Page 39 of A Rogue in Twilight (The Whisky Rogues #2)
“I am sorry I missed tea, but I needed to rest,” James’s aunt said, grasping his hand for a moment. “Miss MacArthur, how nice to see you again. Do you live nearby?”
“I do, my lady. My grandfather and I live down in the glen at Kilcrennan.”
“Is your grandfather the weaver?” Sir Philip asked. “I have kilts made from Kilcrennan cloth. Fine stuff!”
“Weaving! Do you employ small children in your factory?” Charlotte asked.
“Good heavens, Miss Sinclair,” James muttered.
“Just myself when I was younger,” Elspeth said, mischief glinting in her eyes. “I am a weaver too,” she added. James noticed Charlotte and Lady Rankin raise their eyebrows at that. “We weave the cloth on handlooms, like my great-grandfather and his father before him, and my grandmothers too.”
“Mr. MacArthur is an old-school artisan, and Miss MacArthur is very gifted in the craft also.” James spoke with pride, hoping they heard it.
“Highland weaving is an ancient craft, a true art form in the Highlands,” Fiona added. “Tartan cloth is quite popular now, so they must be very busy. We can thank Sir Walter Scott for reviving a sense of Scottish character and heritage. People are keen for anything Scotch these days,” she added.
“It seems that way.” James silently blessed his sister for her praise.
“You genuinely appreciate the Highlands, Miss MacCarran,” Elspeth said.
“I do. I love being in Highlands. James and I spent some wonderful holidays here at Struan House.”
“Fiona now works with a Highland society, teaching English to native Gaelic speakers,” James explained to Elspeth.
“Wonderful! Since you were both here as children, I am surprised we did not meet sooner,” Elspeth said.
I wish we had, James thought. His childhood might have been happier. “We were here for a fortnight once or twice a year. We wandered the hills with our grandfather, Lord Struan. But we did not meet many local children that I recall.”
Elspeth nodded, about to speak, when Mrs. MacKimmie returned to clear the tea table. The servants had not yet returned from fleeing for the fairy riding, so the woman had more work than usual. James handed her his empty cup with quiet thanks.
“Mr. MacKimmie told Philip and I that there are fairies out in your garden,” Lady Rankin said. “I would love to see them. Little garden figurines, I suppose he meant.”
“ Och, MacKimmie likely meant our real fairies,” Mrs. MacKimmie said, looking up. Lady Rankin gasped to hear from her, while James smiled, glancing at Elspeth.
“Oh aye, fairies are abundant here,” Elspeth said with a little smile.
He enjoyed the stunned silence that followed, and smiled to see Charlotte’s gaping expression.
“Part of the charming folderol of the Highlands,” he told them. “I did not believe it myself when I came here, but the Highlands are making a believer even out of me.”
“Fascinating,” Fiona said. “Has anyone truly seen fairies here?”
“There are many stories in the glen,” Elspeth said. “Tradition says the fairies ride across Struan lands at this time every year for one or more nights. Lord Struan and I saw them the other evening,” she added. “Or we thought we did.”
Blast, James thought. That was a bit too honest. He wondered if Elspeth meant to shock Charlotte in particular, though he knew his siblings would be more than interested, given their grandmother’s odd will.
“You…and Lord Struan did what?” Charlotte asked.
“Saw the fairies,” Elspeth said. “Or at least we thought so.”
“You and Lord Struan were together at night?” Charlotte squeaked out.
“We were outside and saw something quite eerie.”
“Alone?” Charlotte asked. The rest of them were silent.
James blew out a breath. “Alone for a bit,” he said, taking the chance. “Miss MacArthur was in a bit of a kerfuffle and I came to her assistance. But I cannot vouch for seeing fairies. It was probably mist.”
“Lord Struan kindly helped me when I was caught in a storm,” Elspeth said. “And perhaps I was the only one who saw fairies riding through.”
“Good God,” Philip said. “I was just out there but saw nothing so good as that!”
“Alone,” Charlotte repeated. “Here. At night.”
“What did the fairies look like?” Fiona asked, head tilted in curiosity.
“Just a thick mist,” James reassured her.
“Beautiful young people on pretty horses,” Elspeth said.
“Shapes in the mist,” James clarified.
“ Och, and what a storm that was,” Mrs. MacKimmie said, holding the tea tray, in no hurry to depart. “A fierce storm, rain for days. The roads flooded and the bridge broke. It was kind of Struan to rescue Miss MacArthur.”
“Are you finished clearing, Mrs. MacKimmie?” Lady Rankin asked.
“So you were here, too, Mrs. MacKimmie,” Fiona said.
“Struan House is my home, Miss MacCarran,” the housekeeper replied.
With a sigh of relief, James nodded his gratitude to the housekeeper, who smiled, tray clattering as she went to the door.
“James, do enlighten us,” Lady Rankin said. “I am confused.”
“Miss MacArthur was stranded here in a devilish Highland gale. Just for a bit until the weather cleared.”
“I see,” Charlotte said coldly.
“I suppose it could not be helped,” Lady Rankin decided, “and you had a capable chaperone in Mrs. MacKimmie, even if her manners are quite forward.”
“She is an excellent housekeeper. A treasure,” James replied.
“An excellent woman,” Elspeth said.
“And the fairies?” Patrick asked. “They were beautiful, you say?”
“So lovely,” Elspeth said. “Lord Struan insists it was imagination, but I saw them as clear as I see you now.”
Fiona touched Elspeth’s shoulder. “How wonderful!”
“How frightening,” Charlotte said sourly.
“You might see them yourself the next time they ride,” Elspeth said.
James nearly groaned aloud. Elspeth was putting them on now, especially Charlotte; he knew by her tone and the twinkle in her eyes.
“This is silly,” Charlotte murmured with an angry glower for Elspeth, which she then turned on him. He felt sorry for her, for he could never give her what she wanted. Her idea of loving someone was to be haughty and possessive, not kind or encouraging.
Just then he noticed how Philip Rankin looked at Charlotte, how he stood close to her and focused on her with a lot of admiration.
Philip was haughty in his way, but also clever and jolly, and had a good income.
And he seemed smitten with Charlotte. She needed a man who adored her and was thick enough to overlook her flaws.
If she took notice of Philip, she would find a good match under her very nose.
“Not silly, Miss Sinclair,” James said then. “Fairy lore is part of the Highland culture. And there are things in heaven and earth that we cannot understand, as the great Bard once said. Is it not so, Sir Philip?”
“Huh, indeed,” Philip said. “I would like to hear your thoughts, Miss Sinclair.”
“I would love to see fairies in the wild,” Fiona murmured. “I would love to make sketches of them.” James remembered that was part of Fiona’s assignment in the will.
“If you look for them, remember to ask their permission before you draw what you see,” Elspeth told his sister. “Or they may try to steal you away.”
“Who, Highland savages?” Lady Rankin put a hand to her bosom.
“Fairies, Aunt,” Patrick said. “It is said they steal people away to their world.”
Lady Rankin gasped. “How can that be?”
“If the Fey are angered, they may do anything out of revenge,” Elspeth said.
“So they say. But—these are all just stories,” James said. Whether genuine or lunatic, he wanted to end this before someone mocked what Elspeth said or believed, because he loved her.
He did. But he had no time for that revelation.
“Miss MacArthur is quite the expert in fairy lore,” he said.
“And I am reminded that she kindly offered to advise me on local folklore today, a subject that interests me very much. If you will excuse us, I would like to show her what I have been working on.”
He ushered her into the study, then drew her around behind the door into the shadows. “Elspeth,” he growled.