Page 51 of A Rogue in Twilight
“Fair enough. We will leave it at that. I only want to know when you might be free to assist me with my grandmother’s book.”
She looked at him from under her bonnet rim. “When do you need me?”
His keen glance told her all his thoughts. “Anytime, lass. At your will.”
“I could come to Struan any day you like.”
“I will fetch you Monday, would that suit?”
She nodded, heart pounding. “What about your guests?”
“They will not be here yet. I want to work on Grandmother’s papers as much as possible until then.”
“Do you plan to go back to Edinburgh after that?”
“I have lectures to give, and other work, aye.”
She nodded, bouncing on the seat as the gig hit a rut. James murmured about the poor roads as he guided the horse and vehicle around curves that took the road upward. Reaching the ridge, the descent was steep and the road was marred by runnels and mud. Drizzle dampened Elspeth’s bonnet, shawl, the lap robe tucked around her, and James’s hat and coat. The road seemed slippery under the wheels, the fog thick.
“This weather is miserable,” she said.
“The fairies are not happy with us,” he remarked. He slapped the reins and pulled on the brake a bit as he guided the horse downward in silence. He was focused and capable, and Elspeth was quiet, gripping the side for support.
“Devilish weather,” he muttered then. “I have yet to see this glen in the sunshine. There has been mist, rain, and the deluge of the Apocalypse ever since I arrived. Your wee fairies might have intended to bring us together by sending you down a mudslide into my arms. But they could give us some sun now.”
“That would be nice,” she agreed. Grandda had taught her to see meaning in everything around her. Nothing, he said, was as simple as it appeared.
Ahead, she glimpsed the old bridge. As they rounded a challenging curve, James concentrated on his task and Elspeth watched the water of the wide and rocky burn that rushed under the bridge.
“James!” she said then. “The water is very high today.”
He drew on the reins. “Wait here. I want to look at the bridge.” He leaped down to the road.
Not content to wait, she climbed down too, lifting her hems out of the mud to follow him toward the bridge, which spanned a small gorge. Her boot heels sank in the mud, her walking impeded by her stiff ankle. Her skirt snagged on gorse and she tugged it free, then joined James at the edge of the wide stream.
The wooden bridge spanned a gap of twenty feet or so, the stone pylons embedded in earth and rock. The stream gushed through and lapped at the sides of the arched bridge, water splashing over the planks. The stream was the color of milky tea.
“Careful,” James murmured, taking her elbow.
“The burn is rarely this high.” Along the sides of the gorge, tree roots and bracken thrust out of the water, and fallen branches swept by in the fast current.
“Is there another place to cross?”
“There’s a level place two miles or so that way, at the head of the gorge. But the burn is very wide there and one must step from rock to rock to cross. There is no bridge. It’s opposite the way to Kilcrennan, and would make the journey even longer.”
“We do not have much choice unless we return to Struan and wait for the water to subside. Is there no other access?”
“Not close by. Some people jump the gap,” she said. “Downstream there’s a leap, where one side of the gorge is higher than the other.” She pointed in the other direction.
He laughed. “I will not chance that, nor should you, though I would not be surprised if you have given it a go in the past.”
“Is that intuition, sir?” she asked, amused.
“Only logic, Miss MacArthur, knowing you.”
She smiled. Learning more about him each moment, she knew he had true warmth and heart beneath his cool exterior. Despite his staunch skepticism, he did not dismiss her intuition. “True, once I did try the Leap with friends when I was young. They made it, but I fell and broke an arm. I could make it, I think, now that I am taller.”
“Out of the question.”
