Page 37 of A Rogue in Twilight (The Whisky Rogues #2)
“I am not proud of it, but here we are,” he said as the gig rumbled along the forested lane. “Remember when I told you how I met the fairy queen and fell under her glamourie? I am reminded of that today.”
“And the fairies gave you the gift of weaving. I know the tale. Very pretty. And I still wonder—but why tell me now? Just turn around and go home.”
“I did not tell you all of it.”
“We have no time for a new fairy tale here. Turn, please!” She pointed back.
He drove on. “I made a wicked bargain with the queen,” he said. “I did it to protect my family and further my trade. I bartered for the weaving gift and promised her my time and companionship because she lured me with her charm. But I was wrong to agree, and I pay for it every seven years.”
She looked over at him. “What are you saying?”
“I became the queen’s lover,” he said, “and she calls me back to her.”
Elspeth shook her head. “I do not want to hear this.”
“You should, because you must understand the danger they bring to anyone who dismisses their power. I cannot break the spell that binds me. It is a wicked trap. I betrayed my dear wife in that bargain. She knew I was caught by a fairy lover and yet she loved me still.” He glanced at Elspeth.
“I would give anything to be forgiven for that.”
“If you could break the spell, you would lose your weaving gift.”
He stopped the vehicle under the trees. “I would give it all up,” he said, “never visit the Fey again, never see Niall again. I would give it all up for your happiness, and for the privilege of telling Peggy Graham I love her,” he added.
“Peggy! I thought so!” Elspeth set a hand to her heart. “Does she know?”
“Not all of it. Peggy is a fine woman who does not question my past or my secrets. I think she loves me. Ah, well.” He lifted the reins again. “I do not want you to make the same mistakes I made.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do not sacrifice your love and happiness just so I can weave in my strange manner and visit the Fey on my appointed day. Do not risk your own safety with the Fey. They cannot be trusted. I want to be quit of all that madness now.”
She nodded, thoughtful. “Are you sure love would break the spells over us?”
“Niall himself told me so. But we cannot live in fear of what the Fey might do. I want you to accept Lord Struan’s proposal.”
“But he has a house in Edinburgh and I want to stay with you at Kilcrennan.”
“Marry him and you will see it differently. Go in there and tell your laird you love him. Just do that.”
She had told him and he had said the same, and yet she had retreated. Now hope bubbled up inside her. She wanted to leap out of the gig and run to the house to find him. “If I did that, and things changed for you, what about your work?”
“A weaver is what I am. I would just be slower.” He gave a sad chuckle.
“What about the fairy treasure? Is that real?” Was any of this real?
“It has never been found. I will bargain with them again. They do love to bargain,” he said wryly. “And this time, I will take you out of it somehow. You deserve to be happy.”
“If all of this is true,” she said, “you will risk too much.”
“You believe some, but not all—what will it take to convince you? I weave with a madness over me, which you have seen with your own eyes. Then believe the rest, lass.”
“It could be the whisky upon you.”
“Why do you think they call it fairy brew? Stubborn lass,” he grumbled. He flexed the reins to urge the horse along the drive toward the house. “There is another reason for you to marry Struan. Did he see me at the weaving? I thought he did.”
She glanced away, remembering that passionate, private night with James. “He did see something,” she admitted.
“That secret must stay with us, so he must become part of the family. So there.”
“Grandda, did you give him the fairy brew deliberately to allow that to happen?”
“Perhaps I did.” He chuckled again.
Moments later, the gig rolled to a stop before the wide entrance steps. Elspeth hastily smoothed her skirt and tugged at her bonnet.
“What was that noise?” Donal asked.
“They have a banshee,” she said, looking up at the house.
“Ah, I nearly forgot! Then that is your sign, lass. Go tell your laird what you feel. It is time to be true and good to yourself.”
She stepped down just as Angus MacKimmie walked toward them, calling a greeting. Though conflicted, she felt hope rising. But she wondered how much of the extraordinary truth about her family she could reasonably explain.
Hearing footsteps, she looked up to see James coming toward the gig. She drew a shaky breath. “Good afternoon, Lord Struan.”
“Miss MacArthur,” he said, his eyes so blue, so serious. He inclined his head. “What a nice surprise.”
She began to answer, but sensed suddenly that he was tense. He glanced back at the house, and she saw others coming out as well. Some faces were familiar—Sir John Graham, Miss Fiona MacCarran, and others.
“I beg pardon, sir,” she said to James. “We forgot you might have guests.”
“That does not matter in the least,” he murmured. “I am glad to see you.”
“Miss MacArthur!” Fiona MacCarran came forward to take her hand. Then John Graham reached to kiss her cheek.
“Cousin Elspeth, how good to see you,” John said. “Cousin Donal, greetings, man!” He walked around the gig to talk with her grandfather.
James touched her elbow. “Miss MacArthur, you may remember my youngest brother, Patrick.” She smiled up him as a woman and a tall man dressed in black came outside as well.
“You remember Miss Sinclair,” James said then.
“I do,” Elspeth said politely as Charlotte Sinclair gave her a tight little smile. The young woman stood so close to James that her shoulder pressed his arm.
Feeling a jolt to see that, thinking she might be too late after all, Elspeth kept her smile in place. “How do you do, Miss Sinclair. How good to see that you all found the chance to visit the Highlands together.”
“We came with Lady Rankin to visit James, er, Lord Struan and we look forward to touring the countryside.” Charlotte turned up her smile like a lamp as she looked at James. “Tomorrow I will lure him away from his books to take us around.”
“And this is my cousin, Lord Eldin,” James said, almost cutting her off. “Miss MacArthur of Kilcrennan.” Elspeth turned almost gratefully toward the stranger.
“A true Highland girl. I am charmed.” Eldin inclined his head.
At first glance, he looked like a dark, avenging angel, his face flawlessly handsome but stern, his physique neat in his black clothing.
But Elspeth sensed something unsettling about him.
She frowned as he extended his hand for her gloved fingers.
The world went dizzy for a moment, shadowy with a smoky haze.
She saw James and his cousin in a different place, a brown meadow with a chaos of smoke surrounding men in bright red jackets and dark tartan kilts—the uniform of the Highland Black Watch.
James and Eldin held bayoneted guns, James seated with a bloody gash above his knee, Eldin standing over him, A Highlander lay dead at their feet.
The image disappeared, and instead she saw both men staring at her now.
“Miss MacArthur, are you ill?” Eldin asked.
Only a few seconds had passed, she was sure. She pulled her fingers from Eldin’s cordial grip. “You—” she whispered, “you were there. James was hurt—the other died.”
“Elspeth. Miss MacArthur,” James murmured, taking her arm. “Come inside.”
“What is this?” Lord Eldin asked sharply. “Do you have the Sight?”
“Come inside. We will have tea,” James said firmly, leading her up the steps.
As the others turned to follow more slowly, Elspeth leaned into his sure strength, grateful for his calm, for she was trembling.
He guided her to the library where Mrs. MacKimmie had laid an elaborate tea on the large round table and brought her to a wing chair by the fireplace.
“Sit here. What happened?” he asked quietly. “One of your visions?”
“Odd,” she said, putting a shaking hand to her brow. “I saw you and Lord Eldin in regimental dress on a battlefield, I think.” She told him quietly, quickly, while the others wandered into the room. “You had a gash above the knee. There was a dead Highlander.”
“Dear God,” he said. “I never told you about all that. I was wounded,” he whispered. “Another cousin was killed. Eldin was with us.”
“Oh my,” she breathed.
“Would you like some whisky? You are shaking.”
“Just tea,” she said with a rueful laugh. “I am fine now.”
“Drat, here they come,” he said, and turned as the others entered, talking, finding seats, exploring the room and perusing the teapots, cakes, and small sandwiches laid out.
Eldin came to her. “Miss MacArthur. You seemed overcome.”
“I am perfectly fine, sir.” She rose to her feet.
“So you have the Sight,” he murmured, and closed his eyes. “Ah. Fairy-held. A gift. Interesting.” He leaned toward her. “I have a touch of it myself, so I understand.”
She had sensed something odd about Eldin. Perhaps that was it. James returned, and she felt a sharp tension between him and Eldin, as if the cousin posed a threat.
“You and John will be leaving soon, but I hope you will stay for tea,” he said.
“Of course,” Eldin said, and went to the table.
She rose from the chair and followed James. Charlotte, taking the role of hostess that properly belonged to James’s twin, Fiona, was pouring tea; she handed James a plate of sugar biscuits, calling those his favorite.
Feeling small and invisible, Elspeth brightened to see her grandfather. “Lass?” he asked, sounding concerned.
“I am fine, Grandda. What would you like?” she asked, gesturing to the table.
“Whatever makes you happy, that is all I want.”
“Ah, that would be one of Mrs. MacKimmie’s cinnamon seed cakes, then,” she said, reaching for a plate.