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

Scotland, Edinburgh

“F airies! You cannot possibly mean, sir,” Patrick MacCarran leaned forward, knuckles pressed on the lawyer’s desk, “that a parcel of blasted fairies stands between us and our inheritance!” He glanced at his three siblings, while the men behind the oak desk, one seated, the other standing, remained silent.

“We need not assume ruination.” James MacCarran, Viscount Struan gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders in good black serge as he spoke quietly.

He deliberately maintained an unruffled demeanor and casual pose as he leaned against the doorframe of the lawyer’s study, though he felt as stunned as the others.

“Let Mr. Browne and Sir Walter finish before we decide that we are done for.”

His siblings looked grim—his sister Fiona pale but composed, their younger brothers, William and Patrick, scowling. James preferred distance in most things, actual and emotional. That was serving him well today with the revelation of the will.

Scarcely a farthing would come to any of them from their grandmother unless the astonishing conditions of her will and testament were met. Ruination could be in store for all of them, James thought.

“What could make this worse?” Patrick shoved a hand through his dark hair.

“A few elves might complement the situation nicely,” William drawled.

James huffed a laugh. William, his next youngest brother, was a quiet-spoken physician who had hoped to be able to open a hospital with his share of the inheritance; Fiona, their sister, was an independent, serene woman with an academic bent for the study of fossil rock that made her any scholar’s equal, and a bit of inheritance would help her research.

Fiona stood now, stretching out a hand to calm Patrick, a Signet clerk with a strong temperament and an ambition to rise through the law courts.

As for himself, James was content as a professor of geology. He had few real needs. But what Grandmother posthumously asked of all of them was untenable.

“Lady Struan’s fortune will be divided, with conditions,” Mr. Browne repeated. “Apart from your grandfather’s estate at his death a few years ago, which left a modest sum after his considerable expenditures.”

“He helped ease the suffering of displaced Highlanders during the clearances of so many from their homes,” Fiona said. “None of us begrudge his decisions.”

Browne nodded. “Lady Struan acquired a personal fortune through publications and properties. She allowed Lord Eldin, her advisor in those matters, to sell off some of her properties in the last few years. Struan House remains, and will go to Lord Struan, who inherited his grandfather’s title two years ago. ”

James leaned in the doorway, silent. As the eldest grandson, he had assumed the title; their father had died when he and Fiona had been nine, their brothers younger.

As a titled but not particularly wealthy peer, James had a modest bank account and earned his daily living as a professor of natural philosophy at the University of Edinburgh.

He had no aspirations of higher circumstances, enjoying his work and a peaceful academic life.

He had mourned his grandmother privately, concealing his grief as was natural to him, having learned it at an early age.

He had hoped that her fortune would ensure the future of his siblings, especially his sister.

As a penniless viscount, he could not adequately do for his twin or his brothers, though he would if he could.

But—fairies? James felt as bewildered as the rest. He glanced at Patrick, who still seethed; Fiona’s air of serenity hid a fiery temper; and William, brow furrowed beneath golden hair, was as skilled as James at hiding his thoughts.

As a boy, James had kept himself to himself after the deaths of his parents had separated him and his siblings into different homes for fostering.

William and Patrick had gone to uncles; James and Fiona to a great-aunt.

He had never entirely emerged from that emotional exile, as Fiona sometimes pointed out. But his twin saw what others might not.

William cleared his throat. “I know Grandmother was fond of fairy tales and scribbled some of her own. But I did not realize she took it quite it so seriously.”

Fiona sat beside William in a graceful swirl of black satin, her bonnet’s curved rim highlighting her pretty face and wispy brown curls. Gazing at his twin sister, James suddenly knew her next words. A kerfuffle—

“It’s a kerfuffle,” she said, “but we shall resolve it.” She smiled tightly.

Did he often guess her words from simple logic, knowing her so well, or was it the mysterious bond of twinship? James leaned toward scientific reason, which reigned cool and supreme in his thinking.

“More than a kerfuffle,” he said. “This is a disaster.”

“I do wonder if Grandmother was fully capable when she decided these conditions,” Patrick said. “I doubt anyone influenced her, for she was smart and stubborn. But she was very ill at the last. William, as a physician, what say you?”

“Her condition made her increasingly frail, but her mind seemed balanced. I saw her often enough and noticed no diminished faculties. James saw her often too when she was in the house on Charlotte Square and he was at the university and living nearby.”

“Grandmother always knew her mind. I never doubted her faculties,” James said.

“She mentioned the will, but never a hint of this.” During the last months of her illness, he had grown closer to his grandmother.

Yet he felt dismayed now, having no idea of her intentions recorded in her last will and testament.

“I knew of Lady Struan’s plans,” Sir Walter Scott said then. “And I regret that I was not able to confide in any of you.” He smiled sadly.

The MacCarrans looked at him in unison. The poet had been Lady Struan’s good friend, and though James did not know him well, he had always admired Sir Walter’s genius, integrity, his loyalty to his friends, and his great love of Scotland.

“Grandmother so enjoyed your visits, Sir Walter,” Fiona said. “We very much appreciate your attention to her. She looked forward to King George’s arrival in Edinburgh, too. It is tragic that she died before the event could take place.”

Scott nodded. “She was enthusiastic in her suggestions for the upcoming festivities. I know she will be there in spirit for the king’s jaunt next month.”

“And we will all be there in her honor,” James said.

“Now that the will has been read,” Mr. Browne said after a pause, “there are some points to discuss. Each of you has individual conditions.” He turned a few pages. “Your obligations must be fulfilled or you will be considered to have failed.”

“What if we cannot meet the conditions?” Patrick asked.

“Then most of the inheritance will go to another party.” Mr. Brown took up a stack of folded and sealed letters and handed them around. Sir Walter assisted, leaning on his cane as he limped across the room to present a packet to Fiona, while James, Patrick, and William received theirs as well.

“The conditions are explained in the letters. Once the stipulations are met,” Mr. Browne continued, “you will each be entitled to an equal share of Lady Struan’s fortune, approximately fifty thousand pounds apiece.

However, the portions will be reduced to five thousand pounds if you cannot, or will not, meet the conditions of the will. ”

In the dumbstruck silence that followed, James examined his envelope. The Right Hon. The Viscount Struan , it read in some cleric’s hand. His grandmother, had she addressed it herself, might have written James Arthur MacCarran. He smiled ruefully.

“Share the contents among yourselves if you want, but keep it private otherwise,” Browne said. “Adhere closely to the requests or the inheritance reverts to the lesser amount.”

“I will not wait,” Patrick peeled open the seal, unfolded the page, and read quickly and silently.

“Ah. I am to help win back Duncrieff Castle, lost to debts ten years past. But—what the devil! I must make a love match for myself, with someone of…fairy blood.” He looked at the others in disbelief. “This is absurd.”

“Lady Struan asked me to advise you on fairy lore and such if you wish,” Sir Walter offered. “She was quite the expert herself, as you know, having written several books on folklore and superstition, and even published under her own name. She had a fine reputation among the literary set.”

William scanned his letter, folded it, and slipped it into a pocket. “I’ve been asked to do something similar,” he said without elaboration. “James?”

Frowning, James held the envelope. He did not want to open it.

He wanted to leave this meeting and return to his geological studies; he had a journal article to complete on evidence of ancient heat at the earth’s core and a lecture to prepare for his university classes in natural philosophy and geology.

He was reluctant to discuss the matter of this preposterous will any further. But he had no choice.

After what he had witnessed and endured at Waterloo a few years earlier, he had chosen to create as dull a life as possible—numbingly boring, lacking risk, involvement, or emotion to the best of his ability.

He had seen enough drama and excess for a lifetime.

Safe, dull—he appreciated the merit of it and tried to enjoy it.

But if his grandmother had requested that he too find a fairy—let alone marry one or some such—that did not suit. Marrying anyone just now did not suit the bachelor existence he kept for himself. Besides, this was pure madness, and he was pure logic.

Fiona slipped her letter into her black net reticule.

“This says I am to continue the charitable work that I’ve been doing, teaching English to Gaelic-speaking Highlanders,” she said.

“And I am expected to marry a Highland gentleman with fortune and breeding. Nothing to dispute there,” she said with a brief smile.

“Is that all?” Patrick tipped his head.

“And I must draw fairy portraits from life. That’s unlikely.” She laughed. “And I am to give my drawings to James. Why is that?” She looked at her twin.

Everyone looked at him now. Sighing, James opened his letter and skimmed its contents.

A muscle began to bounce in his jaw. “I am expected to stay at Struan House as its viscount —and complete any book that Grandmother left unfinished. She was working on another book about fairy lore. But I know little of fairy tales,” he added.

“Grandmother’s big book of fairies?” Patrick chuckled. “No topic for Professor MacCarran, who writes thick tomes about geographic strata.”

“What else does it say?” Fiona, as usual, knew he was holding back something.

“I am, uh, to marry a Highland bride of fairy descent,” James admitted. “A Highland wife is possible someday. Fairy? It is simply impossible.”

“Good Lord, is it so for all of us? Was Grandmother truly mad?” Patrick asked.

“If we cannot meet these requirements, Mr. Browne,” Fiona said, “who would inherit the bulk of Grandmother’s accounts?”

Mr. Browne glanced at the page. “Nicholas MacCarran, the Earl of Eldin.”

“Cousin Nick,” Patrick growled, “that damnable, rotten, scheming scoundrel! Sorry, Fiona. I wonder if he influenced Grandmother in this madness.”

“That lying rogue,” William agreed. “He stole our clan seat, Duncrieff Castle, away from our own cousin after he died at Waterloo. Even now, Nicholas enjoys the profits of that estate, while we—” He stopped, glancing at Fiona.

James saw his sister glance away. He knew she still felt keen heartbreak over their distant cousin’s death; the young chief, Archibald MacCarran, had been Fiona’s betrothed. James had felt the heartbreak of it too, for his sister’s sake.

“Nick called it a good business arrangement,” Patrick said, scowling.

“So if we do not comply, Eldin inherits all,” James said, low and flat.

“But for the lesser funds apportioned to each of you, yes,” Mr. Browne said.

“Why would Grandmother do this?” Fiona asked.

“To force us to meet her conditions,” James replied.

“Your grandmother was working on a book about Highland fairy lore,” Sir Walter said. He had remained quiet, but stepped forward now. “She hoped to restore the legendary fairy luck of the MacCarrans that she feared had become cursed over generations.”

“We have never been a particularly fortunate sort, I will grant,” William said. “But if I found a lass I could fancy and called her part fairy—who’s to know?”

“Lady Struan wanted all of you to approach this in serious fashion, as she did,” Sir Walter said. “Else it all goes to Lord Eldin. She hoped that would be your incentive.”

James exhaled sharply. Write a damned fairy book and find a fairy bride?

He had other books to write, and he was not interested in a wife just yet.

The inheritance meant little to him, but his siblings had scant resources.

But they would all want to protect their grandmother’s funds from Lord Eldin—the only man James had ever truly despised.

He should have shot the blackguard when he had the chance.

“I must go,” he said abruptly, standing away from the door where he leaned. “A meeting at the university. And it seems I shall have to request a sabbatical for a length of time.” He gave them a brief wave, snatched up his cane, and limped out the door.