Page 38 of Laird of Twilight
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, theDaoine Síthwould 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.”
