Page 15 of A Rogue in Twilight
“I will be fine. Let the fairies ride their cavalcade over the glen. I won’t see them and they won’t see me. Do not worry, I will not be stolen away,” she reassured him, tucking her arm in his. “I intend to stay here with you for a long time to come.”
“Lass, you must marry soon, and may that man watch out for you as well as I have done. And may he take you south and far away from this glen. That is what I pray.”
“I need no watching over and I need not leave.”
“This Mr. MacDowell is a good man, and successful—”
“And keen on inheriting Kilcrennan’s weaving business through me. He would not be so keen if he knew the truth about me,” she added.
“Then we will not tell him,” he replied.
“He will never know if he does not court me.”
“He would be well suited to manage this place after I am gone. I will not be here forever, and I must think about your future.”
“I can run Kilcrennan Weavers myself someday. There are not many who would believe the truth about me and you. They would never understand why you must go off to the fairies every seven years, and that I…” She stopped, shrugged.
“That you are half fairy, and may be called back someday? That is why I want you to marry and leave this glen—or you might disappear from here. I will give Mr. MacDowell permission to court you. I should have done so earlier.”
“Grandda, please do not! I will not leave Kilcrennan.”
“Stubborn lass! But leaving is best for you.” He looked at her sharply. “Unless…is there someone else? You mentioned meeting the new Lord Struan at the king’s ball in Edinburgh. What a match that would be!” He grinned. “Lady Struan!”
“Och, stop it.” She smiled, but would never admit that ever since August, she had yearned for a man she might never see again, and should not dream about. His tender kisses had been too brief and had meant far too much to her—and likely nothing to him.
“I hear he’s returning to Struan House to look after his grandmother’s affairs. Reverend Buchanan heard it from Mrs. MacKimmie.”
Elspeth caught her breath. “I expect he would only stay a few days. Likely he would never live at Struan, being an Edinburgh man. There is no match there, Grandda. A grand laird would never marry a weaver girl.”
“Why not? Your grandfather is a wealthy weaver.” He shrugged. “Truly I hoped you would marry and be gone from Kilcrennan by now. It worries me that your birthday approaches and you are still here and unmarried.”
“A spinster already, am I?” She wanted to tease him into his usual bright mood, but she knew he was convinced she was in danger. She knew Donal’s stories of meeting the Fey and his claim that he regularly visited them. She liked the notion that she was part fairy, but privately she thought Donal MacArthur had invented the tale to please his lonely, orphaned wee granddaughter—that her mother was a fairy and her father, Donal’s son, was trapped in that realm with her.
Mrs. Graham, on the other hand, had told Elspeth that her mother had died and her father had run off. Still, Elspeth knew that local rumor said both Donal and Niall had gone over to the fairies, with Donal returning and Niall lost. Donal insisted it was true. More, he insisted that she had a binding spell that would come due on her twenty-first birthday in October. The Fey would take her back to their realm then, unless she found love before that day.
Truth? Or just a charming fairy tale from a charming man? She thought the latter.
A few years ago, she had secretly followed Donal to a hillside above Struan House, and had watched him set a pretty stone in a rock wall. He seemed to disappear into an opening that suddenly appeared, but the day had been misty, after all.
She had run home frightened. Donal had been gone for two weeks, and Mrs. Graham had little to say about it. Traveling, she said. On his return, he said he had been in the city, but after Elspeth questioned him, he had confessed where he had been, and then told her that his weaving talent was a gift from the fairies, and so he owed them.
Nearly seven years had passed since then without incident. Donal MacArthur was a storyteller, but she could not believe this tale. She did believe that fairies existed—few raised in this glen failed to believe, with so many traditions, legends, and strange occurrences permeating the area for generations.
Yet despite Donal’s warning, she felt no reason to fear the fairies.
Now she took his arm. “You worry too much about me, Grandda.”
“Because you do not worry enough.”
“I believe in the fairy ilk, but I wish I knew truth from fancy.”
“Listen to your heart and you will know what is true.”
“Grandda, will you go back to the fairies again, as you said? When you say you are going to Edinburgh, do you mean you are going into their realm?” She meant to tease him into a smile. But he looked too serious.
“When I go, I always come back. When they finally take you, you will stay.”
“I have no agreement with them and so have nothing to fear.”
