Page 81 of Keeping Kate
Now he felt as if he walked toward his fate, even his doom. He did not want to leave Kate, but he knew the time had come to either bring her with him or leave on his own. She had refused to marry him, and pride would not allow him to ask again.
This was all for the best, he thought. If she came with him to Edinburgh, he would have to deliver her to court, and could not guarantee her safety after that.
Though the month had turned to October, every room he passed seemed to have fresh flowers –vases of marigolds, daisies, lavender fronds, even pots of forced tulips, all in bloom. Their fragrances refreshed the air, and he felt himself feeling more calm, more at home and welcome here, despite the interview that awaited him.
He did not want to go. Duncrieff had a kind of magic, he realized. He felt it everywhere, as if it was an enchanted palace, an elusive Otherworldly place, where magic pervaded the air like light or music.
Perhaps it was just the peaceful atmosphere of a home filled with love. He had certainly sensed that from Kate’s sister, Sophie. Though she lived at Glendoon with her husband, a MacPherson, she spent equal time at Duncrieff, so she had said. No wonder Kate had been so desperate to return to Duncrieff Castle. Their home was truly a haven.
Reaching the drawing room, having followed Mary’s directions, he hesitated. Then he drew a long breath and turned the doorknob.
The room was empty, he saw immediately. He had half-expected to face an angry young chief and a phalanx of brute Highland warriors, all waiting for him.
Filled with morning sunshine, the room was large and lovely, filled with polished wood and creamy tones, soft Aubusson carpets, the furnishings blending dark Jacobean with lighter French styles. A delicately painted harpsichord stood in a corner. Tall windows pierced the far wall, framing a view of a stone veranda and gardens that swept out to forest and foothills beyond.
He strolled through the room to look more closely at the breathtaking view. Beyond the veranda were flower beds and rose arbors, a fountain, a hedge maze, orchards of fruit trees. He could see for miles toward heathery hills and the ridge of mountains that surrounded the long glen. Duncreiff Castle sat above it like a benevolent and elegant queen watching over all.
Glancing about, he saw a curious object on a large, carved sideboard—a glass bell jar that protected a golden goblet. He walked toward it.
The thing was beautiful and looked ancient, made of hammered gold banded in silver, its surface etched with swirling knot designs, its rim set with small crystals. He leaned forward to peer more closely.
“The Fairy Cup of Duncrieff,” Kate said behind him.
“Ah,” he said smoothly, though his heart pounded hard. “Of course. I have heard something of the legends of Duncrieff.” He glanced at her.
She stood in the doorway that led to the gardens, a fey creature with sunshine behind her all in a glow. Suddenly her fairy ancestry seemed very real. As she walked toward him, she seemed ethereal in a gown of silvery gray damask, the snug bodice and elbow sleeves trimmed in falls of lace, bodice and wide skirts revealing a floral underdress. Her hair was tamed beneath a lace cap; her earlobes held tiny pearl drops. Elegant, lovely, she did not look like the hellion he had dragged or followed over the hills. She was every bit the beautiful creature he had met in king’s court months ago.
She came to his side, avoiding his glance. “The wife of the first laird of Duncrieff left this to her family. She was a Green Lady.”
He tilted his head. “A ghost?”
“Not that sort of Green Lady. She was a princess of the tall and beautiful race of fairies who lived in the forests of Scotland long ago, in the time of the mists, they say.”
He nodded. “This was her cup?”
“She commissioned it from fairy goldsmiths of fairy gold from the hills of Glen Carran. So they say.”
“Ah. Tell me about it.”
“Long before this castle was here, she came to Duncrieff with a MacCarran who rescued her from a river torrent. He nursed her back to health and fell in love with her, and she became his wife and the mother of their three sons.” She looked only at the cup. “One day, she went back into the forest, returning to her kind, to the green places where she was born. Her need for freedom, in the way of the fairies, was so strong that it overcame her love for her human family. She had to leave, could not stay.”
“I see,” he murmured. “Wild blood.”
“Leaving them broke her heart, but her nature was fey and wild. If she remained, she would have withered away. But she left gifts for them.”
“This cup?”
“The cup and more. She gave them fairy magic through her blood, shared through every generation of Duncrieff MacCarrans. Her sons inherited different abilities, and those came down to others. Now and then, a MacCarran is born with one of the gifts of fairy. It might be healing, or the Sight, or a form of the glamourie—the gift bedazzling, or charming,” she added.
“And what of the cup?”
“It holds the magic, so tradition says. Those born with fairy talent are given a crystal from the rim to wear all their life. The stones enhance the power. So they say.”
He nodded. “Your sister has a necklace similar to yours. She has a gift too?”
“Things grow around her,” she said. “The gardens here are her work. She has been restoring them at Duncrieff and Glendoon. And she’s increasing herself and would like several children, she says. That is a gift of growth too.” She smiled.
“Very much. She is very like you, lovely and charming. I see the magic in both of you.” Strange, he thought, how readily he was accepting the fairy stories of the MacCarrans, though previously he had not believed such things.
