Page 20 of Laird of Secrets
“And the smuggler called the Laird—is that you?”
“I am laird of this glen,” he said stubbornly, jaw set, brows lowering.
“But you hid, and your kinsmen lied to protect you. Why do that?”
“For your protection more than mine. Some revenue officers are worse scoundrels than the men they chase.” He took her arm, and she felt earnestness in him, and intensity. “My kinsmen and tenants will not harm you, I promise. But other rascals come through these hills, so be wary. If word gets out that your kinsman is an excise man, it could go badly for you as well as your brother. It is not in your best interest to speak of it. And it is not in anyone’s interest for you to stay in this glen.”
“I only arrived today, and already I have been hauled about in most uncommon fashion, threatened with pistols and—and—” She paused. “My brother wants me to leave too, and—”
“Your brother is wise. Listen to him.”
“—and now the laird of the glen wants me to go too! I came here through arrangement with the Edinburgh Ladies Society for the Education and Betterment of the Gaels. And I agreed—”
“The what?”
She repeated the name. He huffed a laugh. “It is not amusing,” she said. “I made a promise. I agreed to teach until summer. School begins soon, and I cannot leave.” She lifted her chin. “I will not leave.”
He set a hand to her shoulder. Again Fiona felt a warm, indefinable magic flow from his touch into her. It had overtaken her earlier and melted reason and resistance. He bent his head. For a moment she thought he might kiss her again. Her head tilted back, her body waited.
“Best you go, lass,” he said softly. “I will speak to the reverend myself. In the morning, I will send a gig and driver to take you to Auchnashee. If there are expenses for your return to Edinburgh, I will cover them myself. You may keep the rocks,” he added.
“You have neither right nor cause to dismiss me.”
“It is for your own welfare that I do.”
“Only Reverend MacIan can excuse me.” She stepped past him, growing angry now. She could not leave the glen. Already she felt drawn to the place—and its laird. Nor could she explain that she was also here to satisfy her grandmother’s last requests. “I am no threat to your smuggling interests, if that is your worry.” She spun away to walk toward the house.
“Miss MacCarran, wait. Fiona, wait.” Spoken in that deep, mellow voice, her name sounded beautiful, soft, magical. She turned. He took her arm.
In the misty twilight, as he loomed over her, all else faded away. Wildly, impulsively, she felt transfixed, as if he were indeed one of the Sidhe. “Listen to me, lass,” he said. “This is not the time for you to be here. Trust me.”
“I will not speak about what happened this evening. We have a bargain. That should satisfy your doubt.”
“Never bargain with the fairies, they say.”
“So you said before. What do you mean?”
He bent toward her, and her head went back. “Damn,” he muttered, and straightened as a woman’s voice cut through the fog.
“Is that you, Miss MacCarran? Who is that with you?” Mary MacIan’s voice broke the spell that held Fiona rooted in place. She glanced toward the cottage, its door open again, revealing a woman and a glowing hearth in the room.
“Aye, Mrs. MacIan,” Fiona called. “I am just coming.”
“Kinloch here as well, Cousin Mary! I met your guest in the hills, and brought her back.”
“Cousin!” Fiona said as she walked beside him.
“We all know each other, and many are related, as in any glen.”
“Kinloch, you rascal! You as well. Come in, both of you.” Mrs. MacIan beckoned and stood back. “Did you bring me a cask? Lovely lad! Is it the fairy sort this time?”
“Just the usual sort,” he answered.
Fiona looked up, curious. “The fairy sort of what?”
“Whisky,” he murmured. “A secret brew.”
“I want nothing to do with it,” she said, head high, and hurried ahead of him.
