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Page 24 of A Rogue in Twilight (The Whisky Rogues #2)

“Och, Lowlanders,” the blacksmith said. “Well, it is custom in this glen to avoid Struan lands when it is time for the fairy riding. You are a brave man to stay here at this time. Did no one warn you?”

“I am aware of the tradition, but decided to stay.”

The elder Buchanan nodded. “Elspeth MacArthur, are you sure himself understands the whole of it?”

“He does,” she answered, lifting her chin.

“You will find Highlanders a superstitious lot, Lord Struan,” the reverend said.

“The people of this glen have their legends and traditions. We are all familiar with them. But some put real faith in them.” He looked at Elspeth.

“It is not a matter of religious faith, nor paganism or godlessness, as some suggest. It is part of the unique Celtic character. As pastor, I let it be and find no harm in it.”

“That is wise, sir,” Struan said. “The legends are certainly fanciful.”

“The stories are more than amusement,” Elspeth said. “They are part of the cultural legacy of the Highlands. Many put store in them with good reason.”

“Of course,” the elder Buchanan agreed. “I recall that Lady Struan was quite interested in the fairy legends in this glen. She would drive about in her ponycart to talk to people and learn about the local customs.”

“My grandmother did love her work,” Struan said affably. “The skies look rather dreadful, gentlemen. Will you come in for tea, or something stronger?”

“No thank you.” The reverend smiled. “We will be on our way. Miss MacArthur, may we see you home? We would be glad to walk you back to Kilcrennan.”

“Thank you, it will not be necessary,” she said with a smile.

“No need to impose on the good laird,” the elder Buchanan said. “Yer grandfather would want ye home. He’s expected home soon from the city if the roads permit.”

“I will see Miss MacArthur home very soon,” Struan said.

“Sir, you must be very busy. We can do it,” the elder man insisted.

“Da, perhaps they are courting,” the reverend murmured, but it was audible to all.

“Lord Struan is a friend,” Elspeth said, feeling indignant. “We met in Edinburgh months ago.”

“Just so,” Struan agreed. Though he did not touch her, she felt his strength and support infuse her. She lifted her chin and stared defiantly at the smith and his son.

“Ah.” Buchanan glanced at his son, then back again. “Well, my lord, we will move on, and good day.”

“Good day, Miss MacArthur,” the reverend said.

The smith tipped his hat to Elspeth and spoke in Gaelic . “Mìle deagh dhùrachd dhut nad àm ri teachd, Eilidh, nighean Dhòmhnaill.”

A thousand good wishes to you in your future, Elspeth, daughter of Donal.”

She thanked him in that language, and the men moved on. Then she picked up her skirt and hurried toward the house, limping unevenly. Catching up to her, Struan reached to open the door first to allow her to enter.

“What is it?” he asked.

She whirled. “Did you hear that?”

“I do not speak Gaelic.”

“He spoke a Gaelic blessing that is used for an engaged couple!”

“Engaged?” He frowned.

“Either he assumed that, or he was implying that I had best marry or be disgraced. He will spread a rumor about it, sure as we stand here.”

“Indeed,” he said thoughtfully. “If we announce our engagement, that would disprove any rumors.”

“You are trying hard to convince me,” she said.

“You are trying hard to refuse. But this is the best solution to avoid scandal and harm to your reputation.” He bent to pet the two terriers nosing at his boots and jumping up for attention as he spoke.

“Highlanders do not fret over scandal the way Southrons do. There will be some whispering, and Buchanan never minds his own business, but I would not be judged unfairly as I might be in the city. Even lasses who might have babies out of wedlock are not severely judged or sent away. It is understood that such things happen.”

“Aye,” Struan said wryly. “They do.”

She felt a hot blush move into her throat and face.

“My cousin was caught out like that at sixteen. Her family treated her kindly and raised the child as their own. A few years later, my cousin married another man who was glad to have her. He is a good husband to her. As for my wee transgression,” she said, “I would not have to marry the tailor, and I could stay at Kilcrennan in peace to do my work.”

“Weaving?” he asked. “I understand your grandfather makes fine tartan.”

“I am a weaver too. This is my work.” She lifted a corner of the plaid draped around her shoulders. “But weaving is no occupation for a viscountess, if I were to marry you.”

“I would never discourage you from doing what you want. My grandmother did as she pleased, chasing fairy legends and writing stories. If she had set her mind on weaving, I assure you the walls of this place would be draped in plaid. She never let convention deter her, even after she died,” he added.

“She also spent a good part of the year in Edinburgh. I will not abandon this place to go south for tea parties and such. A husband is not expected to give up his work, but a wife takes on other duties. Marriage, a household, children.”

“Marry me, decide your duties, and spend as much time here as you like.”

Elspeth busied herself ruffling Osgar’s silky ears. “Away from my husband? You would not want that.”

“We can easily keep two homes, Elspeth,” he said quietly.

“Why are you so determined? Most men caught in a compromise would be glad to be free of it.”

He picked up Nellie the terrier and scrubbed his fingers under her jaw. “You require a husband for honor. And I require a wife.”

“Require?” That felt like a blow. “I cannot marry a man who values obligation above valuing his wife.”

“I did not mean that, my dear lass,” he murmured.

“I do not know what to do,” she burst out. She swept past him and went through the kitchen toward the stairs, heart beating hard. Some raw need urged her to turn back and ask what this was truly all about for him. But she ran on.

Her stubbornness was wavering. She wanted to marry him. Even if he did not feel the same, his offer was consistent. Perhaps he was wavering too.

But if she did waver, if she did marry, it would have to be for love.

Every part of her knew she had begun to love him, and she hoped he cared for her. The fervor that had burned between them last night seemed to prove it, and yet—something else stood between them, she thought.

Then she remembered Charlotte Sinclair, who had seemed so possessive of his attentions in Edinburgh. What if he had planned to marry Miss Sinclair, but now felt obliged to a Highland girl in this awkward situation?

“Damnation,” he said behind her.

Elspeth whirled, so lost in thought that she had not heard him in the hallway. “What is it?”

“I forgot the eggs.” He took his hand from his pocket, eggshells in his palm, clear and golden slime coating his fingers.

She laughed, part giggle and part sob in relief and surprise. James laughed sheepishly, egg dripping on his coat, his boots, and the floor. The terriers began to lick at the floor and his shoes.

“I still have these.” He produced two eggs from the other pocket. “Miss MacArthur, would you care to share a very small breakfast?”

With a sigh, she felt herself surrender. “That would be lovely.”

Seeing his crooked half-grin, his damp brown hair and sky-blue eyes, the wide shoulders and lean build, she remembered how good those arms, those lips felt. She melted, yearning to run to him. Yet she stayed where she stood.

Truth be told, she did not want to leave Struan House and its laird now, if ever. The pull she felt was strong, and each moment added more to it.

He tapped his walking stick in the hallway as if it was an accessory, not a necessity, and held out a hand to usher her toward the kitchen stairs. He was pragmatic and yet passionate, skeptical yet willing to understand. He was neat in his appearance, yet his study was in disarray.

And here he stood with rain dripping from his fine coat, egg smeared on his hands, one terrier licking his boot and another pawing at him in adoration. He laughed and her heart turned in delight.

“Can you cook eggs, Lord Struan?”

“Actually, no. I was rather hoping you knew. Though I will try if you need to rest your foot.”

He would do that for her, cook eggs while she rested. It felt like a peace offering of sorts. Hope bloomed in her heart again.

But she feared that he might regret his proposal if he knew that she might be the daughter of a fairy, with a grandfather bound in bargain to the Fey.

For now, she just wanted more of his company before she had to leave. And she wanted a little food too. She followed him, dogs trotting beside them.

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