Page 34 of A Rogue in Firelight
Strathniven is no longer ours, lad,his father had told him once.But Glenbrae and Invermorie will be yours after I am gone, and your cousin will have Darrach. The two of you must guard the land and tenants.
A task that had proven all but impossible.
“May we speak of this matter later?” she asked. “Mr. MacGregor?”
“What? Aye.” The carriage slowed. “Have MacNie leave me at the servants’ door.”
“You are a guest here,” she said as the coach stopped. “Welcome to Strathniven, Mr. MacGregor. Shall I call you Glenbrae?”
“If you like,” he said, distracted, thoughts racing.
The carriage door opened, and Donal peered inside, tall and thin, black-haired, with the rounded beauty of a young man who would one day grow into handsomeness.
“Miss Ellison,” the lad said, handing her out.
“Donal, this is MacGregor of Glenbrae. He is our guest. Sir, this is Donal Brodie, one of our grooms.”
“Sir.” The lad touched his cap. Ronan nodded in silence, stepping down. Lanky young Donal took the dog from Miss Graham and set the pup on the ground. “I will take Balor to the kitchen and dry him off, Miss.”
“Thank you. Oh, Donal,” she said, turning, “Glenbrae does not have much English. Your Gaelic is good enough for conversation, I think?”
“Gaelic?” The lad’s brows lifted under the dark gloss of his hair, and his whisky-brown eyes widened in surprise. “I know a bit.”
“Good. That will be a help.” She turned for the house.
Ronan waited until she was out of earshot. “Donal Brodie,” he murmured, “you have sprouted since I saw you last.”
“That I have. Welcome back to Perthshire, Uncle.” Donal grinned.
Ronan’s throat tightened. For a moment he could not speak. Then he clapped his brother’s stepson on the shoulder and walked with him toward the entrance.
Chapter Eight
“Welcome, Glenbrae! Weare so pleased you are here!” Lady Strathniven enunciated loudly, her voice echoing in the foyer. Ellison was pleased that Lady Strathniven acted as if she had never seen the man before. But he was not deaf.
MacGregor bowed his head. “My lady, thank you,” he replied in English.
“He speaks English?” Lady Strathniven said, turning to Ellison in surprise.
“A little,” Ellison said as she untied her soggy bonnet.
“Thank you for saving the pup today! Mr. MacNie told me all about your rescue!” As the lady continued to shout, the Highlander smiled amiably.
Ellison translated in Gaelic, though she knew it was unnecessary. Seeing sparks of humor in his blue eyes, she wondered how she had not discerned the truth sooner.
“He seems a nice young man to me.” Lady Strathniven turned to Ellison. “I do not understand the kerfuffle over bringing him here.”
“Please, my lady, may we talk about this later?” Ellison asked.
“Mr. MacNie says the dog likes him very well. Balor’s good opinion is golden.”
“It is. Dear me, I am drenched. I hope we did not track mud over the floor.”
“It can be cleaned. Did you have a nice chat with Glenbrae in the carriage?”
“A bit.” Ellison was keenly aware of the man standing so tall, so close, so attentive.
“You must continue to practice polite conversation with him. It is why we are here.” As the viscountess spoke, Ellison glanced at the Highlander. He cocked a brow.
