Page 76 of A Rogue in Twilight
He craned his neck to peer closely. “She does look like you—and your mother too. She was a beautiful fairy woman with black hair and silvery eyes. So aye, it could be. Now look over here.” He pointed. “I wonder if you will see what I saw. And you should show your laird if we are correct.”
For a moment, she glanced back to see James standing beside Charlotte Sinclair, who nudged close to him. The woman’s blond hair shone in the sunlight from the window, andhis hair gleamed too, chestnut touched with gold. They were a handsome couple, she thought, and sighed.
Gazing up at her father’s landscape painting, she studied the moorland rinsed in purple twilight, and the delicate details of forest, mist, and the play of color in the sky. Then she noticed a detail she had not seen before.
A dark rock wall was depicted to one side of the painting, and as she moved her head, the color and shape came together to form a narrow cave mouth, tall niche. Inside the dark crevice, she saw the painterly glimmer of tiny dabs and dots of color.
“Grandda, is that—could it be—gold inside a cave?’
“I thought so too. Ah, it is getting late. I must go. I will be back.” He patted her shoulder. “And here comes your laird. Tell him.”
“Not my laird,” she whispered.
He smiled and left, taking his leave of James, who then came toward her.
“Your grandfather said you had something to show me,” James said.
She nodded, tilting her head for a better perspective as she looked up at the artwork. Then she touched his sleeve. “Look! There, at the right. Do you see a cave? What else do you see?”
He studied it in silence, then nodded. “Look at that. It could be a pile of gold and jewels, maybe pearls. It looks like a pirate’s treasure in the shadows there. I never noticed it before.”
“Nor did I. My father included so much detail with the fairy riders, the woman who looks like me, or my mother—Grandda just said so too. And now a cave with a hidden pile of treasure. What if he left clues for others to find?”
“But the legends are well known here. He just added them to his painting.”
“It is more than that. I feel it.” She tilted her head again. “That rocky cliff looks familiar. I have seen it somewhere.”
He leaned sideways, his shoulder touching hers, his head angled as he spoke softly to her. “Then we should look for that, and see if we can find a cave and your fairy treasure. And then,” he whispered, “perhaps your fairies will dance at our wedding.”
She stared at him. “Wedding?” Her heartbeat leaped.
“If you like.” His voice was low, compelling, so dear to her. She leaned close. But they could not talk about this here. It needed time and privacy.
“I thought you did not believe in fairy nonsense,” she whispered.
“I had the impression you are not convinced either. Certainly not like your grandfather, who regards fairies to be as real as the people in this room.”
She sighed. “But—what if this is proof?”
“Of fairy legends and stolen treasure, aye.”
“Please, can we talk somewhere?” She set a hand on his sleeve.
“Fairies and treasure! How exciting! Tell us more,” Charlotte said, coming near.
There was justno blasted privacy in this place, James thought, as Charlotte joined them. He felt hounded by the girl, who seemed blithe and pleased. Just now, he desperately wanted—needed—time alone with Elspeth. And somehow, even with Charlotte tracking his every move, he wanted to speak privately with Fiona and Patrick too. His siblings deserved to know that he had asked Elspeth to marry him, and that he was diligently working toward—and hoping for—her agreement.
Despite her refusals and his impatience with her at times, he would not give up on her, or the future he wanted to share with her.
“Treasure?” Patrick asked, coming closer, Fiona by his side. “We overheard! Fairies are endlessly fascinating. Fiona loves them too.”
“Have you discovered much about fairies here at Struan House?” Fiona asked.
“Just in Grandmother’s manuscript,” he said.
“Lost treasure and fairies!” Charlotte said. “Perhaps we could look for them!”
“Unlikely. There are some entertaining Highland tales locally. That is all,” James said. “Isn’t that so, Miss MacArthur?” She nodded, eyes wide.
