Page 73 of A Rogue in Twilight
“What do you mean?”
“Do not sacrifice your love and happiness just so I can weave in my strange manner and visit the Fey on my appointed day. Do not risk your own safety with the Fey. They cannot be trusted. I want to be quit of all that madness now.”
She nodded, thoughtful. “Are you sure love would break the spells over us?”
“Niall himself told me so. But we cannot live in fear of what the Fey might do. I want you to accept Lord Struan’s proposal.”
“But he has a house in Edinburgh and I want to stay with you at Kilcrennan.”
“Marry him and you will see it differently. Go in there and tell your laird you love him. Just do that.”
She had told him and he had said the same, and yet she had retreated. Now hope bubbled up inside her. She wanted to leap out of the gig and run to the house to find him. “If I did that, and things changed for you, what about your work?”
“A weaver is what I am. I would just be slower.” He gave a sad chuckle.
“What about the fairy treasure? Is that real?” Was any of this real?
“It has never been found. I will bargain with them again. They do love to bargain,” he said wryly. “And this time, I will take you out of it somehow. You deserve to be happy.”
“If all of this is true,” she said, “you will risk too much.”
“You believe some, but not all—what will it take to convince you? I weave with a madness over me, which you have seen with your own eyes. Then believe the rest, lass.”
“It could be the whisky upon you.”
“Why do you think they call it fairy brew? Stubborn lass,” he grumbled. He flexed the reins to urge the horse along the drive toward the house. “There is another reason for you to marry Struan. Did he see me at the weaving? I thought he did.”
She glanced away, remembering that passionate, private night with James. “He did see something,” she admitted.
“That secret must stay with us, so he must become part of the family. So there.”
“Grandda, did you give him the fairy brew deliberately to allow that to happen?”
“Perhaps I did.” He chuckled again.
Moments later, the gig rolled to a stop before the wide entrance steps. Elspeth hastily smoothed her skirt and tugged at her bonnet.
“What was that noise?” Donal asked.
“They have a banshee,” she said, looking up at the house.
“Ah, I nearly forgot! Then that is your sign, lass. Go tell your laird what you feel. It is time to be true and good to yourself.”
She stepped down just as Angus MacKimmie walked toward them, calling a greeting. Though conflicted, she felt hope rising. But she wondered how much of the extraordinary truth about her family she could reasonably explain.
Hearing footsteps, she looked up to see James coming toward the gig. She drew a shaky breath. “Good afternoon, Lord Struan.”
“Miss MacArthur,” he said, his eyes so blue, so serious. He inclined his head. “What a nice surprise.”
She began to answer, but sensed suddenly that he was tense. He glanced back at the house, and she saw others coming outas well. Some faces were familiar—Sir John Graham, Miss Fiona MacCarran, and others.
“I beg pardon, sir,” she said to James. “We forgot you might have guests.”
“That does not matter in the least,” he murmured. “I am glad to see you.”
“Miss MacArthur!” Fiona MacCarran came forward to take her hand. Then John Graham reached to kiss her cheek.
“Cousin Elspeth, how good to see you,” John said. “Cousin Donal, greetings, man!” He walked around the gig to talk with her grandfather.
