Page 73 of Laird of Twilight

Eldin glanced at James’s leg. “Some situations cannot be helped.”

“Especially if one chooses to save himself while a kinsman suffers.”

“Interpretation is in the realm of the observer. As a scientist, you realize that.”

“Indeed,” James said, fuming. Beside him, Osgar pricked his ears, trotting to a large window that overlooked the trees and lawn at the front of the house. The dog stood tall enough to rest his chin on the windowsill. He whimpered, tail wagging. Glancing that way, James saw a gig through the trees that then turned toward the house. The dog woofed quietly.

“Down,” James said. The approaching vehicle carried an older man and a young woman. She wore a plaid shawl and her bonnet partly covered dark hair. His heart bounded. Elspeth and Donal MacArthur.

“Visitors,” Eldin said. “Would this be your Highland bride, by chance?”

James was silent. Osgar nudged his leg, and he patted the great, rough head.

“I believe Lady Rankin has it in mind for you to wed Miss Charlotte Sinclair.”

“I am aware,” James drawled.

“You should consider it. Miss Sinclair is a handsome young woman, and moneyed as well, which could relieve your current state. But I will not take up your time any longer. I wished only to extend my offer of purchase.”

James slowly fisted, flexed his hand. “Which you have done. Good day.”

“This is a fine estate. You should do all in your power to hold on to it.”

“Or you will have it?”

Eldin smiled flatly and left the room. After a moment, calling Osgar to follow, James walked out into the corridor. He heard a faint, unexpected sound as a shriek echoed somewhere overhead. Just as he glanced around, Mrs. MacKimmie hurried around the corner.

“Och,what is our banshee wanting to tell us?” she said. “The laird is here. Who else important would be arriving? Just the weaver and his granddaughter, is all.”

The laird’s bride has arrived, James thought. Could that be it? He inclined his head and waved a hand toward the door. “Let us welcome them, Mrs. MacKimmie.”

* * *

“Grandda, what are you doing?” Elspeth asked. “We only took Margaret home and headed back to Kilcrennan. But this is not the way!” Her grandfather had already turned onto the earthen road that led to Struan House. The manor sat just ahead, pale stone elegance set amid bright autumn hills under a blue sky.

“The glen road is in poor condition after the flooding. We’ll go this way.”

“There is no reason to go this close to Struan House.”

“I forgot to answer the laird, who sent us a dinner invitation.”

“Send our refusal by post or messenger. Stop, please. I do not want to see Lord Struan now. Not yet,” she added miserably.

“The viscount asked that you work with him in his library. You will have to give him your answer.”

“I do not want to see him.”

“Here we are,” he announced, almost gleeful, as they came near the house.

“You are a good man,” she said, “except when you do not listen. Please, turn the gig around.”

“When I was a young man and first met the queen of the fairies,” he said, “I fell under her glamourie. I went into that hill for what I thought was a few hours. But when I came out, a fortnight had passed.”

“And the fairies gave you the gift of weaving. I know. And your son met them too and stayed with his true love, and so I was born, and you promised to take care of me. I know it all. And now you may turn the gig around and take us home.” She snatched at the reins, but he leaned away.

“I did not tell you all the truth.”

“Tell me the truth later. Go that way.” She pointed. He ignored her.