Page 27 of A Rogue in Twilight (The Whisky Rogues #2)
S oon enough and too soon, for she was that conflicted about leaving Struan House, Elspeth sat in the creaky old gig beside James. He slowed as a carriage came along the road toward them and slowed.
“Good afternoon, Angus MacKimmie,” James called. “And Mrs. MacKimmie. Good to see you back so soon.”
The housekeeper, sitting in the coach with a maidservant, leaned forward. “My lord, good to see you as well. My daughter has enough help, and with your guests arriving soon, next week, I thought I would be needed here. Good day, Miss MacArthur,” she added, looking a bit surprised.
“Mrs. MacKimmie,” Elspeth said, blushing. “Lord Struan kindly offered to give me a ride to Kilcrennan.”
James nodded without explanation. Sensing the housekeeper bursting to know, Elspeth only smiled.
“How are the roads, MacKimmie?” James asked.
“Well enough, depending where you go. Over to Kilcrennan, watch out for the bridge.” He peered toward Elspeth. “Good afternoon, Miss MacArthur,” he said, tipping his hat.
“We heard the bridge had some damage,” James said.
“There’s mud gushing down the hills to swamp the road in places,” MacKimmie went on, “and some trees are down. The stone bridge is nearly washed over. I wouldna go that way, sir.”
Elspeth hung back in silence as James thanked him, and she felt pure relief when the vehicles rattled in opposite directions. “Thank you for not saying anything about yesterday.”
“No need to explain,” he replied, eyes intent on the road.
“Mrs. MacKimmie is a good-hearted soul and would say naught about it. But Willie Buchanan and his son may let everyone know our business.”
“With luck, they will soon hear of an engagement, and no harm done. I imagine secrets do not keep long in a small glen.”
“The fairies keep their secrets. Humans have more trouble with it.”
“I think you have a few secrets yourself,” he murmured.
“As do you.”
“You are sniffing them out with your Highland powers,” he said.
She lifted her chin, feeling a bit hurt. “Most people take me at my word.”
“I am a cautious sort. But I trust you tell the truth where you see it. Now, I have a question for you.”
“I will not marry you.”
“Fair enough. We will leave it at that. I only want to know when you might be free to assist me with my grandmother’s book.”
She looked at him from under her bonnet rim. “When do you need me?”
His keen glance told her all his thoughts. “Anytime, lass. At your will.”
“I could come to Struan any day you like.”
“I will fetch you Monday, would that suit?”
She nodded, heart pounding. “What about your guests?”
“They will not be here yet. I want to work on Grandmother’s papers as much as possible until then.”
“Do you plan to go back to Edinburgh after that?”
“I have lectures to give, and other work, aye.”
She nodded, bouncing on the seat as the gig hit a rut.
James murmured about the poor roads as he guided the horse and vehicle around curves that took the road upward.
Reaching the ridge, the descent was steep and the road was marred by runnels and mud.
Drizzle dampened Elspeth’s bonnet, shawl, the lap robe tucked around her, and James’s hat and coat.
The road seemed slippery under the wheels, the fog thick.
“This weather is miserable,” she said.
“The fairies are not happy with us,” he remarked. He slapped the reins and pulled on the brake a bit as he guided the horse downward in silence. He was focused and capable, and Elspeth was quiet, gripping the side for support.
“Devilish weather,” he muttered then. “I have yet to see this glen in the sunshine. There has been mist, rain, and the deluge of the Apocalypse ever since I arrived. Your wee fairies might have intended to bring us together by sending you down a mudslide into my arms. But they could give us some sun now.”
“That would be nice,” she agreed. Grandda had taught her to see meaning in everything around her. Nothing, he said, was as simple as it appeared.
Ahead, she glimpsed the old bridge. As they rounded a challenging curve, James concentrated on his task and Elspeth watched the water of the wide and rocky burn that rushed under the bridge.
“James!” she said then. “The water is very high today.”
He drew on the reins. “Wait here. I want to look at the bridge.” He leaped down to the road.
Not content to wait, she climbed down too, lifting her hems out of the mud to follow him toward the bridge, which spanned a small gorge.
Her boot heels sank in the mud, her walking impeded by her stiff ankle.
Her skirt snagged on gorse and she tugged it free, then joined James at the edge of the wide stream.
The wooden bridge spanned a gap of twenty feet or so, the stone pylons embedded in earth and rock. The stream gushed through and lapped at the sides of the arched bridge, water splashing over the planks. The stream was the color of milky tea.
“Careful,” James murmured, taking her elbow.
“The burn is rarely this high.” Along the sides of the gorge, tree roots and bracken thrust out of the water, and fallen branches swept by in the fast current.
“Is there another place to cross?”
“There’s a level place two miles or so that way, at the head of the gorge. But the burn is very wide there and one must step from rock to rock to cross. There is no bridge. It’s opposite the way to Kilcrennan, and would make the journey even longer.”
“We do not have much choice unless we return to Struan and wait for the water to subside. Is there no other access?”
“Not close by. Some people jump the gap,” she said. “Downstream there’s a leap, where one side of the gorge is higher than the other.” She pointed in the other direction.
He laughed. “I will not chance that, nor should you, though I would not be surprised if you have given it a go in the past.”
“Is that intuition, sir?” she asked, amused.
“Only logic, Miss MacArthur, knowing you.”
She smiled. Learning more about him each moment, she knew he had true warmth and heart beneath his cool exterior.
Despite his staunch skepticism, he did not dismiss her intuition.
“True, once I did try the Leap with friends when I was young. They made it, but I fell and broke an arm. I could make it, I think, now that I am taller.”
“Out of the question.”
She remembered his leg then. “Of course,” she murmured.
“You have a turned ankle, and what of our horse and gig? I wonder if we could walk the horse over the bridge without the gig.” James went forward to step tentatively on the bridge, jumping up and down to test its soundness, then walking toward the middle.
Elspeth heard the low groan of wood and iron. “No, stop!”
He moved back to the grass. “It might hold, but the water could wash over at any moment. We must go upstream to cross, or return to Struan.”
“The bridge will hold me. I can cross here. You return to Struan with the horse and gig. You need not escort me all the way home.” She did not want to say farewell but did not want him to take the risk for her.
“So the viscount traps you at Struan overnight, then tosses you out of his gig to walk home on a poor ankle, in a storm, over an unsafe bridge? My lass, they write ballads about such cruel lovers as that. And your grandfather would call for a hanging.”
Lover, she thought, thrilled at the casual way he said it, with such acceptance. “He would bring a reverend, not a rope.”
“Which is worse, to Miss MacArthur’s thinking?” he asked wryly.
She only laughed, walking back to the gig beside him.
He lifted her inside, his hands firm at her waist, then leaped up and took the reins to turn the placid mare.
Then he guided the horse along the earthen track beside the gorge in the direction of the other crossing.
Below, the water rushed and brimmed nearly to its sodden banks.
Nearing the fording place, where the sides of the gorge disappeared to flatter moorland, Elspeth saw that the run-off had flooded the moorland to either side. “The crossing on foot is over there,” she said. “The rocks are flat and it is usually easy to walk across. But the water is too high now.”
“Aye.” He stopped the horse. “That is no easy crossing there. Our wheels could bog down.”
She nodded. The burn had overflowed its banks, creating a swampy area to either side. The rocks used for crossing on foot were mostly submerged.
“How deep is it over there? Are there good-sized rocks we could use to step across?” He pointed downstream.
“It is not too rocky there, and usually is just inches deep. But more today.”
“I think the gig can make it across. If the horse will not falter, we’ll do all right. Hold on.” He set the horse forward before Elspeth could protest.
Under his skilled and certain hands, the gig rattled steadily across the boggy ground. Elspeth clung to the seat, grabbing James’s sleeve with her other hand, his arm tensing as he guided reins and horse.
Then they were fording the burn, the horse moving through the flow, the gig following. Elspeth squealed in alarm at the swirl and rush of the current.
“We’ll be fine,” James said. Within moments, the water swirled to the hubs, then nearly the tops, of the wheels, splashing over James’s boots and soaking Elspeth’s hem.
“Turn back,” she said, clutching the seat.
“We will be fine, my girl.” The horse stepped through the surge. As water sluiced over the floorboards, Elspeth shrieked faintly.
Halfway across, the horse stopped, and the wheels seemed stuck, the gig shuddering in the current. Water slopped over the floorboards, wetting Elspeth’s shoes and skirts. The horse pulled again, whinnied, stopped.
“Stay here,” James told Elspeth, and stepped down into water that surged around his legs.
The tail of his frock coat floated behind him as he surged ahead and took the horse’s bridle.
He spoke quietly, patting the mare’s nose, then moved forward, the horse following. Within moments, the gig lurched free.
Elspeth drew her legs up to the seat, water washing over the floorboards. The horse gave a hesitant whicker but plowed steadily through the water in response to the man whose calm and caution made the girl and horse feel safe.
Holding the bridle, James led the horse ahead carefully, slipping a bit in the swirling water, his hat tipping off as he caught himself. Elspeth bent to snatch up the hat as it swirled past.
The gig surged dripping from the water, horse and man guiding. As it lurched up to the opposite bank, James climbed inside.
“Well done!” Elspeth handed him his hat. “Kilcrennan is north, that way.”
“There’s something to be said for funding new roads,” James said, as the gig rolled along the rutted, muddy track.
“As laird of Struan, you could pay for repairs rather than wait for the Crown to fix the roads. They are in no hurry to fix up the Highlands after they laid straight new roads through the hills to quell the Scots a hundred years back.”
“And much good it did. Highlanders are a stubborn lot,” he said.
“We are.” She laughed, and he did too, and they rode quietly toward Kilcrennan and her grandfather.