being a fairy yourself.”

She nearly spit out her tea. “What do you mean?”

“One of the housemaids claimed there was a fairy in the garden, and she departed in great haste. She must have seen you out there.”

“That was not me, unless it happened just before you came outside. Perhaps it was one of the fairies of Glen Struan.” She frowned, wondering what Grandda might have said about that.

“Of course, that is the explanation. Such stories are part and parcel of folklore. By the way, I saw your grandfather’s name in my grandmother’s manuscript. She seems to have respected his knowledge of tales and traditions. So I thought I might talk with him about some things.”

“About your grandmother’s book? Or about me spending the night here?”

He huffed. “Good point. I suppose—both.”

Elspeth laughed too. Sitting here with him so peacefully, sharing a meal while the rain lashed the windows, she felt good. She liked him, she realized. Quite a bit, in fact. His intelligence, his stubbornness, his wit, even his skepticism was sharp and intriguing.

She stood. “The dishes need cleaning. I will do that.” She carried her bowl to the work table while Struan brought the rest over and fetched warm water from a kettle to fill the wash bowl.

As she cleaned the tea things, he helped, and within minutes, the dishes were cleaned, dried, and set away.

Then Struan took the lamp from the big pine table.

“I’d best close up the house. There are no servants here to attend to any of it.”

“A Highland laird sees to the shutting of his own house, regardless of servants,” she said. “Even in fine Highland houses, it is the laird’s responsibility to bolt the doors and look to be sure the fires are banked.”

“Then I am a good Highland laird this night. I hope locking up is custom rather than necessity here in this glen.”

“We have not had cattle raiders or feuding clans for two generations or more. There are whisky smugglers in the hills, but they keep to themselves even as they bring their goods along the lochs and rivers to the sea. We hardly see them, and if we do, we look away. The next day a keg or two might appear on the doorstep.”

“I suspect we all benefit from their work by cover of night.”

“The people of the glens definitely benefit from the efforts of Highland smugglers who move Highland whisky and other goods—wool, yarns, laces, hides, and such—to avoid unfair taxation and put the coin in the pockets of the folk who need it most.”

“Ah,” he said. “The noble smuggler.”

“Here, it is more often true than not. We look after our own. Only English pockets and accounts are deprived of coin.” She shrugged. “What disturbs the peace of any house in this glen is not kept out by locks, unless they be bolts and latches of iron.”

“Iron keeps the fairies away.” He nodded. “I read that somewhere.”

“But if the wildfolk want to come in, be sure they will find a way.”

He chuckled at that. She knew he thought it all harmless superstition, but she found his practical attitude intriguing.

She tilted her head, watching, wondering.

Standing in that cozy kitchen within arm’s reach of him, she felt a sense of ease and comfort go through her. She did not want this night to end.

For a moment she recalled tender kisses shared months earlier, and she remembered his arms around her. An urge to feel that again, the kisses, the passion, the sense of cherishing with it, made her yearn suddenly and deeply.

Love, the thought came to her then. Love feels like this.

He tilted his head at her silence. “Miss MacArthur?”

“Where—where shall I sleep, Lord Struan?” she asked hastily.

“Take your pick of the guest rooms. This way.” Holding a lantern, he led the way, offering a hand to her elbow as she limped along. He limped too, without his cane, but his focus on her was solicitous and touching.

A thrill went through her like small lightning. The man had a restrained sort of power, masculine and controlled, tempered by courtesy and reserve. It was compelling. She walked unevenly beside him, his hand light at her elbow, her breath catching with it.

The wolfhound followed, nudging helpfully at Elspeth, now and then setting her off balance.

She stumbled against Struan, and he put his arm around her.

The plaid slid from her shoulders, and he caught it.

She stopped, for a moment resting her hand on his chest. His eyes were dark blue in the lamplight, and she could feel his heartbeat under her hand through his clothing. She took her hand away quickly.

“You made a friend in the wolfhound.” His voice was gruff.

“We call his breed fairy hound here. They take readily to anyone with fairy blood, so it is said.”

“Do you have fairy blood?” he asked sharply. She blinked.

“Oh—they say that of many here,” she replied lightly. “Osgar has taken to you,” she went on. “Perhaps you have fairy heritage.”

“My grandmother wished it was so, I can tell you that. She claimed the MacCarrans had a fairy ancestor long ago. She was not of MacCarran blood herself, but was fascinated and hoped it carried in her husband, children, and grandchildren. She was certainly believed it. Are there such legends among your kin?”

“Oh,” she said with a shrug, “there are legends in our family too. It is not uncommon in the Highlands. My grandfather liked to say that my mother had fairy blood. I never knew her, you see.”

“I am sorry. But I could believe it, looking at you. Beautiful,” he said softly and straightened the plaid about her shoulders, then brushed back her hair. Wonderful shivers coursed through her. His hand dropped away. “The tales are entertaining, certainly.”

“But it is all nonsense? You truly disdain it.”

“I am a man of science. But the legend persists. My grandmother kept it alive, I suppose. As children, we were told that long ago, a MacCarran ancestor saved a fairy woman from drowning, and married her. Supposedly her blood runs through those descended from the main branch. That includes myself and my siblings. They say some MacCarrans have strange abilities because of this mythical ancestor, but I have never seen any evidence of it. Come along, you lot,” he called to the three dogs now following them.

Struan took Elspeth’s elbow to help her up the stairs.

“Your ancestor saved a fairy woman?” she asked, keenly interested.

“Charming Highland hogwash.”

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