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Page 21 of A Rogue in Twilight (The Whisky Rogues #2)

She was a puzzle, turning him this way and that, and he was—enchanted, intrigued. Falling in love, it came to him then. But he regretted his actions outside and was determined to compensate for them. “The wind was fierce. It nearly lifted you away. And a sort of madness came over me.”

“It came over me too.” She pushed at her damp, beautifully messy dark hair. “When the Fey are near, a sort of madness can come over those who see them.”

“I saw you, and felt a madness indeed.” He approached. “I will not blame the Fey or the stories of the riding. I accept the responsibility for what happened.” He reached out to touch her shoulder, smooth the dangling curls of hair that cascaded over her shoulder.

“The thrall had both of us in its power,” she said.

“Madness or magic, tomorrow morning we might see it as a disaster. What do you want to do?”

She sighed, frowned. “If you did not see them, that is fine. But you might remember suddenly. It happens that way with some. They forget for a while.”

He stroked her arm. “I cannot forget what happened between us. No need for a wild story to explain this away. The truth is that I went looking for you, worried about the storm, but I went too far. You should be angry with me.”

“You were worried about me?”

“You ran out into thunder and lightning in a nightgown,” he said. And not even his grandmother’s nightrail had deterred him. “In the rising wind, I saw you out there and feared the trees might snap. Anything else that happened was my doing.”

“Mine as well. Did you see the horses in the mist?”

“The horses are in the stable. I suppose one could imagine horses and riders in such mist, but it was just trees whipping about.” He frowned. “But something put a thrall over me.” He tipped up her chin with a finger. “I should have resisted.”

“It was magic did that.”

“And you have more magic than you know. What were you doing out there?”

“I came looking for you to warn you against the storm—and the fairy riding, for I felt they were out tonight. The only way to stay safe was to hold tight to each other.”

He stared. “Good lord. Are you fevered?”

“Do you know the ballad of Tam Lin? ‘Hold me fast, let me not go,’—”

“‘I’ll be your bairn’s father’,” he finished. “Very nearly, which we must discuss. We are in extraordinary circumstances here.”

“Extraordinary,” she agreed. “And I do not mind being ruined. You know that.”

She tensed as she spoke, as if it did bother her, shoulders tight, brows tucked. Yet she looked an angel to him—or a fine fairy beauty, come to that.

“If this suits your mad plan to be ruined but not wed, I am not entirely in favor.”

“What do you mean? I will ask nothing of you.”

He blew out a breath. Fairy, angel, waif—she confounded him. “I want you to ask something of me. Expect it of me.”

She turned away, shaking her head. “I could not do that. I just want to stay in the Highlands with my grandfather, but he wants me to leave.”

“Lady Struan wrote about your grandfather,” he said then. “I came across it in her pages. He told her his story. He claims to have had some strange encounters.”

“Claims! My grandfather is a storyteller, but he does not tell lies.”

“She wrote that he was taken by the fairies and returns every few years.”

“Every seven. You will think Donal MacArthur a daftie if I tell you the whole of it. But you do not believe, and that gives me pause, now that I have seen them. Away with you, Struan! Believe what you like.”

“I do not think you are a daftie. Eccentric, perhaps. Superstitious, certainly.”

“I need to rest my foot,” she said suddenly, and leaned against the wall. “I do not want to go back to my room. I heard—voices.”

“Ghosts, I suppose. I might believe those in this place. There is a fire still going in the library hearth and in the study too.”

“I will rest in the library, then, and not disturb you.”

He nodded, took her arm, and helped her toward the library door.

“My grandfather,” she said then. “He says that when he was a young man, he lived with the fairies for seven years as their willing hostage.”

“Seven years,” he repeated slowly. Skeptically.

“Well, to be fair, it felt like seven days to him.” She limped into the library.

James stared after her, dumbfounded. Osgar padded up beside him, looked at him, and then followed Elspeth.

“Go on, fairy hound. Follow your wee mistress. Keep her safe, hey?”

But that felt like his job. His responsibility. He exhaled sharply, pushed a hand through his damp hair. Tired, excited, unable to rest, not wanting to leave her alone here, he was not quite sure what to do next.

Seven years with the fairies? That gave him pause. His grandmother’s will expected him to find a fairy bride. Had fate led him straight to her?

He huffed. Anything was possible, so he was learning at Struan House.

She settled on a chair in the spacious, book-lined library room, wanting to rest and think. James went through to his study through the connecting door, glancing back at her for a moment with a rueful smile.

Nothing could be decided at this late hour, when both were tired and distracted by what had happened outside.

She believed that she had seen the Seelie Court.

It had seemed too real to deny. James insisted he had not seen them.

Many did not, and she would let it go, thankful that he could remain practical and innocent—without a vision in his memory that would challenge his view of the world.

The fire was low but still bright and warm, and she held out her hands, glancing around. Rain sheeted against the windows again—what a dreadful, extraordinary night.

The library soared with polished wooden shelves crammed with thousands of books, and a wide round mahogany table filled the center of the room. Various chairs and small tables were arranged around the room, but her chair was closest to the fire.

The heat felt good, and the damp nightgown was already drying.

She glanced toward the study door and outlasted an impulse to knock.

Glancing about the library again, she noticed a glass case that held several objects, vases, pedestal cups, boxes, glass figures.

The firelight glittered over them, bringing out the sparkle of gold, silver, and crystal.

Stones as well. She stood and went to the case to look more closely. One shelf held an assortment of colored gemstones and crystals with beautiful striations. One stone, placed on a velvet-covered pedestal, glinted blue in the low light.

Turning, she picked up a candlestick from a small table, lit its wick at the hearth, and returned to the glass case.

The blue stone was as big as her palm, round and crusted with crystals, sliced through its center to reveal concentric rings of rich layered color that ranged from indigo to palest blue.

She gasped. Could this be the blue crystal she had come to Struan House to find? Had it been in the house all this time?

Years ago, her grandfather showed her a rock very much like this one.

That day was the first time he had explained his ties to the fairy realm.

Another day, she had followed him to Struan lands and the back garden, where he plucked a blue crystal chunk of stone from a high crevice and had inserted it into a niche in the rock.

She jiggled the door handle on the case and saw it was locked.

The other pieces inside the case looked valuable—stones, buttons, arrowheads, cups, vases, other things.

If she could hold the blue stone in her hands, she might know it was the one.

It was like a living thing, a powerful key to unlock the fairy world, so her grandfather had insisted.

And though Grandda only visited every seven years, he could not get through the portal without the stone. She had to get it for him.

Then she remembered something else. Grandda had mentioned that he had promised to find fairy gold that was stolen long ago.

Somehow that was tied to the mysterious blue stone too.

If her grandfather could fulfill the bargain, the Daoine Síth would be satisfied.

Donal would be free of his obligation. She would be free too, never again pursued as she had been that night.

She breathed out in relief. At last she had found the stone, and now she must ask that it be returned to Granddda and the MacArthurs who had once owned Struan lands.

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