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Page 38 of A Rogue in Twilight (The Whisky Rogues #2)

“W hat a substantial tea,” Charlotte remarked, after the group had sated themselves on the generous spread of cold meat, sausage rolls, sweet biscuits, cakes, a fruit comp?te and more.

“A Highland tea is much like a supper, Miss Sinclair,” Mrs. MacKimmie said, having come in with a made to clear some dishes away.

Charlotte Sinclair looked startled that a housekeeper had spoken to her.

“The laird often takes his tea this way, with a small supper late in the evening,” Mrs. MacKimmie continued. “I will serve soup later. Better to have an informal meal, as you must be tired from the long journey up here.”

“Thank you for the excellent tea, Mrs. MacKimmie,” Fiona said sweetly, while beside her Charlotte looked offended. “We should have an early evening before we go out tomorrow.”

Elspeth glanced at James. He stood beside her chair, cup and saucer cradled in his hand. “I should go,” she said, setting her cup on a table. “I only came by today hoping to, ah, help with your work as we discussed.”

“Did you? Good.” He leaned an elbow on the back of her chair, and she looked up into his eyes, sincere blue, the safest, most wonderful eyes in the room to her just now.

She wanted to stay here with him, but felt distinctly uncomfortable with others who were part of his life when she was not yet sure of her role in it.

“My lord,” Charlotte said. “Tell us about this beautiful house. For instance, I want to know more about the pretty curiosities in the display cases. Come over here and look.” She beckoned to him.

“Fiona can tell you about the rocks there,” he said, smiling. Charlotte only frowned as Fiona went to the display case with her to look at the stones there.

“I had forgotten that your guests might be here,” Elspeth said to James. “You are too busy today. We can discuss the fairy book another time. Grandda has errands and so we should leave. Thank you for the hospitality.”

“Stay,” he said quickly.

Donal MacArthur, standing by the fireplace studying the painting above the mantel, glanced over at Elspeth.

He held a teacup in one hand and nibbled a bit of lemon cake tucked in a napkin.

“Thank you, Struan,” he said. “I do have errands, but perhaps my granddaughter could stay until I return for her.”

“She may stay as long as she likes.” James smiled.

What if I want to stay forever? she thought.

But with Charlotte Sinclair here now, perhaps James would feel differently about marrying a Highland girl.

There was no chance for a private discussion with him, but perhaps fate had interfered.

Charlotte was possessive of James and was making a show of staying near him.

His impulsive offer of marriage might have already faded in his mind.

That hurt too much to dwell on. She stood. “Grandda, I will come with you. Lord Struan has guests to entertain.”

“If he does not mind, we do not,” Donal said. “I will be back. See if you can assist with his papers, as promised.”

“I could, I suppose,” she said hesitantly, glancing at James.

“Good.” He gestured for her to follow him into his study. Seeing that, Charlotte hurried over to take his arm.

“James, are your friends leaving? How nice to see you again,” she told Elspeth. “Dear Struan, you must tell me about this pretty blue stone in the case. I quite like it.”

“Mr. MacArthur is leaving for a little while, and Miss MacArthur is staying for the afternoon. She has promised to help me with something I am writing.”

“Oh,” Charlotte said with a pout, and walked away.

“That one has an angel’s face and the manners of a magpie,” Donal said.

James chuckled, then turned as his sister called and excused himself.

Elspeth looked at her grandfather. “Now I need to stay to make sure the magpie does not claim your fairy stone for her own.”

“Best do that, lass. I looked at it during tea. That is the stone the fairy queen gave me, and we must have it back. Besides, it is your right to be here. You love the man,” he added low. “Stay and tell him.”

“I will not squabble with the other lass over him,” she whispered. “He wants me or he does not. It remains to be seen.”

“I see it but you do not. Before I go, come look at Niall’s painting with me.”

She crossed the little distance to the fireplace with him. “Struan noticed that one of the women looks like me. I hoped she might be a likeness of my mother.”

He craned his neck to peer closely. “She does look like you—and your mother too. She was a beautiful fairy woman with black hair and silvery eyes. So aye, it could be. Now look over here.” He pointed. “I wonder if you will see what I saw. And you should show your laird if we are correct.”

For a moment, she glanced back to see James standing beside Charlotte Sinclair, who nudged close to him. The woman’s blond hair shone in the sunlight from the window, and his hair gleamed too, chestnut touched with gold. They were a handsome couple, she thought, and sighed.

Gazing up at her father’s landscape painting, she studied the moorland rinsed in purple twilight, and the delicate details of forest, mist, and the play of color in the sky. Then she noticed a detail she had not seen before.

A dark rock wall was depicted to one side of the painting, and as she moved her head, the color and shape came together to form a narrow cave mouth, tall niche. Inside the dark crevice, she saw the painterly glimmer of tiny dabs and dots of color.

“Grandda, is that—could it be—gold inside a cave?’

“I thought so too. Ah, it is getting late. I must go. I will be back.” He patted her shoulder. “And here comes your laird. Tell him.”

“Not my laird,” she whispered.

He smiled and left, taking his leave of James, who then came toward her.

“Your grandfather said you had something to show me,” James said.

She nodded, tilting her head for a better perspective as she looked up at the artwork. Then she touched his sleeve. “Look! There, at the right. Do you see a cave? What else do you see?”

He studied it in silence, then nodded. “Look at that. It could be a pile of gold and jewels, maybe pearls. It looks like a pirate’s treasure in the shadows there. I never noticed it before.”

“Nor did I. My father included so much detail with the fairy riders, the woman who looks like me, or my mother—Grandda just said so too. And now a cave with a hidden pile of treasure. What if he left clues for others to find?”

“But the legends are well known here. He just added them to his painting.”

“It is more than that. I feel it.” She tilted her head again. “That rocky cliff looks familiar. I have seen it somewhere.”

He leaned sideways, his shoulder touching hers, his head angled as he spoke softly to her. “Then we should look for that, and see if we can find a cave and your fairy treasure. And then,” he whispered, “perhaps your fairies will dance at our wedding.”

She stared at him. “Wedding?” Her heartbeat leaped.

“If you like.” His voice was low, compelling, so dear to her. She leaned close. But they could not talk about this here. It needed time and privacy.

“I thought you did not believe in fairy nonsense,” she whispered.

“I had the impression you are not convinced either. Certainly not like your grandfather, who regards fairies to be as real as the people in this room.”

She sighed. “But—what if this is proof?”

“Of fairy legends and stolen treasure, aye.”

“Please, can we talk somewhere?” She set a hand on his sleeve.

“Fairies and treasure! How exciting! Tell us more,” Charlotte said, coming near.

There was just no blasted privacy in this place, James thought, as Charlotte joined them.

He felt hounded by the girl, who seemed blithe and pleased.

Just now, he desperately wanted—needed—time alone with Elspeth.

And somehow, even with Charlotte tracking his every move, he wanted to speak privately with Fiona and Patrick too.

His siblings deserved to know that he had asked Elspeth to marry him, and that he was diligently working toward—and hoping for—her agreement.

Despite her refusals and his impatience with her at times, he would not give up on her, or the future he wanted to share with her.

“Treasure?” Patrick asked, coming closer, Fiona by his side. “We overheard! Fairies are endlessly fascinating. Fiona loves them too.”

“Have you discovered much about fairies here at Struan House?” Fiona asked.

“Just in Grandmother’s manuscript,” he said.

“Lost treasure and fairies!” Charlotte said. “Perhaps we could look for them!”

“Unlikely. There are some entertaining Highland tales locally. That is all,” James said. “Isn’t that so, Miss MacArthur?” She nodded, eyes wide.

“Look. This painting has fairies riding through it.” Fiona stepped closer.

Charlotte shoved between Elspeth and James to gaze at the picture. “Very pretty, though it might be nicer in a bedroom or a parlor than in here. Perhaps you could move it if I chose a good spot for it upstairs, Struan.”

“I like it here,” he answered. “Our grandmother was fond of it. And Miss MacArthur’s father was the artist.”

“Truly father?” Charlotte looked at Elspeth with surprise. “Then your family will want to have it back when Struan House is sold.”

“You are selling Struan?” Wide-eyed, she met his gaze, silvery eyes distressed.

“Not yet,” he said, frowning.

“He wants to be rid of the place, and one can hardly blame him, a drafty old house so far from the city.” Charlotte tucked her hand in his elbow. “He has many responsibilities in Edinburgh, and this house needs attention, unless we—er, he—wants to spend a good part of the year in the Highlands.”

“I may do that.” With a stiff smile, he moved away from Charlotte, who seemed oblivious so often to what he said and did when it did not meet her expectation.

“Lord Struan, would you truly sell this grand old place?” Sir Philip asked in a jovial tone as he came toward them with Lady Rankin on his arm. “Then I might want to buy it myself.”

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