Page 50 of A Rogue in Firelight
He laughed. “I am a hearty sort. And we have had enough compromise for one day, Ellison Graham.” His eyes were even bluer than the water in the morning sunlight.
She nodded, then emerged from the water, aware that her gown clung to her body. She felt him watching as she pulled at the fabric and stooped to attach the dog’s collar and leash. Finding her shoes and bonnet, she picked up the plaid and glanced back.
He lifted a hand in farewell, then leaned back to float, chest exposed, arms relaxed, hands nimble as he boated himself along.
She left the plaid on the grass for his use, then tugged the dog along, though he wanted to turn back. So did she—how lovely to run back to the water for loch’s cool caress, for the freedom of a little rebellion and laughter on a summer morning, and for the delight of being with Ronan MacGregor.
Enough,she told herself sternly, and hastened toward the house.
*
“My dear, Ihave news,” Lady Strathniven said when Ellison joined her later for tea in the parlor. “I promised your father that I could act as chaperone here, but I need to leave for a short while. I am sorry.”
“Is something wrong?” Ellison asked, glancing up as Ronan MacGregor entered the room. He wore a Highland outfit now rather than the snug black suit of the last few days: a belted plaid of forest green and wine red, a brown jacket and waistcoat, a creamy shirt and neckcloth, along with tartan stockings and leather brogues. Ellison caught her breath at the stunning sight of the man. And she sensed her cheeks burning in renewed embarrassment as she recalled their encounter earlier.
Beside her, Lady Strathniven gasped a little, seeing him, and Ellison smothered a smile that dispelled the distracting image of MacGregor in the water. She had not seen him until now; he had been gone most of the day with Donal and MacNie. Perhaps he avoided her as she had avoided him. Surely he thought her a silly girl with a silly wee dog, though he had been kind about the incident.
“I hope I am not late, my lady. Miss Graham,” he murmured, taking a seat.
“Not at all. What an excellent costume, if I may say, sir,” the lady said.
“Thank you. Donal kindly fetched some of my things from my home.”
“And where is home? Of course you would want your own things.”
“The hills of Glenbrae, and aye, it is good to have my own gear, my lady.”
“We are to call you Lord Darrach now, I understand?” she continued.
“So it seems. But I will answer to whatever you choose.” His smile seemed tight.
“We shall practice using Lord Darrach, shall we, Ellison? It suits him. Now, sir, I was just telling Ellison as you came in,” she continued, “that I had a note from my sister, Mrs. Harold Beaton. She just arrived at Duncraig, her Highland home, for the summer to rest after the stress of organizing her daughter’s wedding last month. Her youngest came up with her—Miss Sorcha Beaton, whom you will remember, Ellison.”
“Aye, a lovely girl. She will debut later this year in Edinburgh, I think.”
“She will, yes. My sister’s son, Archibald, may come up later. But he is a busy man. He is a judge, you see, Darrach.”
“How nice to have family nearby,” he said politely. Ellison noticed a muscle bouncing in his cheek. She frowned, wondering if the mention of a judge troubled him.
“Beth’s wedding in Edinburgh was wonderful. I was good friends with her in school, sir,” Ellison said. “I feel like an older sister to Sorcha, who is sixteen now.”
“Nearly that, and her Mama is planning the girl’s debut—another stress. You see, Darrach, I have two nieces and two nephews, the children of my sisters,” the lady explained. “My youngest sister was Adam Corbie’s mother. Foolish girl eloped with a reprobate. Both she and her husband are gone now, and I shall not speak ill of the dead.” She sniffed. “I have kept a watchful eye over Adam, though he spent some of that time away at school. One never knows what influences boys encounter in those places. Which school did you attend, Darrach?”
“A glen school, and Perth Academy. I lived with my uncle in those years.”
“My lady,” Ellison said, hoping to bring the lady’s attention away from probing. “How long will Mrs. Beaton and Miss Sorcha be at Duncraig?”
“My sister is undecided, although she asked if Sorcha could return to Edinburgh with me for the festivities. There will be an exodus from the Highlands to the city in a few weeks. Well, to my point,” she went on. “I am invited to visit Duncraig. My sister has a nervous constitution and I am a calming influence on her. But I gave my word to be here with you, Ellison. So I am torn.”
“You must visit Duncraig, my lady. Mrs. Barrow and the MacNies are here, the servants too. And Mr. Mac—Darrach and I will be busy with the work to be done.”
Lady Strathniven tipped her head to consider MacGregor. “Sir, my instinct says you are a true gentleman. But propriety, and Sir Hector, insist on a chaperoning presence. I have a thought!” She turned to Ellison. “I will ask Sorcha to come here as your companion. She could be such a help to you.”
“I would love to see her.” A little qualm went through her. She cared about Sorcha, but was intrigued by the thought of more freedom in MacGregor’s company.
“MacNie will take my note directly to Duncraig today. The post takes so long now to go back and forth,” she complained.
“Sorcha is welcome, though I do not need a chaperone these days.” She felt another blush rise, the tell-tale curse of her delicate skin.
