by Susan King
The world went dizzy around her, shadowy with a smoky haze, and she could scarce breathe. James, she thought, James—she reached out for him, grabbing his coat sleeve almost blindly.
Chapter 18
Even as she stood beside Struan, even as Eldin still held her hand in introduction, Elspeth saw another scene—a ghostly image of both men. They wore red jackets and dark tartan kilts, the uniform of the Highland Black Watch. Both held guns and were enveloped in a smoky haze. Yet at the same time, both men stood watching her now, looking puzzled. James began to look alarmed. She felt frozen, scarcely able to move or speak as the images played out in her mind.
“Elspeth—Miss MacArthur,” Struan murmured.
She stared at him almost blankly, still watching the strange dual scene. He wore a gray frock coat and buff trousers now, the privileged gentleman, yet a flickering image beside him showed James dressed as a Highland officer. Beside him, Lord Eldin, tall and severely handsome in black, narrowed his eyes. His ghostly double was with him, wearing the Highland uniform.
James as a soldier had soot on his face, a bloody gash at his knee, a bayoneted gun upright in his hand. Eldin held a bayoneted firearm at the ready. He fired it, threw it to the ground—
The strange images vanished. The two men stood staring at her.
“Miss MacArthur, are you ill? She is very pale,” Eldin added to James.
She pulled her fingers from Eldin’s grip. “You—” she said hoarsely. “You were there! You saw him take a wound, and watched the other die!”
“Elspeth,” Struan said firmly, taking her arm. “Come inside.”
“What is this?” Eldin asked sharply. “Do you have Da Shealladh?” The two sights—Second Sight. His use of Gaelic surprised her.
“Come away.” Struan set his arm around her to lead her into the house.
“What is it?” Patrick MacCarran asked, going up the steps with them.
“Miss MacArthur is feeling faint. She must sit down,” Struan answered. “Tell her grandfather she is fine, and only needs a moment to rest.” Patrick nodded and turned away. Behind her, she heard her grandfather asking what had happened.
The warm, solid pressure of James’s arm around her felt safe and good. It was all she needed, with her thoughts scrambled for the moment. She let herself lean into his strength as he led her inside and into the library. The others, murmuring, questioning, followed more slowly.
“Sit here. What the devil happened?” He guided her to a wing chair by the fireplace, his hands patient, his voice urgent, private.
“I do not feel faint. I am fine.”
“I could hardly explain that you were having one of your fairy spells, could I.” He dropped to his haunches, frowning at her. “Tell me what happened.”
“I saw you and Lord Eldin together, in uniform, out on a battlefield—your knee was injured. You were standing, leaning on a long gun. Lord Eldin had a gun too. He fired it, set it down. You wore red coats and the kilts of the Black Watch.”
“My God.” He took her hand. “You are shaking like an aspen. I do not understand this, but it is clear that something happened. Would you like some whisky? Or tea?”
“Not whisky,” she said with a half-laugh. “I do not need anything.”
“Mrs. MacKimmie is preparing tea. You will stay. Mrs. MacKimmie!” he called over his shoulder. “Drat. All of them will be here in a moment. Do not get up,” he said, touching her shoulder. “I will be right back.”
“James, please.” But he was gone. She leaned back in the wing chair uneasily. Hearing footsteps, she turned to see Eldin crossing the library.
“Miss MacArthur.” He came closer. “Are you well? We were quite concerned. You seemed overcome.”
“I am fine. It was nothing.” She rose to her feet.
“So you have the Sight,” he said flatly.
She folded her hands warily. “Why do you say that?”
“I know something of it.” He inclined his head, closed his eyes. “Ah. Fairy-held Sight,” he murmured. “Interesting.”
“That’s madness, sir.” But she felt something odd about Eldin, that he understood more than he would reveal, that he was some kind of threat to James. Puzzled, she watched him. “Who are you?”
He laughed and turned as James strode into across the room, his limp echoing unevenly on wooden floor and thick Oriental carpet. That rhythm was dear and familiar to her, and she was glad when he stood by her chair almost protectively. At the same time, others began to enter the room.
“Cousin Nick,” James said brusquely, quietly. “You were just leaving. I believe Mr. MacKimmie is bringing your barouche round just now.”
“Excellent.” Eldin smiled at Elspeth. “I regret I cannot linger to take tea with you, Miss MacArthur. Do take care.”
“Sir,” she replied, and sensed the tension in Struan, still standing by her.
Eldin left the library just as Mrs. MacKimmie and a housemaid entered, carrying trays with a porcelain teapot, cups, plates of food. They set the trays down as the guests came into the room to gather near the fireplace and near Elspeth. They murmured their concern and good wishes, to Elspeth’s embarrassment.
“Truly it was nothing.” She felt heat rising in her cheeks.
“You seem fine now,” Fiona said gently. “Perhaps it was the chilly air.”
“We are having cold autumn winds after so much rain,” Mrs. MacKimmie said, as she set out the tea things. “The wind may have blown into her, such a delicate wee lass she is.”
“I am fine, and grateful for your kindness,” Elspeth said. Her grandfather had come into the room with the others. He lifted his fingers to his brow briefly, and she realized that he was asking if it was the Sight. She nodded and turned away.
Fiona sat in the wing chair opposite to pour out the tea, and Elspeth accepted a steaming cup, as did the others. Once her cousin John Graham felt reassured of her health, he said his farewells, and he and Eldin left in the barouche. Tea and conversation continued in the library. To Elspeth’s relief, the incident seemed quickly forgotten.
“What a substantial tea this is,” Charlotte remarked of the generous spread Mrs. MacKimmie had provided, which included cold beef, sausage rolls, sweet and plain biscuits, a fruit compote, lemon cake, and plenty of strong, hot tea.
“A Highland tea, Miss,” Mrs. MacKimmie said. “Near enough to a supper, this.”
“Oh!” Charlotte Sinclair looked startled, and Elspeth realized that she had not expected the housekeeper to answer her directly. Hiding her smile, Elspeth felt a little fillip of satisfaction as Mrs. MacKimmie continued.
“The laird often takes his tea this way now, with a small supper late in the evening. I will have soup ready later if that suits. Lady Rankin requested an informal meal for everyone as they arrived. I know you must be tired from the long journey up from the south.”
“Thank you, Mrs. MacKimmie,” Fiona said. Elspeth noted that neither Fiona nor her brothers seemed to expect the housekeeper to be the retiring sort, although Miss Sinclair was still pursing her mouth over it. “A quiet evening would be just the thing before our early outing tomorrow. This is an excellent spread, well done. And thank you.”
While the housekeeper beamed in response and answered as Fiona asked about her recipe for lemon cake, Elspeth glanced at Struan. He had remained standing beside her chair, cup and saucer cradled in his hand.
“All is well?” he murmured softly.
“Aye, though I am mortified,” she whispered.
“It is forgotten. Thankfully my great-aunt is napping and Sir Philip is strolling the gardens, or there would have been far more drama.”
“My grandfather and I must go.” She set her cup on a small table. “We only came by so that, ah, I could offer to help with your work—since you had asked.”
“Did you? Good.” He leaned an elbow on the wing of her chair, looking down at her, and she gazed into his eyes—sincere blue, wonderful eyes. She knew deeply that he was a good man, and h
er breath caught, for she wished now that she could stay longer, stay forever. Yet she was not sure of her status among these people who were important in Struan’s life. She glanced away, feeling very much an outsider.
“Struan,” Charlotte said then, her voice lilting. “Tell us about your beautiful house. Perhaps you could start by explaining the pretty curiosities in these display cases. Come here, do!” She flashed him a brilliant smile.
“My sister can tell you more about the rocks and things in there,” he said, smiling back, staying where he stood.
Charlotte gave a quick, displeased frown. But Fiona took the girl’s arm and turned with her, beginning to explain about the stones in the display case.
“I should have remembered you were expecting guests,” Elspeth said quietly to Struan. “You are too busy to do any work today. Perhaps we could talk about your grandmother’s book later.” She stood, smoothing her skirts. “Thank you for your hospitality. May I apologize—for everything,” she added softly.
“Stay,” he said. “I want you to stay. You must at least finish your tea.”
Donal MacArthur, who had walked over to the fireplace to study the painting hanging above the mantel, glanced at them over his shoulder. He held a teacup in one hand and a small plate with a slice of cake in the other. “Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Struan,” he boomed. “I have some errands to tend to this afternoon. See the reverend and such. Perhaps my granddaughter could wait here until I can return for her. So she would not become too tired going about with me, hey?”
“She may stay here as long as she likes,” Struan said. Donal smiled in clear satisfaction and turned back to his son’s painting.
I want to stay forever, she thought. But with Charlotte Sinclair was here, perhaps Struan felt differently about marrying a Highland girl, especially one who had adamantly refused him, when Charlotte was so eager to accommodate.
And with his guests about, Elspeth knew she could find no good chance for a private discussion—and perhaps that was best. Charlotte Sinclair, being so possessive of Lord Struan, would no doubt cling to his side as long as Elspeth was there. He would soon forget his impulsive offer of marriage, she thought.
The very thought of that hurt. What had she done? She turned. “Grandfather, I think I would like to come with you. Lord Struan has guests. I will not intrude.”
“If he does not mind it, then we do not,” her grandfather answered. “I will be back soon. You will have a little time to begin helping with Struan’s paperwork, as you promised.”
“I—suppose I could,” she said, glancing hesitantly at Struan.
“Good, then.” He took her elbow to accompany her as she walked with her grandfather to the library door. He limped slightly without his cane, and Elspeth lent discreet support by walking close should he need to lean, though she knew his pride would prevent it. Charlotte hurried over.
“Oh, you’re leaving, Miss MacArthur, but how nice to see you again,” Charlotte told Elspeth, slipping her arm into the crook of Struan’s other elbow. “Dear Struan, do be careful without your cane, sir. Come with me, you must tell me more about the pretty blue stone in the case. It is quite my favorite. It would make handsome jewelry pieces if we could have slices of it.” She tugged on his arm, nearly throwing him off balance.
Almost without thinking, Elspeth pressed close to help Struan right himself as Charlotte tugged. Slice the blue stone? She nearly gasped aloud.
“That is a blue agate, quite rare. I would never allow it to be cut into baubles,” Struan said. “Do give me a moment. I am saying farewell to Mr. MacArthur. And I believe Miss MacArthur will be here with us for the afternoon, or so we can hope.”
“But James,” Charlotte protested in a loud whisper, pouting.
“Please, do not mind us, go ahead.” Elspeth stepped away, not wanting to encourage Charlotte Sinclair’s petty drama.
With a lightning frown toward Elspeth, Struan nodded, bid a polite farewell to Donal MacArthur, and turned away with Charlotte. Taking her grandfather’s arm, Elspeth walked with him to the entrance.
He leaned down. “That lass has an angel’s face and the manners of a magpie.”
Elspeth laughed ruefully. “And now I really must stay, to make sure the magpie does not claim your blue stone.”
“Aye, do that. I looked at it during the tea. That is exactly the one, and we must have it back. Do you think you can manage it?”
“I will find a way, even with the magpie’s eye upon it.”
“And on you as well. Stay here as your right. You and Struan have an agreement, even if it is a secret.” He whispered this a little too loudly.
“I doubt we have an agreement now. And I will not squabble over him with another woman,” she returned in a fierce whisper. “It will be a relief to live at Kilcrennan all my life, with none of this to bother over.” She lifted her chin.
“A relief? Stubborn lass,” he drawled.
She sighed. “Grandda, before you go, let me tell you—” She explained the vision she had seen earlier, which had near knocked her off her feet. “Afterward, Lord Eldin asked me if I had a fairy gift. How strange!”
“Indeed, there is something odd about the man, I admit.”
“I feel certain he and Struan were enemies once and may yet be. He wants something, but I do not know what it is.”
“Well, he is gone now, and good riddance. I will be back soon, lass. While you are here, look closely at Niall’s painting. There is something you must see.”
“Struan noticed that a woman in the painting looks like me. I am hoping it could be a likeness of my mother.”
“Perhaps. But look again.” He touched her chin. “There is something else there for you to see.”
“Very well,” she said, puzzled, and reached up to kiss his cheek quickly. As he left, she returned to the library.
Struan stood with the others by the display case. For an instant, Elspeth remembered being alone with him just there, blissfully, passionately alone. Now Charlotte Sinclair pressed her shoulder to his arm, her blond hair shining in the sunlight beside the chestnut-and-gold gleam of his hair. They were a beautifully matched pair, Elspeth thought. Surely everyone expected them to wed one day.
She turned away quickly went to the fireplace. Gazing at her father’s painting, admiring the masterful technique, the large composition with its delicate details that showed the moorland rinsed in moonbeams, the forested hillside, the misty hints of fairy riders among the trees. Then she noticed a new detail in the landscape.
Frowning, she raised on tiptoe for a closer look. She did not remember seeing this before. To one side of the composition, a wall of dark rock rose up, and the detail of the brushwork revealed the narrow mouth of a cave there. Inside the shadowed crevice, she could see the painterly glimmer of jewels and gold, tiny dabs and dots of color. A cache of gold and treasure? Her heart leaped.
She angled to one side and craned her neck for a better perspective, and nearly stumbled into Struan, who came up behind her. He steadied her arm, and she turned, touching his sleeve. “Look,” she whispered urgently. “There, to the right. What do you see there?”
He studied the painting, and after a moment nodded. “Interesting. There is a cave—and is that a chest of gold and things, like a pirate’s treasure? I had not noticed it before.”
“My father had a fine hand for detail, and that does look like treasure. James,” she whispered, leaning toward him. “What if he deliberately left clues?”
“All these details are legends that are well known in the glen. Your father put them in the picture.”
“This is more than that. I know it.” She tilted her head. “That rocky cliff looks familiar. It is nearby—I have seen it. Let me think,” she said, drawing her brow together. “Surely it is in the glen, or not far from there.”
He leaned his head down. “If we find the cave and the treasure, your fairies will have to dance at our wedding.” He sounded amused.
“Our weddin
g?” Her heartbeat quickened, leaped.
“If you like,” he murmured.
A breath. Another. He had not given up on her. But she could not think about it here and now. “I thought you did not believe in fairy nonsense.”
“For a charming fairy lass, you are too serious sometimes,” he whispered.
“I wish...you would trust that this treasure exists, and is no joke. Nor is—the rest of this amusing.”
“I trust you,” he murmured. “I do not trust tales of fairies and lost treasure.”
“Please, we must talk,” she said softly. “But not here.”
“Fairies and treasure! How exciting! Do tell us,” Charlotte said, coming near.
There was just no blasted privacy in this place, James thought, turning as Charlotte approached. How much had she heard of their murmured conversation? He felt hounded by the girl, but she seemed to take no notice of his disinterest.
He desperately wanted—needed—time alone with Elspeth, though his guests would not depart on their Highland tour until tomorrow. But somehow, even with Charlotte tracking his every move, he must find time to speak with not just Elspeth, but his siblings too. He wanted to explain about Elspeth, and his desire to marry her.
Seeing her today, he knew that he was not yet done with this, despite her refusals, despite his impatience and disappointment. He knew now that he would never give up on her.
“What is this about fairies and treasure?” Patrick asked, coming closer too. “Fairies are such a fascinating topic. Fiona loves them too, don’t you?” His sister, walking beside him, nodded and smiled, her cheeks betraying a deep blush.
“James, have you found fairies at Struan House?” she asked.
“Just in Grandmother’s manuscript,” he said irritably.
“Lost treasure is so adventurous,” Charlotte said. “Perhaps we could find it!”
“An entertaining Highland tale and no more,” James said. “Just a local legend that Miss MacArthur was explaining. Isn’t that so?” Elspeth nodded, eyes wide.
