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Page 41 of A Rogue in Twilight (The Whisky Rogues #2)

A movement beyond the window caught her attention, and Elspeth looked out to see her grandfather’s gig advancing along the road toward Struan. He was returning already. She could risk telling them the whole truth now or keep her secrets to herself, and lose her chance at happiness.

In a few days she would turn twenty-one and her life might change irrevocably. She had not wanted to drag James into that, even if she was not entirely sure what might happen. It sounded preposterous even to her, and she had grown up with it.

But Donal MacArthur was right. She had fallen in love. It was too late to stop that. True love could break the hold the fairies had over her family. But until the treasure was found and returned, Donal would remain in their thrall, so he said.

She drew a breath. “True, I have fairy blood through my mother,” she said.

“And I believe I have seen the Daoine Síth . Some things I know, and other things I struggle to accept, just like you. I know it is difficult to believe. But for me and mine, these tales have always been so. I do not know if others can accept that. If you can accept that,” she told James.

“I can.” He took her hands in his. “Marry me and find out.”

Behind her, Elspeth heard Fiona catch back a sob, and Patrick beamed.

Elspeth nodded slowly. Finally, all of a sudden and certain, she knew. “Well then, I will marry you—on one condition.”

“What is that?” He rubbed his thumb over her fingers, warm and compelling.

She straightened her shoulders, aware of the risk, feeling as if she stood on a high cliff edge—and only their clasped hands, their love, could save them both.

“I will marry you, but we must find the lost fairy treasure first. And all this must happen before my birthday.”

“Your birthday? When is that?” he asked.

“Next week. The twentieth of October. I will turn twenty-one.”

“Goodness. Why before then?”

“On that birthday, the Fey have vowed to take me away. So my grandfather says.”

“Gracious,” Fiona said. “This is—like nothing I have ever heard.”

“We can only try,” he said simply.

“And I have an idea where we can look. Tomorrow, then, if you please.”

“Tomorrow,” he said.

“It is not for the riches of the thing, and I do not care if you are a wealthy man or not,” she said. “Please trust me. The treasure must be found for all our sakes.”

“What if we married and took time to search these hills for treasure?”

“Because I do not know how long we will have together,” she blurted. “A lifetime or a few days. If the treasure is not found soon, the bargain Grandda made years ago with the Fey could cause terrible grief. You are part of that now.”

He drew her into his arms, regardless of his siblings standing near. “Even if we have only days, I would marry you. If we have a lifetime, I will marry you. Trust that.”

“I do,” she whispered. “And I believe we will find it now. I think my father left the clues in his painting.”

“Then we will try.” He kissed her brow lightly.

Elspeth heard Fiona catch her breath again.

A warmth like sunlight went through her—happiness, passion, hope.

She tilted her head to kiss him, and stood in his embrace for a moment.

She wanted to be with him forever, felt so grateful to have found him.

Yet she could not lose the sense of danger gathering all around.

Then Fiona hugged her and Patrick kissed her cheek, both welcoming her into their family. Smiling, she tried to ignore the feeling that she had just thrown down a gauntlet to fate and the Fey.

Yet this was the only choice where she could be true to herself.

Quick as this had all come about, James already seemed part of her soul.

Any differences between them only enriched their match, one changeable and airy, one solid and earthlike, each helping the other to grow. It felt right, despite the risks.

“James, please,” she murmured. “Help me find it tomorrow. We must.”

“We will try. When my aunt and the others go off to tour the Highlands, we will stay here, you and I, and search in the glen. Do you know where to look?”

“My grandfather has searched throughout the glen for years. But my father’s picture shows something that may help, though we have to puzzle it out.”

“The little cave in the landscape?” he asked.

“Grandmother called the painting a pretty picture of Ben Venue,” Fiona said. “She told me that once. Might that be a clue?”

“ A’ Bheinn Mheanbh !” Elspeth gasped, nodded. “That is the Gaelic. It is a small mountain near Loch Katrine. Your aunt’s party may go past it tomorrow on their tour.”

“Then we must all go with them, and you too, Miss MacArthur,” Patrick said.

“Elspeth,” she told him, smiling, as he and Fiona did too.

“Then we will scale Ben Venue if we must,” James said. “Ask your grandfather to come as well, to help us search. We will all slip away and look for treasure, aye?”

“Charlotte will not like that very much,” Elspeth said.

“Charlotte is not my concern,” James said. “You are.” He set an arm around her shoulders. She sighed, relaxing against him.

“I know this seems impossible,” she said. “But I am grateful.”

“If I can meet my grandmother’s preposterous conditions, Miss MacArthur, and find myself a fairy bride, I think anything is possible.”

Tears stung her eyes, though she smiled. If Grandda was right, it was dangerous indeed. If they failed, she might never see James again.

A rapping sounded on the door, and Patrick opened it. “Mrs. MacKimmie!”

“Begging pardon, sir. Mr. MacArthur is here and asking for Miss Elspeth.”

Elspeth nodded, squeezed James’s hand, and murmured farewell. She could not find adequate words, filled with gratitude, excitement, love—and a hint of dread.

Late that night, James held the blue agate up to the glow of the lamplight.

He had found the key to the case and removed the stone, wanting to give it to Elspeth.

Her promise to marry him at last had given him hope, and the condition she had requested did not seem insurmountable.

If stones like this existed nearby, then he might find crystals and even a bit of fool’s gold—iron pyrite—to satisfy the quest for a horde of treasure.

Had Elspeth set a Herculean task to see how sincere he was about fairy legends?

His sincerity toward her was without question, but he understood her need to challenge.

He wanted her to know that his proposal was because he loved her, wanted her, and not because of the inheritance.

That it could satisfy Lady Struan’s will was simply a benefit now. He wanted to be her husband regardless.

He looked forward to the outing in the morning, as Elspeth and Donal would join the group for their Highland tour, acting as guides.

While Donal might not be as well-versed in Sir Walter Scott’s poetry as the others, who wanted to see sites they had read about, he knew Donal would make the day an entertaining adventure.

Then he wondered if Elspeth had told her grandfather about their engagement. For now, it was best kept a secret among just a few.

He turned the agate again in the light. At its heart was a cluster of tiny clear crystals in a toothy formation that reminded him whimsically of a miniature landscape of hills and castle turrets.

Extracting the loupe from his bag of tools, he adjusted the double lenses for magnification and tilted it over the stone.

Under the lenses, the outer casing of granite formed a thick husk around the exquisite blue striations and crystals in a stone of excellent clarity. He angled it, and the crystalline cavity suddenly looked like a tiny cavern.

“What the devil,” he murmured. Reminded of something he had seen recently, he carried the stone into the library and went straight to the painting over the mantel to compare the agate perched in his fingers to the landscape.

Aye, he thought. The cave rendered in the painting, under the profile of hills, looked identical in shape to the crystalline center of the stone. An odd coincidence, he told himself. Had the stone inspired Donal MacArthur’s son, or was there an eerie, almost magical, reason for the similarity?

Or had Elspeth and Donal influenced his own opinion of this fairy business?

The hour was late, and he had work to do. He reached for his grandmother’s manuscript again, remembering that his grandmother had mentioned an artist without naming Niall MacArthur. Where was that—flipping pages, he found it and sat back.

A young artist went into the hills to sketch from nature, Lady Struan had written.

Tired later, he lay down to rest on a hill at twilight.

A shepherd saw him in passing, and the man’s family said later it was the last that the artist was ever seen, for he never returned home.

His father searched for his son, and one evening, as the father, a weaver, sat at his loom, the son appeared in a mist, and said that he had been lured inside the hill by a beautiful fairy woman.

He loved her and wanted to stay with her.

Begging his father to meet him in the hills in seven days, the son promised to give him a precious gift.

Was that the stone? Astonished, James read on.

When the weaver arrived at the agreed time and place, he met the fairy queen, a gorgeous creature he had loved in his own youth. And he saw his son and the fairy lass who had won his heart. The gift they presented to him was their infant daughter.

They made a bargain between them that the weaver would raise the girl until the fairies called her back to them on her twenty-first birthday. She was given the gift of the Sight so that she might see what cannot be seen and know what cannot be known.

The girl must return to her fairy kin to live in their realm forever. Only if she falls in love with a man who understands and respects the fairy ilk can she stay in the earthly realm. But her grandfather must forfeit his gifts for her happiness.

Clutching the page, James read it again, heart pounding. Either his grandmother had a vivid imagination, or she knew more about the MacArthurs of Kilcrennan than James could imagine. He turned the page.

The Fey posed another wicked bargain—all spells would break if the weaver could find and return a treasure stolen from the fairy ilk long ago and hidden in the wild hills. But, said the man who reported this tale, it may never be found.

James set down the manuscript and sat staring at the blue agate.

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