Laird of Twilight (The Whisky Lairds, Book 1)

by Susan King

  Clutching the page, James’s fingers trembled. Either his grandmother had a vivid imagination, or she knew the secrets of Kilcrennan. The manuscript continued in notes along the edge of the page. James rotated the page to read the rest.

  The child, now a beautiful young woman, can remain in the earthly realm only if she can dissolve the fairy bargain. If she falls in love with a man who respects the fairy ilk for what they truly are, and treats them fairly, she may stay. But there is a condition. If she falls in love and stays, her grandfather will forfeit his life in return for her happiness. He will lose his gifts and enter the realm of the Fey forever.

  He sat up slowly.

  Their wicked bargain can be avoided if a treasure stolen long ago, taken from the fairy folk who inhabit these remote and wildish hills, is found and returned. And that treasure, says the man who told me this very tale, cannot be found.

  James folded the page and tucked it into his pocket.

  Chapter 20

  “Look! Highland natives!” Lady Rankin pointed as the open carriage rumbled toward Loch Katrine, having left Struan House more than an hour earlier. Elspeth glanced where the woman indicated and saw two Highland men and a young boy walking along. They wore tartan kilts, loose shirts, jackets and flat bonnets, and as the coach passed, they waved and doffed their caps.

  “Please do not call them natives, Aunt,” Fiona said, seated across from Elspeth, who sat beside Struan. Elspeth noted that Mr. MacKimmie, driving the vehicle, was dressed in his usual kilt and jacket, like many Highlanders, but he had appeared not to hear their conversation. As the carriage swayed and lumbered up a slope along the rough road, and Elspeth grabbed the edge of the leather bench seat.

  “Well, they look like Hottentots,” Lady Rankin defended. “Though they greeted us nicely enough. My gracious, your coachman drives fast!” She grabbed a strap by the half-door.

  “Some of the tourist coaches fly very fast through here on their way to Loch Katrine,” Elspeth said. “Grandfather says you could set a tea-table on their coattails, flying out so straight.” James and Fiona laughed.

  “So I hear that the bridge, the Brig o’ Turk in Sir Walter’s poem, is in your glen, James,” Lady Rankin said, pointing toward a stone bridge in the distance.

  “In the glen, aye, but not that one there, which was damaged by the recent rains,” James answered. “I thought of the Brig o’ Turk when you read to us from The Lady of the Lake this morning, Aunt.” He glanced at Elspeth.

  She smiled faintly, remembering how the lady had droned on imperiously at breakfast. Tugging at her gray bonnet, she folded her hands, gloved in pale kid leather, in the lap of her gray gown, which she wore with a dark green spencer and a tartan shawl. Her leather boots were sturdy enough for hillwalking, and she felt ready for a long outing in the cool autumn weather. She thought of Charlotte Sinclair, who had appeared a veritable vision this morning in a fetching dress and pelisse of pale blue with a matching bonnet, though her black slippers would not be up to the walking in store for them today. For a moment, glancing at James, Elspeth was glad that Charlotte rode in a second coach with Patrick, Sir Philip, and Donal MacArthur. Her grandfather would have little patience with Charlotte’s ways, and Elspeth was sorry for that, but happy to be traveling with James. Whatever adventure lay ahead, she would not think about it for now.

  Watching the countryside fly by while MacKimmie drove with gusto, Elspeth enjoyed the comfort of the open coach, a landau with two horses. Lady Rankin had complained, wanting a coach and four, but Angus MacKimmie had insisted that a larger coach and four was poorly suited to the Highland terrain. “We will be lucky to come near the loch in this carriage,” he had said. “There are no good roads over the rocky ground ahead.”

  Fiona began discussing geological matters with James, and Elspeth smiled, listening, though she did not understand the details of their conversation. She had found a friend in James’s twin sister, she was sure. The engagement would be kept secret even from Grandda and Peggy for now, and she knew she could trust Fiona and Patrick, too, to keep the news to themselves.

  “That is Loch Achray,” she said then, pointing as the coach rolled onward.

  Lady Rankin consulted a small guidebook. “It looks scarcely more than a pool. How disappointing. That is a Highland loch?”

  “A small one—what we call a lochan,” Elspeth explained, “and very beautiful in autumn.” Gold and russet trees, oak and birch, covered the hillsides along with clustered evergreen trees.

  Fiona unfolded a paper that Sir Walter Scott had provided for them. “Sir Walter reminds us here that ‘the impressive Trossach Mountains are not the whole of the Highlands, but merely the fringe of the great Highland fastnesses, wildish and remote, further north. The Trossachs are the great massive slopes west of Loch Achray, between that and Loch Katrine, in a dell of woodland and cliff .’” Fiona looked up. “It is a noble and picturesque scenery. No wonder it is so popular, not only due to Sir Walter but for its own spectacular beauty.”

  “You must make some sketches of the scenery, dear,” Lady Rankin said. “I would like a visual memoir of what we see today.”

  “My little skill could not do justice to the subject, madam, but I will try.”

  James looked around as well. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Lord Eldin is opening a hotel somewhere in the area. Auchnashee, he called it.”

  “I know the place,” Elspeth said. “An old castle ruin on the western shore of Loch Katrine. Lord Eldin has a good deal of work ahead of him if he thinks to establish a hotel there.”

  “He has the funds for it, and it is a good location, popular with tourists, I would think,” Fiona said.

  “Does this road go all around the loch?” Lady Rankin asked.

  “It ends near the loch,” Elspeth said. “Once we go through the pass of Achray, we will come near the loch. Carriages can go no further from that point without endangering the horses and even the passengers. There is a mountain track along the side of the loch, and a wide heath, perfect for a vigorous walk if you feel up to it.”

  “I had no idea the area was so rustic. I thought it was ready for tourists to simply see without having to heave about like mountaineers.” Sighing indignantly, Lady Rankin thrust out her considerable bosom and fanned herself with the little book of poetry.

  “We can hire ponies or walk,” James suggested. “And there should be boats.”

  “The ferryman, Mr. MacDuff, lives in a cottage by the lochside and has a little inn. He hires boats to tourists,” Elspeth said. “He will take us round, and his neighbor rents ponies if you care to do that. Mrs. MacDuff could prepare luncheon for us at the inn, though Mrs. MacKimmie sent baskets of food along, and there will be plenty for all. We can explore together or on our own.”

  “I would like to explore on foot,” James said. Elspeth nodded, aware that he meant to climb up the mountainside and look for caves.

  “‘The Trossachs area of Loch Katrine has a striking majesty,’” Fiona read from Sir Walter’s letter. “‘Ben Venue towers on its southwestern shore with true grandeur, its massive shoulders crafted of ancient rock, from the Goblin’s Cave at its foot to the great crystals in its crown.’”

  “Goblin’s Cave?” James sat forward. “That sounds intriguing.”

  “Sir Walter mentions it.” Lady Rankin thumbed through her well-worn copy of The Lady of the Lake. “Where...ah, here it is.”

  By many a bard, in Celtic tongue,

  Has Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung:

  A softer name the Saxons gave,

  And call’d the grot the Goblin-cave

  “A grotto, as at Struan House,” Elspeth said.

  “My sister fancied herself an expert on fairies and the like,” Lady Rankin said of Lady Struan. “She said that the grotto at Struan was modeled after a natural one in the Highlands.”

  Elspeth and James exchanged glances. “Very interesting,” James murmured. “We may want to explore that.”

  “Do you go ahead a
nd look for little rocks, James,” Lady Rankin said. “I have no taste for hillwalking. A sail on the loch sounds just the thing. Fiona will come with me to make sketches for a keepsake. I think we can persuade others too. Miss MacArthur?”

  “I would like to see the grotto cave,” Elspeth said.

  “Miss MacArthur may come with me if she likes,” James offered. “Perhaps we can persuade your grandfather to act as our guide, while Mr. MacKimmie and Mr. MacDuff guide the others around.” Elspeth nodded eagerly.

  “Invite Charlotte to go with you,” Lady Rankin suggested.

  “She is not dressed for hillwalking,” Fiona pointed out. “She wore impractical shoes. We will ask her to sail with us instead. Though it may rain later.”

  Elspeth glanced at the sky, where gray clouds rolled overhead and swirled around the mountaintops above the Pass of Achray. The wind was brisk and cool, the view wide and awe-inspiring. Sensing the elemental power in it, she drew a deep breath, sitting straighter, feeling a little of the strength of the earth.

  Fiona was reading aloud from the folded page. “‘Ben Venue will appeal to ardent admirers of great landscape beauty. Its black and towering sides have a certain rich glossiness, and its craggy dignity houses many mysterious caves replete with legends.’ Glossy?” she wondered. “Why would that be, James?”

  He glanced toward the black mountain, its multiple peaks above the low hills edging the pass. “Deposits of mica, I suppose, perhaps with granite and crystal. I am most intrigued.”

  “Here, listen to this,” Fiona said. “‘One of Venue’s Gaelic names means ‘mountain of caves.’ The one most easily found is Uamn nan Uruiskin, or the Goblin Cave, along its lower eastern slope near the Coire nan Uruiskin, or Goblin Corrie.’ How intriguing, though rather spooky. I will leave that to braver souls.”

  “You’re not the least bit of a coward,” James told his twin, “but today you might prefer to sail so that you can sketch the hills from the perspective of the water.”

  “If it helps you, dear brother,” Fiona murmured, “I would be happy to do that.”

  “The ferryman keeps a rowing boat at this end of the loch,” Elspeth said, “though there is a steamer further up at Glengyle, I believe. If the wind stays down, the loch will be smooth, and either way, the beautiful scenery is well worth the trip.”

  “A rowing boat?” Lady Rankin frowned. “Well, I did not come all this way to sit in an inn sipping tea and gazing through window glass. We will take the smaller boat.”

  “Well done, Aunt,” James said.

  “Let me read to you about Ellen’s Isle, named for the heroine of Sir Walter’s poem,” Lady Rankin said, flipping pages in her book. She began to read aloud.

  Elspeth closed her eyes and listened, and tried to quell her fears. She did not know what the day would bring, but the Sight never showed her own future. She sighed.

  Then she felt James’s hand, strong and sure, slide under the cover of her plaid. She savored the quick, warm, secret interlacing of their fingers, and the silent message there—love, strength, passion, hope—while his aunt’s voice droned on.

  The coach drew to a halt, and the knotting of their fingers withdrew.

  In the ferryman’s yard, outside a house that overlooked the lower end of the loch, both coaches drew up. Mr. MacDuff and his wife came out to greet them, and soon the group was served tea in the parlor, hot, fragrant and sweet, with warm oatcakes and rowan jelly. Seated in the small, simply furnished room, James looked out a large window that boasted views of Ben Venue to one side, and Ben A’an to the east, bordering the pass of Achray through which the coaches had come.

  James gratefully accepted a dose of whisky in his tea from Mr. MacDuff’s silver flask. “The best in the Highlands,” the man said. “Made locally. You will not find better.” He winked, then poured a taste in the tea for Mr. MacArthur, Patrick, and Philip. The women, when offered, shook their heads.

  “Is this fairy whisky?” James asked Elspeth quietly.

  “Oh no, that is rare stuff indeed. This is a good local brew. Our cousin is not the only one who makes fine whisky in these mountains.” She smiled.

  “Who will sail over the water with us?” Mr. MacDuff asked then, as they others discussed who would sail and who would like to go hillwalking. James could only hope they all, but for a certain few, would rather go out on the water.

  “James, will you come in the boat?” Charlotte asked.

  “I am keen to explore the mountain slopes for rock samples,” he said, giving his leather bag a little kick to demonstrate his intention. “I am searching for indications of ancient volcanic activity.” He thought that might put her off sufficiently.

  She scowled. “What of your leg? Can you walk that far without trouble?”

  He shrugged. “I do not mind the exercise,” he said, seeing Elspeth and his siblings glance toward him. None of them would have made such a direct, all but rude, reference to his lameness.

  “I would be happy to accompany you on the boat, Miss Sinclair,” Sir Philip said. “I’m interested in seeing Ellen’s Isle. Struan will have a wide view from his mountain top, but he will miss a sublime trip over the water.”

  “I am more interested in geology today,” James said. Indeed, he was anxious to depart, thinking Elspeth and Donal were as well. They had their heads together in quiet, earnest conversation, and he sensed some tension between them. Patrick joined them, having left briefly to inquire about water transport. “We hired two boats,” he reported, “so that we can enjoy the view from the loch. James, you and Mr. MacArthur are for the mountain, is that so?”

  “Aye,” James said.

  “My granddaughter will accompany us,” Donal said.

  Charlotte whirled. “Miss MacArthur is going hillwalking with you?”

  “I will,” Elspeth answered. “I am interested in seeing the grotto.”

  “Then Fiona should go with you. She quite likes rocks,” Charlotte said, giving Elspeth a sidelong glance.

  “My dear,” Fiona said gently, leaning forward in her chair. “Miss MacArthur is used to rugged Highland terrain and is dressed for it today. Naturally, she wants to accompany her grandfather. You will be far more comfortable on a boat outing, where we can all relax at our leisure. I do enjoy searching for fossils, but today I want to sketch and be quite lazy, and take in all the beauty that surrounds this pretty loch.”

  “I thought today would be a tour for everyone together,” Charlotte complained.

  “Miss Sinclair, it would be my pleasure to show you the shores of Ellen’s Isle,” Philip said magnanimously. He offered her his arm, and Charlotte relaxed a little, even laughed.

  Setting down the last of his tea, James picked up his bag of geological tools and followed Elspeth and her grandfather outside to the inn yard. The wind was brisk and damp, and clouds glowered over the mountain peak.

  Donal offered him a walking stick, a thick and gnarly thing, very sturdy. James was glad to have it, knowing it would suit strenuous hiking better than his customary cane. Though his leg often ached in rainy and cold weather, he had noticed that his injured leg had given him little complaint lately, perhaps due to the refreshing Highland air, said to be excellent for health. Whether a result of good air or exercise, he was glad of the improvement. His doctor had warned him that he might limp and have pain all his life, but James had done his best to keep the injury from restricting him, and he had found it troubled him far less in the Highlands. He had not expected that.

  Elspeth grasped a walking stick in her hand too, and she smiled up at him.

  “Ready?” Patrick asked all. He turned to James. “We will meet you back here in the late afternoon. Best of luck with your rock hunting, James.”

  “Bring back souvenirs,” Philip called. “Diamonds and sapphires!”

  James laughed. “More likely rock crystals if we’re fortunate. Late afternoon it is, then.” He turned to Elspeth and Donal. “Are you ready?”

  “We are,” Elspeth said, he
r tone a little too bright.

  Elspeth was quiet as they walked together over heathery moors toward the foothills of the mountain. Those sloped abruptly away from the heath, and they climbed steadily, saying little. Partway up the slope, Elspeth paused to catch her breath, standing on scruffy rock-studded turf.

  The view was simply magnificent here. The smooth, steely surface of the loch stretched out below, fringed by heathery moorland with blazing autumn trees to one side and the dark slopes of the mountain to the other. Above them towered the peaks of Ben Venue, on whose lower slopes they stood. Far above, a ring of cloud obscured the top.

  Donal paused, Elspeth too, and James stood with them, shading his eyes with a hand. “Mica and schist,” he said after an assessing glance, and pointed. “Up there. That glossy black rock, do you see? The upper slopes contain a good bit of that, along with shale scree cascading down the sides. The schist indicates massive heat early in the mountain’s formation. A good sign for my research.”

  “I am glad. But I hope we find more than evidence for your research.” Elspeth found his geological explanations quite interesting, but there was far more on her mind than learning about rocks today.

  “I am aware.” Shouldering his leather pack on its long strap, he walked ahead.

  “Why are we here, if not for the lad to find rocks?” Donal called from ahead.

  “We are looking for the Goblin Cave. Do you know it, Grandda?” Elspeth asked.

  Donal frowned, stopping so that James and Elspeth came closer. “Coire nan Uruiskin? Why do you want to go there? Is it for your rocks, Struan?”

  “That,” James said, “and Elspeth and I want to look for the fairy treasure.”

  “Here?” Donal asked. “The goblin corrie—I searched it years ago. It is just a corrie near a small cave. You will find nothing but rock. But that may please you.”

  “We want to look again. Grandda, we have something to tell you,” Elspeth said.