Page 58 of Laird of Twilight
“I have offered. But she seems determined to refuse.”
“A stubborn lass. And young, several years younger than yourself, I vow. Even a few years’ time makes a difference in the way we see life, hey? But soon she turns twenty-one, and—” He stopped. “Well. The fairies have won, what’s done is done.”
The weaver had imbibed too much, too quickly, James thought and was speaking in riddles and delusions. “She is not old, and far from a spinster.” For quite a young woman, he realized, she had an evolved wisdom and charming perspective on life that many women years old lacked.
“She would not mind spinsterhood, that one. But it is time Elspeth wed. She would be a fine wife for any man. For you.” Donal sipped again, then leaned toward James. “Lord Struan, I went to Edinburgh to talk to a respected tailor there about taking Elspeth’s hand. But when I spoke with him, I did not like him so well as before. Now I am looking at you and I am telling myself, ‘Ah, this is the lad for wee Elspeth!’”
James returned MacArthur’s gaze steadily, not sure how to answer.
“Good then,” the man said. “What is it you teach, even though you are a wealthy lord?”
“Geology, sir,” James said. He must divest the older man of the opinion of his wealth. Later for that, when Donal was sober. “The study of rocks. Of the earth.”
“Good! You can help us find the gold.” He raised his glass. “You are the one.”
“I would be glad to help you search for gold, if any can be found in these hills. Some areas of the Highlands do have veins of gold running through the rock.” He had sampled enough of the so-called fairy brew; his head was buzzing. He looked askance at the potent stuff remaining in his glass. “My grandmother wrote about legends of fairy gold in Scotland.”
“We have a legend of fairy treasure in this very glen,” MacArthur said. “Let me tell you—ah, Elspeth!” He looked up.
Seeing Elspeth in the doorway, James stood quickly. “Miss MacArthur.”
“Lord Struan.” She approached, still limping slightly. He offered her his wing chair, and she sat, gray skirts settling around her, feet crossed at the ankle. He slid a footstool toward her, and she rested her foot there, revealing a glimpse of narrow black slippers and a hint of white stockings.
“Struan is a fine man to give you his seat, and a wee stool for the foot,” MacArthur said.
“He is,” Elspeth said, smoothing her skirts, not looking up.
Hiding a smile, for he was just happy, suddenly, to be near her, James leaned against the mantelpiece. The whisky made him feel mellow, warm, content. He might even believe in fairies for the moment—he could easily imagine Elspeth as their queen, with her delicate bones, her impish lips, her crystal-gray eyes, dark lashes sweeping over pink cheeks. He wanted to touch her shoulder, her silken dark hair, bound and braided with ribbons.
She glanced up at him then—and he saw she was not the least content.
“Ellie, have some of Dougal MacGregor’s fairy brew,” MacArthur said. “‘Twill take the pain from your foot. Oh. Did I say—wait, I do not know his name,” he mumbled.
“Your kinsman’s name is safe with me, sir,” James reassured him.
“I like your lairdie,” MacArthur told Elspeth. “Will you have the brew, lass?”
“A bit, thank you. A swallow—aye, enough,” Elspeth said as her grandfather poured. “I hope you warned Lord Struan about this particular brew. It is strong.”
“Och, he’s done well, had a dram and a bit, and no sign of weakness. ‘We are na fou,’” he quoted, raising his glass. “’Well, nae that fou–’”
“‘But just a drappie in our ee,’” James joined in, completing the Burns line and lifting his glass in salute.
MacArthur boomed a laugh. “Ellie, marry this lad, do!”
“Aye, Ellie, do,” James echoed softly, feeling more comfortable by the moment. He liked this place, these people, so very well. And their lovely whisky had loosened his usual restraint, for he rather thought now that he unequivocally loved the daughter of this place. Loved her. He raised the glass again in another small salute that only Elspeth saw.
“Away wi’ you,” she murmured, with a little smile that melted his heart further.
“Never,” he mouthed, and his heart pounded hard within.Never.Surely it was the whisky. And yet, oh, he meant it.Loved her.The thought near overwhelmed him.
“Beware the fairy brew, James MacCarran, Lord Struan,” she said.
“Beware the wee fairy herself,” he whispered. She laughed, shook her head, and glanced at her grandfather. Donal was fiddling intently with his cravat and seemed oblivious to the exchange between the two young people.
“It’s late, Grandda,” Elspeth said. “Our guest will want an early start.”
“Women always come up with practical notions when there are good topics to explore and good whisky in the glass,” MacArthur complained. “First let me tell Struan about the fairy gold. He must know the truth of it.”
