Page 41 of Laird of Twilight
“Lord Struan,” she said with a touch of coolness. Now that she saw him, she was not sure how to react. She thought he might feel the same. “The weather has improved some. I can return home this morning.”
“Aye, but not on foot. I will drive you as soon as the roads dry enough to allow it. I have walked about some—the roads appear to be deuced muddy at the moment, but we will see how the day develops. Stay as long as you like.” His smile was shy, quick, somehow heart-wrenching.
“I should go.” She glanced away. “Have you seen to the animals already?”
“All is well. I may be a city lad now, but I know something of country life. Most of the animals here are on the home farm in the glen, but there are a few in a byre here. I saw one of the grooms—he came up briefly to see to the animals, as he had promised. The cow gave no milk this morning. Frightened by the storm, he thought.”
“Or the Fey.”
He tipped a brow but made no direct comment. “Mrs. MacKimmie keeps some chickens here. There were a few eggs this morning. The lad and I split them.” He put his hands into his pockets, displayed four brown eggs, pocketed them again. “We can have breakfast.”
“I had hot chocolate and a little toast already, thank you for that. A bit more would be lovely.” She turned to walk toward the house alongside of him.
“Quite welcome. I am not a bad hand in the kitchen for basics, being a bachelor and used to scant household staff in my own home—in Edinburgh. How is the ankle this morning?” He glanced down as she limped along. His own gait had the slight rhythm that seemed a part of him. “You’re in no condition to walk home, though you seem anxious to escape Struan House and its laird.”
“I do not want to escape. But I must not be here alone with you.”
“Unless, Miss MacArthur, we change our status.”
She said nothing. In silence, they followed the path toward the kitchen door. The soft rain lessened, and in the pale morning light, the ground was beset with puddles and runnels of water. Elspeth went carefully, now and then accepting Struan’s assistance. He was right—it was clear she could not walk home. He would have to drive her, and she would have to wait on the roads, and his whim, for that.
“Halloo! Halloo, my lord!”
Elspeth turned, as he did too, to see two men walking along a road toward the house. “Who is that?” Struan asked. “MacKimmie and the grooms are gone.”
One man wore a kilt, jacket, and dark bonnet, with a plaid over his shoulder. The other was dressed in a black suit and black hat. Elspeth felt her stomach sink.
“Mr. Buchanan and his son,” she explained. “The elder Buchanan is a smith, and his son is kirk minister down the glen.” She stopped, and Struan did too. “When they see us together, they will make their own conclusions, and the news will travel quickly. Those two do not guard their tongues well, nor do their wives.”
“Even a minister? Well, then. Let us meet our fate.” Struan took her arm to escort her toward the stile in the stone fence that curved over the meadow.
“Och, it’s the new laird!” said the older man. “And Miss MacArthur!”
She smiled. “Good morning to you both! Lord Struan, may I present Mr. Willie Buchanan, a blacksmith in the glen. And his son, the Reverend John Buchanan.”
“Good to meet you,” Struan said, shaking their hands. Looking like old and younger twins, the Buchanans tipped their hats to both.
“A fine soft day.” The elder Buchanan smiled. “After a wild night.”
“Aye.” Struan nodded. “Let us hope the rain clears soon.”
“The clouds are thick yet, and dark, see there, over the mountains to the west. More rain to come,” Willie Buchanan pronounced. “Sir, do you have any metals gone to rust in this weather, you be sure to send for me.”
“I will,” Struan promised.
“I meant to come sooner to welcome you to the glen, sir,” said the reverend, “but for the puir weather and my parish duties. What a surprise to find you here, Miss MacArthur,” he continued. “I thought you would be working your loom at Kilcrennan, all snug by the fireside.”
“I—ah—I went to visit my cousin, near here,” she stammered.
“We stopped by Kilcrennan just this morning to see if all was well after the storm, and Peggy Graham said you were away to Margaret Lamont’s house. She was concerned for you, in the bad rain.”
“We thought to go to Margaret’s house to see that that all was right and good there, but the roads are that muddy,” said the elder Buchanan. “Not safe that way.”
She drew a breath. “I did set out for Margaret’s house, but the storm made that very difficult. Lord Struan, ah, came to my assistance.”
“Did he now.” The elder narrowed his eyes. “What sort of assistance?”
“A dry roof, a fireside, and the offer of an escort home,” Struan said smoothly. “May I offer you hospitality, gentlemen?”
