Page 86 of Laird of Secrets
“Yet I may do it.” Quickly, quietly, she told him about Lady Struan’s will, how it made unique requests of Fiona and her brothers regarding fairies and other conditions in order to release the inherited funds. “I am to make drawings of fairies for the book my brother is finishing, which our grandmother began. I came to the glen for that.”
“Drawings? That is not so bad. Why this glen in particular?”
She shook her head. “No reason. The Edinburgh Ladies’ Society sent me here to Glen Kinloch, so I thought being here might help me meet—some of the obligations.”
“I see. There are other conditions?” His voice was graveled, wary.
“My drawings are to be judged for their genuineness by Sir Walter Scott.”
“Your drawings would please anyone, including such a fine gentleman as that.” There was a new wariness in him as he watched her.
“There is another condition.” She looked away. “I am instructed, and expected, to find a Highland husband.”
“We could solve that,” he murmured.
She twisted her hands together. “The clause stipulates that I am to marry a wealthy, titled Highlander.”
“Ah.” He stepped back.
Her heart sank at his caution and coolness. “Wealth takes all forms,” she said.
“The will refers to only one form, I think.” He took another step back.
“You offer so much—this beautiful glen, the loyalty of kin and friends, even the rare secret of fairy whisky. What you offer is a different kind of wealth. The best sort, and it has far more meaning than material wealth.” She glanced up then, hopeful. But his eyes were dark green. Stormy.
“Regardless, whatever I offer will not win you your inheritance.”
She sighed. “I cannot meet all of the conditions. It is impossible.”
“You can if you marry someone else,” he said. Fiona lowered her head, but felt his gaze upon her. “And make a few drawings.”
He leaned over the table and picked up the Conte pencil. A stroke here, there, and as Fiona watched the drawing sparked to life under his deft hand. Whatever was missing, he provided before her eyes. “There,” he said softly. “Now she looks a little like you. Beautiful. That was what you needed to add. The resemblance. Your own magic.” He set the pencil down. Stepped back again.
“Dougal—” Fiona stretched out her hand.
He went to the door, turned back. “Only you can decide what is best for you and your family. I cannot tell you what to do. I only know what I want. The rest you must sort for yourself.”
“Please,” she said, standing, hands trembling.
“As for me,” he said, gripping the latch, “whatever happens, my life will not change. Life in the glen goes on every day. Hearts endure somehow. I learned that well, years ago.” He opened the door, stepped out, shut it behind him.
She ran to the door, opened it, but he was gone, vanished in shadows. Closing it, she leaned her head against the wood.Hearts endure somehow.She knew he had learned that lesson after his father’s death, when he had never thought to be happy again in his life. She had learned the same after Archie’s death. For eight years, her heart had simply endured.
But she wanted to be happy now, and desperately wanted Dougal to be happy too. Yet if she chose to stay, chose a simple, loving, adventurous life in the glen, her choice could set her brothers up for ruin.
Since she had come to Glen Kinloch, the impossible had happened. She had seen a fairy, and had found love with a Highland laird whose wealth was his offer of love and a good life—if he would have her now. And while falling in love with a poor laird was all she desired, it would not satisfy the will.
And the inheritance would go to Nicholas MacCarran, Lord Eldin.
Hearing a whimper, Fiona looked down to see Maggie beside the door, pawing at it. Fiona opened it. “Go on, go after him, he will allow that from you,” she murmured as the dog dashed off. Fiona longed to run through the darkness to find the laird, too. Instead she shut the door and went to the table.
Her drawing was beautiful now, after the delicate touches Dougal had made. But as she sat and looked at it, a tear dropped on the paper, smudging the pencil lead.
She knew her only choice. Her siblings depended on her to fulfill her part of the agreement. And Kinloch himself had made it clear that he could, and he would, exist without her. She had to leave Glen Kinloch.
Chapter 17
“The game is going well,” Fergus said, even as someone shoved hard against him. He shoved back, his face reddening. “Very well!”
