Page 66 of Laird of Twilight
“She has arranged to teach at a Gaelic school, and she was eager to see you before she goes there. She has her own legal requirement to fulfill, as do we all, with Grandmother’s will.” Patrick glanced at James. “Any progress, sir?”
“Huh,” James said with a half-laugh. He could never explain the whole of it. “I am learning a good deal about fairy lore. But I have not found a fairy bride, if that is what you mean.”
“I imagine they are not thick upon the ground.” They reached the stone pier gates along the drive leading to the house. “What if you do not find such a bride?”
He sighed. “Then I will have to sell Struan House. It’s mine to do with as I please. We can divide the profits and no longer pursue this fairy nonsense.”
“But you would lose the property,” Patrick said. “Our grandparents loved this place. The house and estate are as much our family legacy as the inheritance.”
“We may have no choice,” James said curtly. “Fairy brides are scarce.” And deucedly unwilling, he thought.
“Selling would solve the financial problem. But we could lose rest to Eldin if we do not meet the will. We cannot let that happen.”
Ahead, the vehicle stopped by the entrance, and Lord Eldin stepped down. Dressed in black from head to foot, he lifted his haughty, handsome head to survey the house and immediate grounds.
“Perhaps Mr. Browne can interpret the will more liberally,” James said.
“I doubt it,” Patrick said. “Jamie, you cannot imagine what it is like to spend several hours in a coach with Lord Raven, over there. The man is cold as ice. Not a whit of humor or warmth. It’s as if someone plucked the heart out of him. I do not remember him being like that as a lad. He was a pleasant fellow when we were young, a good and hardy companion.”
“He was.” James had nearly forgotten the early years. But he would never forget the betrayals that he and his family had suffered since. He strode forward, determined to act the host and laird of Struan. Highland hospitality dictated courtesy no matter the guest. “Gentlemen, this way, if you please,” he said.
As they entered the house, James thought of Patrick’s words.It’s as if someone plucked the heart out of him.In a way, James felt like that himself. It came from hurt, he realized. He wondered if he would grow as unfeeling as Eldin one day.
A shout from Angus MacKimmie caught his attention. James turned to see the ghillie pointing toward the road, where a second landau approached. He waited until it entered the drive, then walked forward to meet it.
The driver opened the door of the coach, and Sir Philip stepped out first with a mumbled greeting and handshake. He and James assisted the ladies to disembark.
“James!” Lady Rankin exclaimed as he helped her step down. “How good to see you. What dreadful roads. My spine shall not be the same. Look who is with me!”
Fiona stepped out, placing her gloved hand in her brother’s, her smile quick and bright, her kiss on his cheek sweet and welcome. As she moved aside, James looked up.
Charlotte Sinclair stepped out, twitching the pale skirts that fell beneath a red spencer, her blond hair neat under a straw hat tied with matching ribbons. She smiled and stretched out her hand. “Dear James, how I’ve missed you!”
“Miss Sinclair,” James said coolly. “How good to see you. Welcome to Struan House.”
Charlotte took his arm, smiling, but James thought of Elspeth as they walked to the house. He keenly missed her.
* * *
Later, while they enjoyed Mrs. MacKimmie’s excellent luncheon of cold lamb and butter-mashed turnips, James listened while his great-aunt explained her plans in excruciating detail. The woman scarcely took a breath as she spoke, despite repeated attempts by others to speak as well.
“Miss Sinclair has the headache and would like lunch in her room,” Lady Rankin told Mrs. MacKimmie for likely the third time. “Send a tray to her, please.”
“Aye, Madam, we’ve seen to it,” Mrs. MacKimmie answered, quietly directing two housemaids, who offered dishes around the table.
“James, I want you to find us a local guide,” Lady Rankin said next. He nodded, accepting a piece of lamb and a spoonful of rowan jelly. “Sir Walter Scott planned to join us on our trip, but he was unable at the last moment, a prior obligation. I am very disappointed. He would have been a superb guide on our journey through the Trossachs. His poem is set there, you know,The Lady of the Lake—”
“I know, Aunt,” James said. “I will ask if—”
“—although he gave us a most excellent travelogue for the area, written out in his own hand. Fiona has it—you did remember it, dear?”
“I have it, Aunt,” Fiona said, reached into her reticule to produce a folded letter. She opened it to reveal a page densely covered in handwriting that filled every available space on the page. James leaned toward his sister to study it.
“We are so excited to see Loch Katrine, which Scott described in his poem,” Lady Rankin said. “Lady Murray told me at tea last week that the views are simply breathtaking up there. Fiona, do bring your sketchbook so that later we may all enjoy pictures of our trip.”
“I will, Aunt.”
“Very good,” Eldin said. “The area is quite popular with tourists. In fact, I plan to open an inn over in the next glen. I’ve purchased an old castle to refurbish it.”
