Page 99 of A Rogue in Firelight
“None.” His smile was touched with sadness.
“Did you know this might happen? You never mentioned it.”
“I knew it was possible, but had to keep it secret. The ruse that I am Darrach was ironic all along. But I did not expect it entirely, and not so soon.”
“So we can truly call you Darrach and Glenbrae.” She smiled brightly.
He squeezed her hand, then sighed, his dark hair falling over his brow, blue eyes twilight indigo in the candlelight. “In Scotland, only one title may be held at a time. A little detail imposed by English law. Sir Evan has decided to take Glenbrae away from the Darrach estate award.”
“Glenbrae?” Her brow furrowed as she realized the loss. “Oh, Ronan. But all these week, I have wished for you to be free, and for something good to come of all this. If you are Darrach, it is like a dream come true—your freedom is assured. That is what I want for you. Though this is like discovering you are a prince who has passed his ordeal and cast aside his disguise, like in a fairy tale. I suppose it sounds foolish.”
He smiled wanly, listening, tall and strong, all quiet power. “Not foolish.”
“But you are Darrach in truth, and Mr. Corbie will choke over it. And I like that.”
He huffed a little. “True, there is nothing he can do to change it.”
“One day he will inherit Strathniven, and petition for the title of Viscount Strathniven as well. It is not attached to the property or the heir, since it was awarded to Lady Strathniven’s husband singularly.”
“Corbie would have a good chance of claiming it if it begins a tradition.”
“But I know how much Glenbrae means to you. I am very sorry.”
His fingers flexed, gripped hers tightly for a moment and did not reply.
“I know how important your home and your distillery are to you. But you will have the distillery as Darrach, is that true?”
Ronan nodded. Then he let go of her hands, cupped her shoulders, drew her toward him. “There is something even more important, now that I think about it.”
“What is that?” she whispered. Her heart, her body, pulsed, so near to him.
“Not what. Who.” He leaned down, and Ellison felt her knees go weak, while his hands on her shoulders felt solid. Safe. She tilted her face upward.
Footsteps, a knock, sudden and sharp, on the door. She leaped away from Ronan, bumped the table beside her, and set a hand to her heart.
Mrs. Barrow poked her head in the doorway.
“Oh! Again!” Ellison burst out.
“Glenbrae,” the housekeeper said, “there you be! We have been looking high and low for you all over. There is a man at the door. He says it is very urgent.”
“Did Mr. Cameron return? Is there trouble?” He approached the door.
“Not him, sir, a young man. Aleck Muir is his name. He says he must speak with you. We nearly toppled the house looking for you, and here you are in the old tower, while most of us were asleep.” She pinched her mouth. “And some of us are awake.”
“Did you invite Mr. Muir in out of the rain?” Ellison asked.
“I did. He is dripping wet in the front hall. What should I tell him, sir?”
“I will come directly. Miss Graham, please excuse me. Mrs. Barrow, will you send for Donal Brodie to meet us at the door?”
“Aye, sir.” The housekeeper stepped back as Ronan rushed past her. “Miss Ellison,” Mrs. Barrow said then, “will you be needing anything?”
“Nothing, thank you. I will stay here to finish my correspondence and then to bed. I did not realize how late it was.”
“Indeed. Miss Ellison.” The housekeeper paused, hand on the door. “If you wish to meet with the man alone at night, I will turn a blind eye. You may do as you like here. It is always Lady Strathniven’s wish for you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Barrow. Rest assured Lord Darrach is every bit the gentleman.”
