Page 40 of A Rogue in Twilight (The Whisky Rogues #2)
“D o leave the door open,” Elspeth said. “Else Charlotte might knock it down.”
“Let her,” James said, but yanked it open, standing behind it with her. “Now tell me what you were going on about back there.”
“Fairies. Your sister was quite interested. Miss Sinclair is not pleased. And your lady aunt looked as if she would faint when you dragged me in here.”
“She likely fears fairies are everywhere now and will come after her. I thought it best to get you away before you revealed all your fairy secrets, or invited the blasted fairies into the blasted room!” he said too loudly.
“Which fairy secrets? And keep your voice down.”
“Your grandfather’s peculiar weaving habits, for one. Your father’s fate, painting fairies and then disappearing, or whatever he did. And I will shout if I must. Let them come after us.”
“So you do believe!” She smiled.
“I would not go that far, my lass. But I admit what seems unusual for most is normal for you. Is that enough acceptance?”
She tilted her head. “It will do.”
Her eyes, just then, were clear aquamarine lit with silver. But he would not tell her how beautiful they were. Not then, or he would be lost and want to pull her into his arms and tell her even more. “That is the best I can offer.”
“James, listen,” she said, as if she hardly heard. “I realized something, looking at the painting. Something about my father.”
“Tell me, then.”
“I think he went out to paint and sketch, and saw the Síth out there and drew them, then he would have gone home to paint them. That would fix their images for posterity. They would not like that. So they took him in forfeit. I wonder if Grandda knows that. It makes sense,” she added.
“It sounds preposterous to me,” he said. He was tired of fairy nonsense, even if he was wavering on the topic now, surrounded by it and seeing things he would never have believed if he had not met her. But he was not ready to admit it. “Blasted nonsense,” he added for good measure.
“Your language deteriorates when you are upset.”
“A casualty of the war, my vocabulary. Go on.”
“I know, because I saw it here”—she tapped her brow—“and I just knew that my father painted the fairies and fell in love with one of them. And so they stole him away.”
He shook his head, huffed in surrender. If he was to trust her, he would have to believe her. It shook the foundations of reason, but he had to give credence to some of what she and her grandfather said and did. Because he loved her, and owed her that trust.
He was more lost than he thought possible. Reaching out, he traced his fingers over her soft hair, cupped her chin, tilted it. His body throbbed at that simple touch. “Beg pardon. So you just knew, in your way. Go on. I am listening.”
“And I saw, in my mind, your sister walking in the hills carrying a sketchbook. Does she have a habit of that?”
“She does. What else?”
“She could be watched by fairies. She must take care to avoid a bad fate.”
“Fiona is like me and too pragmatic to see them. If she ever did, they would have a devil of a time getting her to go with them. My sister may seem calm and composed, but she would give the fairies such a fuss they would be glad to escape with their lives. If they exist,” he added hastily.
“What promise did you and Fiona make to your grandmother?” she asked.
“And just when,” he said, resigned, “did that revelation come to you?”
“When I was talking to Fiona. Did you make a promise to Lady Struan?”
“The book.”
“Something more, I think.”
He exhaled hard, thoughtful. Sooner or later, he had to tell her. “My grandmother set conditions on the inheritance. I must finish her fairy book—and find myself a Highland bride. To be specific, a fairy bride.”
“A fairy bride,” she repeated. She crossed her arms. Tapped her fingers.
“Otherwise there will be precious little inheritance, and most will go to Eldin.”
“Eldin. I see.” She watched him. “And so you met me.”
“Elspeth, it was not that way,” he said.
She pushed at his chest. “You knew this all along, yet said nothing!”
“We both have secrets,” he said.
“Secrets!” Elspeth’s temper fumed as she realized he had kept this from her. She glared up at him. “I may not have told you everything, but I never deceived you.”
“Nor I you.” When she pushed at him again, he gripped her wrist, drew her close.
She allowed it, though she felt furious, confused, even betrayed. But when he touched her, she relented, and when he cupped her cheek, her thoughts and feelings collided. Her need to be in his arms won out.
“You wanted a fairy bride, and so you let me go on the Fey. And then you asked me to marry you.”
“I did, and I would again,” he said low. “I owed it to you by the end of that evening, if you recall.”
“I thought that was only out of obligation. But you had another reason,” she hissed. “Your inheritance! How convenient for you that I came by!”
“I wanted to marry you.” She began to walk away, but he took her shoulders and set her behind the door again. “I still do.”
“Because of my unbelievable but very convenient tie to the fairies.”
“That was part of it. But not all!”
“Why did you not tell me?” And why, she suddenly thought, had her intuition not told her? Love had befuddled her. That was why.
“I would not know a fairy from a fishwife. And you repeatedly refused my offer. So no explanation seemed necessary.”
“I had my reasons for refusing,” she said, looking away.
“And I had mine for asking,” he whispered, standing so close that Elspeth tilted back her head, feeling he might kiss her, wanting it. When he touched his nose to hers, questing, she sighed and accepted his kiss, her hand curling in his, her knees gone weak. Then she toughened and pushed him away.
“There are people in the next room,” she said.
“Let them come in. They will witness me proposing to you—again.” His face was so close, his breath soft on her cheek. She sighed, closed her eyes.
Then opened them in a renewed glare. “I trusted you.”
“And you can. Know this, Elspeth. I would trust you with my life,” he said, then sighed.
“I love you, do you not see it? This has happened so quickly, but I feel sure of it now. And it is not in my nature to say such things. But I love you, all of you, fairy or not fairy. It is as if a kind of magic has come over me.”
Her breath caught. She wanted to throw herself into his arms. She nodded. “It has been very quick, aye. I feel the same. But there is something I must tell you.”
“What is that?”
She drew a breath. “My mother was a fairy. Or so my grandfather insists.”
“Good God,” he said.
A knock sounded on the other side of the open door. Elspeth leaped, startled. James scowled. “Who is it?” he asked in a gruff tone.
“Fiona and Patrick. The rest of them went out to the garden. May we come in?”
Sighing, he pulled the door open and stepped out. Elspeth came out too, smoothing her gown, tucking strands of hair into place. James waved his siblings inside and shut the door.
“Now,” Patrick said, “what’s the kerfuffle here? Aunt Rankin went up to her room, afraid vindictive fairy sorts are lying in wait for her outside. Charlotte dragged Philip with her, fuming over you leaving with Miss MacArthur. And the two of you have been in here whispering rather loudly.”
Elspeth stood by, silent, hands folded, cheeks blazing.
“We have much to discuss, Miss MacArthur and I,” James said.
Fiona turned. “Miss MacArthur, this may sound absurd, and I apologize, but I must ask. Are there any rumors of fairy blood in your family?”
Elspeth lifted her chin. “I believe so.”
“Quite possibly,” James said, and ran a hand through his hair as if flustered.
“Excellent! James, you found her!”
“Found me,” Elspeth repeated stiffly. “Good for you, sir.”
He leaned against his desk. “You may as well know that Miss MacArthur is just finding out about this…fairy requirement. And she is not happy with me over it.”
“When fairies are angered, they are not cooperative,” Elspeth snapped. “What is the requirement? Is there more?”
“Our grandmother’s will requires each of us to find and marry someone of fairy blood,” Fiona said. “Grandmother wanted to restore the fairy legacy to our family line.”
“Otherwise, none of us can inherit,” Patrick said, “And Lord Eldin gets it all.”
“Oh dear,” Elspeth said.
“Exactly,” James said. “Now you know.”
Stunned, she stared at the three of them. “Perhaps Lady Struan wanted to change your minds about the Daoine Síth , knowing you might not believe without evidence.”
“The dowin shee?” Patrick asked.
“The fairies,” Fiona translated. “The peaceful ones, it means.”
“Not so peaceful when crossed,” James drawled.
“Lady Struan may have thought that if your brother were to live here,” Elspeth said, “he would need to understand the importance of fairy tradition in this glen.”
Patrick nodded. “That could be. She knew more about the subject than most, and probably thought all of us far too practical and in need of more imagination.”
“She might think Elspeth the perfect bit of proof,” James mused.
“I wonder if Grandmother lured you here, James,” Fiona said. “Perhaps she intended all along to bring you two together. She may have wanted this for you.”
Elspeth caught her breath as they all turned to look at her. She met James’s gaze for a moment, that blue tidepool drawing her in. “If you believe it, it may simply be so.”
“Is that all it takes?” he asked gently. “When she came here to the house in that storm,” he explained, “circumstances were such that it was prudent for me to offer marriage. Given all the fairy nonsense—er, the lore in Elspeth’s family, Grandmother may have hoped we would meet.”
“But I refused him,” Elspeth said.
“Oh dear!” Fiona said. “I hope you will reconsider.”
“Miss MacArthur, if I may say so,” Patrick said, “if you do have a trace of fairy blood, it would be a great service to all of us if you would marry our brother.”
“You will not convince the stubborn lass,” James murmured.