Page 7 of Laird of Twilight
“Charmed,” Struan said, taking Lucie’s gloved hand first, then turned to Elspeth. Offering her gloved fingers, she looked up.
Breathless indeed. He seemed, suddenly, a stern warrior angel standing before her in a shaft of golden sunlight, compelling, beautiful, glinting with light. But then that frown, cool and reserved. But under the dark, lightly frowning brows, his eyes were the blue of a summer sky.
“Miss MacArthur.” His voice was deep, harmonic, comforting amid the noise in the room. “Kilcrennan? That sounds familiar.”
“Miss MacArthur’s grandfather, Donal MacArthur, owns Kilcrennan Weavers,” John supplied.
“Ah. I know the place and the name. Excellent cloth, I understand. Sir John, I would be glad to include your sister and cousin with my party while you look after your mother. If the ladies do not mind,” Struan added, inclining his head. “I hope Lady Graham feels better soon.”
“Thank you, Struan, I shall take you up on the offer.” John nodded and took polite leave of them.
“We appreciate this so much, Lord Struan,” Lucie said. “It is very exciting to be here. King George is the first British monarch to visit Scotland since Charles the Second, they say,” she continued in an overly bright manner, fanning herself. “I do wonder how long it will be before we are admitted to the reception room.”
“Not long, I imagine,” Struan answered. “The crowd seems to have moved forward an entire inch in the past hour.” Elspeth smiled, listening.
“We have been waiting simply hours,” Lucie said, “first in that awful line of carriages—miles long, it was—and then these dreadful crowds in the palace rooms. We have been here nearly all day. But soon we shall have an introduction and our kisses.”
Elspeth blinked. “Kisses?” She glanced at Struan, could not help it. The viscount was watching her with those cool blue eyes.
“Each lady being introduced receives the king’s kiss of courtesy,” Lucie said.
“Are we expected to swoon when that happens?” Elspeth said dryly.
“Only if you feel so moved, Miss MacArthur,” Struan drawled. He offered an arm to each of them. As Elspeth took his left elbow, she noticed that he carried a cane, as did many fashionable men, now hooked over his right elbow. As they walked, she sensed he favored his left leg. Unlike many, he genuinely required the cane’s assistance. She frowned, wondering at the cause of it.
Suddenly she knew. As she lightly touched his arm, she saw in her mind an image of men running, falling. Saw smoke drifting over a field, explosions in the distance. The images faded, and she gasped. “Oh—the war—”
Struan looked down. “Miss MacArthur? Pardon, I did not hear what you said.”
“Nothing,” she said, flushing with embarrassment. Lucie looked over at her, puzzled, but Elspeth glanced away. Though she had known Lucie all her life, her city cousin knew little about her gift of Sight. Lucie had a good heart and a practical head, and never seemed very curious about unusual things, nor had Elspeth ever wanted to share something so private, so precious to her.
Struan guided them toward an elderly woman standing with two young women, all silk and feathers, elegance and hauteur. Two gentlemen stood with them, one in somber black, the other in a red Highland belted plaid, jacket, bonnet, and stockings, all in various patterns.
Struan made quick introductions. “My great-aunt, Lady Rankin of Kelso. My sister, Miss Fiona MacCarran, and our friend, Miss Charlotte Sinclair,” he said of the women. He turned to the young man beside his sister. “My brother, Dr. William MacCarran. And this is Sir Philip Rankin of Kinrankin. May I introduce Miss Elspeth MacArthur and Miss Lucie Graham.”
“Pleased,” Lady Rankin said, not sounding so. She was tall and buxom in brown silk trimmed in flounces, the skirt filled out by the hoops that court dress used to require, and some still satisfied in their dress. Her white-plumed headdress made the lady look like an eight-foot-tall ostrich, Elspeth thought. Feeling a pale mouse beside her in silver blue, Elspeth lifted her chin and smiled.
Struan and his brother were impeccably but severely dressed in black and cream, without a hint of thistle, heather, plaid or anything Scottish about them, in great contrast to Sir Philip’s Highland excess. Elspeth noticed that Fiona MacCarran wore deep gray satin trimmed in black. Mourning, she thought. She tilted her head, wondering who had passed away that the three siblings looked so somber amid all the festive color and display.
Ah, Lady Struan, she remembered, having heard of it from her grandfather, who had been acquainted with the elderly lady of that estate. The older woman had passed away in the spring. Surely she was related to Lord Struan and his siblings.Grandmother,the word came to her then, although she did not recall hearing about any of Lady Struan’s kin.
“Where is Kilcrennan located, Miss MacArthur?” Lady Rankin asked.
“Close to the Trossachs Mountains, madam, in the Highlands,” she replied.
“Oh yes. We hope to travel there to visit my nephew at his estate,” Lady Rankin said. “We intend to tour Loch Katrine while we are there, and also see other places described in Sir Walter Scott’s poetry. They say the views are magnificent.”
“You will find it very beautiful up there,” Elspeth agreed.
“I was not aware you plan to travel north, Aunt,” Struan said.
”Did I neglect to mention it? Yes. So exciting. The Highlands are marvelous to behold, I hear. I have persuaded Miss Sinclair to accompany me, and possibly Fiona as well. Sir Philip, or even your cousin Nicholas, may travel with us.”
“Fiona,” Struan said to his sister. “If our lady aunt travels north, you must come with her.” Elspeth detected a subtle note in his voice, something between them.
“I shall certainly try,” Fiona MacCarran replied.
“Do you know the area well, Miss MacArthur?” Struan asked then.
