Laird of Twilight (The Whisky Lairds, Book 1)

by Susan King

  “You must have seen something.”

  “I saw you, my girl. And could not—help myself.” He put an arm around her. “It’s coming down in a torrent again. Come away, Elspeth.”

  She hastened with him toward the house, noticing that her ankle hurt fiercely once again. The pain had stopped earlier, she realized. The halt in James’s gait had returned too. It had disappeared earlier, when he ran for her as the fairy riders approached.

  Spotting his discarded cane, she stooped to pick it up. He took it, and they hurried for the kitchen door, shaking off the rain as they came inside, the dogs bounding around them. In the dark, dry corridor, she touched his arm.

  “Tell me truly—what did you see out there?”

  Brushing rain from his hair, he hesitated. His hair was thick, dark, curling with the wet. He looked windswept and handsome, daring and strong. That power and disarray in this regulated and cautious man wrenched at her heart—for suddenly she knew that this was natural to him, even more than the order and intellectualism he strived to maintain.

  “I saw a good deal of rain,” he said calmly, casually. “The trees were bending a good deal. I will need to look for damage in the daylight. The horses are fine, thankfully. I visited the stable before you—before you came outside.”

  She blew out a breath, disappointed. “Nothing more?”

  He touched her cheek. “I saw a lovely woman,” he murmured.

  “That was not what I was asking—”

  “And did not act the gentleman, for which I apologize.”

  “We were both in their thrall.”

  “I was in your thrall.” He brushed his thumb over her chin. “Forgive me.”

  “You are not to blame for anything. Only admit that you saw them—unless you truly did not. Oh, dear!”

  “Who?”

  “Fairies.”

  He half laughed. She sighed then, shook her head. He would deny that and think her a fool again, a manipulative woman throwing herself at him. She pushed her wet, tangled hair back, burning with shame—and wondering what she had truly seen out there. She headed for the steps, limping. “I must go. Goodnight.”

  “Elspeth, what is it?”

  She paused. “Nothing. You would call me seven kinds of lunatic, and think me hunting for a marriage proposal. But—whatever happened out in the storm—I do thank you kindly for the compromise.”

  “Blast,” he muttered, hastening after her. “Wait. Talk to me. Tell me what you want. What happened?”

  She continued up the steps, and James hurried behind her, cane tapping, the dogs scampering alongside. He reached down to catch the little black terrier by the collar before it could race up and trip her on the stairs. Elspeth turned.

  “What were you saying—what fairies? Hey, lass, watch out,” and he caught her elbow as she nearly missed her footing.

  “You saw something out there, I know you did.”

  What the devil? Clearly, there was another matter in need of attention here. “I saw rain, and two foolish people kissing in a lightning storm.”

  “We kept each other safe out there, or we would have been stolen away. We saved each other.”

  She puzzled him, spun the subject, and his thoughts, this way and that. He regretted what he had done, and he would compensate for it however he could. “The wind was a danger, true. It nearly lifted you away. None of it excuses the madness that came over me.”

  “Something came over me too.” She stomped unevenly up the steps, reaching the main hallway, and turned. “When the Fey are near, a sort of madness can overwhelm those who see them. Perhaps that happened to us.”

  “Madness? We need not use the excuse of the Fey for what happened.” He went closer. “I accept the blame for my actions.” He touched her shoulder. Her hair, dangling in black twists and curls, swept over his hand as she shook her head.

  “The thrall had both of us in its power.”

  “Madness or magic, in the cold light of morning, this will seem a disaster. What would you like me to do?” He said it gently, an offer of anything she wanted.

  She frowned. “I want you to remember. Just that. Some forget after they have seen what we saw tonight.”

  “I will not forget what just happened between us, I promise you.”

  “Did you truly not see the Fey ride by and try to take us? We held each other tightly to keep safe.” She gripped his arm for a moment.

  “My girl, no need to explain it away. I was worried about you, and found you in the storm. And then I gave in to impulse. You have a right to be angry.”

  “You were worried about me?”

  “You ran out into a lightning storm in your nightgown.” And then even his grandmother’s nightrail had not deterred his impulsive actions. “When I saw you through the fog, I waved you away from the trees. They were bending so in the wind that I feared they might snap and harm you. All the rest—that was my doing.”

  “I took part in that, Lord Struan,” she said crisply. “But—did you not see the horses coming through the mist?”

  “Horses? They are safe in the stable. In the mist, I suppose anyone could have imagined horses and riders, but it was just the trees whipping about.” He frowned. “If there was any magic at all, it was the spell you cast over me so naturally. You could not help that—and I should have resisted.” He tilted her chin with a finger.

  She turned her head away. “I have no magic.”

  “You,” he said, “have far more magic than you know. Why did you not stay inside when I went out to the stables?”

  “The Good Folk called to me to follow. They called you, too. The only way to stay safe when they appear is to hold tight to another, no matter what happens. And to not look at them. My plaid is green. Perhaps that protected us against the draw of the fairy folk.”

  He stared. Good God, he thought, stunned. “Are you fevered?”

  “Do you know the ballad of Tam Lin? ‘Hold me fast, let me not go—'”

  “‘I’ll be your bairn’s father,’” he finished. “Very nearly, and that is the matter you and I had best discuss.”

  “I am not a hussy, intent on lashing you into marriage.”

  “I never thought it. We are in extraordinary circumstances here.”

  “Indeed. I wish you would remember it completely.” She tensed her shoulders, drew her brows together. And yet she looked purely an angel—more to the point, a fairy-like beauty, with a cloud of black hair and crystal-gray eyes.

  He shook his head to clear it. “Miss MacArthur—Elspeth—enough. You wanted to be ruined. You very nearly are. If you want to be wed, we shall discuss it. If this is anything more than that—” He blew out a breath. “Well, you are Donal MacArthur’s granddaughter. I have been reading my grandmother’s pages, which contain an account of a strange encounter he claims to have had. So I understand if you believe rather strongly in fairies. But we have another, far more pressing, matter here.”

  “She wrote about him?”

  “Aye. He told her that he had been taken by the fairies, and returns to that realm every few years.”

  “Every seven years. So you think my grandfather a daftie, and me now as well.” She stepped back. “Away with you, Struan! Believe what you like. I saw them tonight. And so did you, whether or not you admit it.”

  “Not a daftie. Eccentric, perhaps. Superstitious, certainly.”

  “I need to rest my foot,” she said abruptly. “I will go into the drawing room to get warm, and take some time to think.”

  “We both need time to think. Very well. I will be in the study.” He turned.

  “My grandfather,” she said then. James looked over his shoulder. “He says what he believes. He says that when he was a young man, he went with the fairies and was their hostage for seven years.”

  “Seven years,” he repeated slowly.

  “To be fair, it felt like a week to him. Seven days. His family wondered where he had gone. Not many believed his story. But for fifty years and more, he has
never changed it.” She spun, limping down the hallway toward the drawing room.

  James stared after her, dumbfounded. Osgar appeared beside him in the hallway, paused by him, and then padded after Elspeth. “Go on, fairy hound,” James said. “Follow your wee mistress. She is of that ilk, after all. Keep her safe, hey?”

  He exhaled, ran a hand through his damp hair. Seven years with the fairies? Why claim such a thing? What would a man gain from it, if no one believed him?

  And Elspeth—James did not know what to make of her. She was fairy-like, he would give her that. And mischievous. And furious with him, with good reason.

  He huffed, headed for his study. Fairies. Impossible.

  On her way to the drawing room, passing the darkened library, Elspeth paused. James’s study was at the far side of the library, through another door. She could see the light blooming there.

  She walked into the dim, spacious, book-lined room, tempted to knock on the study door. But no, she thought. Best not to pursue this now. Nothing could be decided when they were both tired and uncertain about what had occurred outside. As for herself, she felt sure that she had seen the Seelie Court tonight. A lifetime of stories proven true. Her eyes, her senses, told her it had been real, though she could not justify it in the cool light of reality.

  And she felt sure James had seen them too, and either did not remember or chose not to believe or admit it. There would be no convincing him.

  Clutching the damp plaid around her, she walked toward the library fireplace, where a low fire still glowed with warmth. Holding out her hands, she glanced around. Rain sheeted anew against the high, dark windows, and the hearth shed a little light. The room soared with shelves containing what had to be thousands of books. At its center was a long table. Wing chairs in red brocade were scattered about the long room, along with various small tables and artworks as well.

  The heat felt good. The fabric of her nightgown was drying quickly, and while she stood there, she outlasted the impulse to knock on the study door. Finally she turned to leave the room, glancing at a glass display case as she went.

  She stopped short.

  The shelves held a collection of small objects, including some pretty stones. She leaned closer. In the golden firelight, she noticed a stone on the topmost shelf that glinted crystalline blue. Finding a candlestick and holder on a table, she lit the wick at the hearth and returned for a better look.

  The stone was as big as her palm, a round crusty stone like an egg cut in half, set on a small gilded stand. The stone’s center, sliced open, revealed rich layers of colored crystal and a concentric pattern of luminous blues from rich indigo to pale misty blue. At its heart was a tiny hollow filled with pale crystalline points.

  She gasped. Was this the magical blue stone her grandfather had owned? Bending close, she examined it. Years ago, she had seen a rock very much like it, the day Grandda had walked with her into the hills and explained his connection to the fairy realm. He had plucked a stone from a hiding place in a high rock crevice—a uniquely beautiful thing. This had to be it.

  She jiggled the little bronze handle of the case, but it was locked. Other pieces on the display shelves looked valuable, even ancient—arrowheads, buttons, buckles, bits of jewelry, and a variety of stone specimens. If she could hold the blue stone in her hands, or fit it in the rock wall above the garden, she would know. Her grandfather’s stone held power, so Donal insisted.

  Perhaps Struan would let her have the stone inside the case. Her grandfather’s visits with the fairies—he treasured them, regardless of whether or not others believed him—depended in part on the magic of the stone entrusted to him.

  She remembered the other part of the story. The fairy gold he had promised to find, stolen long ago—that was tied somehow to the mysterious blue stone too. If her grandfather could fulfill his bargain, the Daoine Síth would be satisfied. They would all be free. She would be free.

  Chapter 10

  Firelight flickered over the old canopy bed as James lay on the coverlet, still dressed, but for coat and boots. He could not sleep, but stared at the embroidered canopy overhead, some flowery pattern. His thoughts raced.

  He had not seen any blasted fairies out in that storm, he told himself, although the girl had insisted on it. Did he doubt her sanity—or his own?

  Arriving at Struan House, he had stepped knee-deep into fairies and whatnot, from the banshee in the foyer to Grandmother’s fairy lore, to a fetching girl who saw fairies on horses. He had seen only trees whipping in the wind, and a heavy, shifting mist. The place was full of superstitions and legends. Why would his grandmother send him here, knowing that a scientist would not easily understand such things?

  Perhaps, a voice inside said, she had meant to challenge his thinking.

  For now, he had more immediate concerns. From the moment he had seen Elspeth again, sitting at the bottom of the garden hill, he had been well and truly caught. And this evening he had very nearly taken her on wet grass, in darkness, in the midst of a storm. Madness indeed. However blithely the girl wanted compromise, surely she did not mean that way.

  He would honor his obligation and treat its consequences seriously. Staring at the needlework canopy, he felt caught in a knotwork of circumstances of his own making. Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his eyes. He must marry the girl, and soon.

  He had come to Struan to finish the manuscript and attempt to find a Highland fairy bride, ridiculous though it seemed. Elspeth had a decidedly fey nature. That would have to do. The marriage was practical and necessary, serving her needs as well as his own. He would propose in the morning.

  Finally, still unable to rest, he got up, still in shirtsleeves, deciding to go downstairs and read for a while. Fairy lore was certainly soporific.

  Heading for the stairs, he approached the chamber where Elspeth presumably slept. Hearing a light cough, he stopped, and heard soft footsteps. So he was not the only sleepless one on this strange night.

  He tapped on the door. “Miss MacArthur.”

  “Go away,” she answered.

  “You need not open the door. Only listen to me.”

  “Say what you will, then.”

  Resting his head against the door, he tried to compose his words. “What happened tonight has consequences. I am willing to meet them.”

  “Unnecessary.”

  “Miss MacArthur,” he said, exasperated, “I am offering to marry you.” His heart slammed. He had not planned this part of it yet, meant to carefully consider. But fate had put him in this place, this position. He felt a certainty, a strong urge to do this, as if emotion and intuition were swamping logic.

  “Elspeth.” He flattened a hand on the door. Some raw need surged. He wanted this more than he could admit even to himself. “It must be done in such situations.”

  “Must be done,” she repeated. “A pretty devotion.”

  Silence followed. James wished he had waited for morning and a clearer head. “You need time to consider. I understand. We will discuss it tomorrow.” He could hardly tell her that meeting the conditions of Lady Struan’s will was part of his decision. That was even colder than a proposal of marriage based on an obligation.

  “You need not feel obligated,” she said, in that odd way she had of echoing his thoughts. Only his twin, Fiona, did that.

  “I do,” he said. “And I regret what I brought about for you.”

  “I do not regret it. Your offer is appreciated. Thank you.”

  “I intend to compensate for…your compromising.”

  “Let it be our secret. Goodnight, sir.”

  Our secret. The words sent a sudden plunge of desire straight through him, unexpected, enticing. He could not say what he felt—it was jumbled and confusing in his brain, and the passion he felt went against his personal code of keeping himself to himself and others safely distant. Yet he felt compelled. “A clear conscience demands an honorable solution.”

  “Clear conscience? What good union could come of that
beginning? This is best forgotten. A little ruination suits me. Marriage for a lifetime does not.”

  “A little ruination could be a disaster for you. I thought you would rather be ruined than marry the man your grandfather has chosen for you.” At the very notion of her with another man, he closed a fist. “So I thought you might prefer to marry me. It is a better solution than disgrace, and better than marriage to some ogre.”

  “He is not an ogre. He is a reputable tailor with a fine income and a country estate outside Edinburgh.” Through the wood of the door, her voice had a soft intimacy. James leaned close to listen.

  “Then what the devil is wrong with the fellow?” He felt annoyed. Jealous.

  “He does not love me, nor could I love him. He lives in the city, while I intend to stay in the Highlands. And I believe he is more interested in my grandfather’s weaving business than in having me for a wife.”

  “He is a fool.” James closed his eyes.

  “He is not the one for me.”

  “And who,” he said softly, “would that be?”

  “Well, no one now that I am ruined,” she said crisply.

  “You are not ruined, not if I can change it. You would be the new Lady Struan.” The more he spoke, the more he craved this marriage himself. Hope, like some silly, storybook feeling, dawned. If he could convince her, his life—and hers too, he hoped—would improve. “It would benefit both of us. You need protection from scandal now, and a good situation. And I—have need of a wife.”

  “I am sure there are several ladies who would be glad to know that.”

  He wished the door was not between them, but that would lead to other risks. Better to have the barrier. He sighed. “Elspeth. I am not asking any other lady to marry me.”

  “Perhaps you should, and have a wife who would live in the city with you.”

  “Is that the cause of this infernal stubbornness? I must live in the city. I am a lecturer at the university. We could spend summers up here,” he offered.

  She paused. “I cannot leave this glen.”