Page 26 of Laird of Twilight
“The people of peace, in Gaelic. The fairy folk. The caves and hills in this glen are their special territory. Do geologists take into account otherworldly creatures who might inhabit the subterranean earth?” She smiled.
“Not if they value their reputations.” He sat forward. “I suppose I should mention that I have agreed to work on my grandmother’s book about fairy lore. Perhaps—I wonder if you could help me better understand her work.”
She shrugged. The thought excited her, but she did not let on. “Your study of rocks here might surprise you. Fairies are everywhere on Struan lands.” She felt a bit mischievous.And sitting before you,she thought,if family lore is to be believed.
“I do not believe such nonsense, but I promised to work on her final book, and I will honor it. What can you tell me about this fairy riding custom?”
“They ride out at this time of year especially. They may also be seen at the time-between-times, when the curtain between our world and theirs is very thin—dawn, twilight, midnight, mist, and so on.”
He tapped his fingers on the table, thoughtful. “At times when visibility is poor enough to allow for tricks of the eye and mind. I see.”
“I think you do not see,” she murmured. “But you could if you wanted to.”
He quirked a brow. “Well, the custom has frightened the living wits out of my staff. Between the banshee in the foyer, the ghosts in the house, the fairies in the garden, two new maidservants packed up in haste and left for Edinburgh. They could not get away fast enough.”
“Southrons.” She laughed. “Highlanders do not mind such things.”
“The Highland staff has left too. I understand they all avoid Struan House and the glen this time of year.”
“No one wants to be taken by the Fey. They ride through these lands around the same time each year. You and I should not be here either.” She glanced at him.
“I am not intimidated by such fancies.” He smiled, so warm and genuine that she felt herself relax. “I suppose you are an expert on this, being part fairy yourself.”
Elspeth nearly spit out her tea. “What do you mean?”
“One of the housemaids must have seen you in the garden this afternoon, because she claimed she saw a fairy there. She departed in a hurry.”
“Me? I was not there then, unless the housemaid looked just before you came outside. Perhaps it was one of the Struan fairies.” She frowned. Was it possible?
“It must have been you, or someone else. Such stories are part and parcel of folklore, but there is often an explanation. By the way, Lady Struan mentioned your grandfather in her notes. She respected his knowledge of local traditions. I thought it would be useful to speak with him myself.”
“About your grandmother’s book, or about the fact that I spent a night at Struan House?” She twisted her mouth awry.
He huffed a laugh. “Perhaps both, Miss MacArthur.”
Elspeth laughed too. Sitting here with him so peacefully, sharing a meal while the rain lashed the windows, she felt good. She liked him, she realized. Quite a bit, in fact. His intelligence, his wit, even his stubbornness and skepticism were intriguing.
She stood, feeling herself begin to blush again. “The dishes need cleaning. I will do it.” She carried her bowl to the worktable, limping, while Struan stood and brought the rest over. He limped a bit too, but neither of them remarked on it.
As he fetched water from a kettle for the washbowl, Elspeth began to clean the tea things. Struan did his best to help, although she suspected he had rarely done such chores before. Soon the dishes were cleaned and set away, and Struan took the lamp from the pine table.
“I’d best close up the house. There are no servants here to attend to it.”
“A Highland laird sees to the shutting of his own house, regardless of servants. Even in fine Highland houses, it is the laird’s responsibility to bolt the doors.”
“Then I am being a good Highland laird tonight. I hope locking up is custom rather than necessity in this glen.”
“We have not had cattle raiders or feuding clans for two generations or more. There are whisky smugglers in the hills, but they stay to themselves even while they bring their goods along the lochs and rivers to the sea.”
“And we all benefit from their work by cover of night, I suspect.”
She smiled briefly, then paused. “What disturbs the peace of any house in this glen is not locked out by bolts, unless they be of iron.”
“Iron keeps the fairies away.” He nodded. “Or so I have read.”
“Unless there is iron, if the wildfolk want to come in, they will find a way.”
He chuckled softly. She knew he thought all of this harmless superstition, and she found his practical approach interesting, wholly masculine, and a bit of a challenge. She tilted her head, wondering. Standing in that cozy kitchen within arm’s reach of him, she felt again a sense of ease and comfort. She did not want this night to end.
