Page 77 of Laird of Secrets
“Difficult to manage, I imagine.” He looked at her steadily, wondering at her family tradition. “Even to me it seems impossible, and at the least would not encourage the continuance of generations.”
“Indeed.” She stared up at him, her graceful fingers folded together, her beautiful eyes gray-blue in the shadows. “Very hard to manage.”
“It might interest you to know,” he murmured, heart beginning to pound, “that I have a bit of fairy blood.”
“Do you?” She blushed deeply. He watched it flow into her cheeks.
“So they say.”
“That is interesting. And not surprising, I suppose.” She cleared her throat.
“My guess is that you have more than a slight trace of fairy blood yourself, judging by the way the fairy whisky took you.”
She lifted her brows. “Because I claim to see lights, and—the woman?”
“Because you did see the lights, and the lady as well. I believe you.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded. “They say the fairy whisky only affects those with fairy blood in their veins. So you must have the wildness of the Fey in your blood. Otherwise, you would think it just a very good whisky.”
“These are all just legends,” she said quickly, shrugging.
“Can we ever say for sure what is truth and what is legend?” he asked softly. “What if your reaction to the whisky proves the claim? You knew nothing of the legend, yet you saw something extraordinary. They do say the fairies choose who sees them and who does not. They chose you, lass,” he murmured.
“Perhaps there is another reason they chose me,” she whispered, glancing down. “Well, no matter. Your excellent whisky has worn off. If I drink it again will the lady return? I would so love to see her again.”
“Why?” He smiled, touched by her earnestness and her interest.
“I want to make a drawing of her.”
“You will have to draw her from memory. Even if you drank your fill she might not return. She allowed you to see her, but the Fey are a fickle lot.”
“But you have seen the same lady before?”
“When I was a boy, aye. Or I thought I did.”
“Where do the fairy ilk live in Glen Kinloch? Is there a place we could find?”
“They are everywhere,” he said, straightening. He reached out his hand to her, and she stood. He drew her toward him as he spoke and she moved gently closer. “It is said they dwell peacefully here, but we cannot seek them out. They choose the when and the where of it.”
“Perhaps I came to the right glen after all.”
“Why do you say that? Was it fairies that drew you here, or teaching?”Or this,he nearly said, as he pulled her toward him. The keen awareness that they were alone attuned him further to the desire he felt, and the bond that he sensed growing between them. The impulsive kisses earlier had taken him by storm, and his body still pulsed easily near her. She was damnably distracting, but he wanted to be near her, wanted her close for more than physical reasons. He was increasingly certain that his feelings for her were real and worthy, and would not easily be dismissed.
“Tell me about the fairy woman.” She rested a hand on his arm. “Does she help you make the fairy brew?”
“Fiona.” Setting his hands around her waist, he drew her even closer. She did not resist. “I do not want to talk about fairies.”
“But I want to know. I need to know.”
“I wonder,” he murmured, touching her cheek lightly, “why you are so keen on the fairies of Glen Kinloch.”
“I cannot say, not yet. I am sorry.” She pulled back. “We both have secrets.”
“We should talk of this later. You ought to go upstairs to rest now.”
“My head is still spinning a bit, I admit.”
