Firelight flickered over the old canopy bed as James lay on the coverlet, still dressed, but for coat and boots. He could not sleep, but stared at the embroidered canopy overhead, some flowery pattern. His thoughts raced.
He had not seen any blasted fairies out in that storm, he told himself, although the girl had insisted on it. Did he doubt her sanity—or his own?
Arriving at Struan House, he had stepped knee-deep into fairies and whatnot, from the banshee in the foyer to Grandmother’s fairy lore, to a fetching girl who saw fairies on horses. He had seen only trees whipping in the wind, and a heavy, shifting mist. The place was full of superstitions and legends. Why would his grandmother send him here, knowing that a scientist would not easily understand such things?
Perhaps, a voice inside said, she had meant to challenge his thinking.
For now, he had more immediate concerns. From the moment he had seen Elspeth again, sitting at the bottom of the garden hill, he had been well and truly caught. And this evening he had very nearly taken her on wet grass, in darkness, in the midst of a storm. Madness indeed. However blithely the girl wanted compromise, surely she did not mean that way.
He would honor his obligation and treat its consequences seriously. Staring at the needlework canopy, he felt caught in a knotwork of circumstances of his own making. Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his eyes. He must marry the girl, and soon.
He had come to Struan to finish the manuscript and attempt to find a Highland fairy bride, ridiculous though it seemed. Elspeth had a decidedly fey nature. That would have to do. The marriage was practical and necessary, serving her needs as well as his own. He would propose in the morning.
Finally, still unable to rest, he got up, still in shirtsleeves, deciding to go downstairs and read for a while. Fairy lore was certainly soporific.
Heading for the stairs, he approached the chamber where Elspeth presumably slept. Hearing a light cough, he stopped, and heard soft footsteps. So he was not the only sleepless one on this strange night.
He tapped on the door. “Miss MacArthur.”
“Go away,” she answered.
“You need not open the door. Only listen to me.”
“Say what you will, then.”
Resting his head against the door, he tried to compose his words. “What happened tonight has consequences. I am willing to meet them.”
“Unnecessary.”
“Miss MacArthur,” he said, exasperated, “I am offering to marry you.” His heart slammed. He had not planned this part of it yet, meant to carefully consider. But fate had put him in this place, this position. He felt a certainty, a strong urge to do this, as if emotion and intuition were swamping logic.
“Elspeth.” He flattened a hand on the door. Some raw need surged. He wanted this more than he could admit even to himself. “It must be done in such situations.”
“Must be done,” she repeated. “A pretty devotion.”
Silence followed. James wished he had waited for morning and a clearer head. “You need time to consider. I understand. We will discuss it tomorrow.” He could hardly tell her that meeting the conditions of Lady Struan’s will was part of his decision. That was even colder than a proposal of marriage based on an obligation.
“You need not feel obligated,” she said, in that odd way she had of echoing his thoughts. Only his twin, Fiona, did that.
“I do,” he said. “And I regret what I brought about for you.”
“I do not regret it. Your offer is appreciated. Thank you.”
“I intend to compensate for…your compromising.”
“Let it be our secret. Goodnight, sir.”
Our secret. The words sent a sudden plunge of desire straight through him, unexpected, enticing. He could not say what he felt—it was jumbled and confusing in his brain, and the passion he felt went against his personal code of keeping himself to himself and others safely distant. Yet he felt compelled. “A clear conscience demands an honorable solution.”
“Clear conscience? What good union could come of that beginning? This is best forgotten. A little ruination suits me. Marriage for a lifetime does not.”
“A little ruination could be a disaster for you. I thought you would rather be ruined than marry the man your grandfather has chosen for you.” At the very notion of her with another man, he closed a fist. “So I thought you might prefer to marry me. It is a better solution than disgrace, and better than marriage to some ogre.”
“He is not an ogre. He is a reputable tailor with a fine income and a country estate outside Edinburgh.” Through the wood of the door, her voice had a soft intimacy. James leaned close to listen.
“Then what the devil is wrong with the fellow?” He felt annoyed. Jealous.
“He does not love me, nor could I love him. He lives in the city, while I intend to stay in the Highlands. And I believe he is more interested in my grandfather’s weaving business than in having me for a wife.”
“He is a fool.” James closed his eyes.
“He is not the one for me.”
“And who,” he said softly, “would that be?”
“Well, no one now that I am ruined,” she said crisply.
“You are not ruined, not if I can change it. You would be the new Lady Struan.” The more he spoke, the more he craved this marriage himself. Hope, like some silly, storybook feeling, dawned. If he could convince her, his life—and hers too, he hoped—would improve. “It would benefit both of us. You need protection from scandal now, and a good situation. And I—have need of a wife.”
“I am sure there are several ladies who would be glad to know that.”
He wished the door was not between them, but that would lead to other risks. Better to have the barrier. He sighed. “Elspeth. I am not asking any other lady to marry me.”
“Perhaps you should, and have a wife who would live in the city with you.”
“Is that the cause of this infernal stubbornness? I must live in the city. I am a lecturer at the university. We could spend summers up here,” he offered.
She paused. “I cannot leave this glen.”
“Ever? Is there a spell cast over you?”
She was silent. He wondered if she had stepped away.
“Listen to me. I am a viscount. I own a fine estate.” He began to tick off on his fingers. “I have a respectable yearly income, or will have, if—some legal problems are solved. I have a townhouse in Edinburgh and a position at the university. I’m not unpleasant to look at, despite a bad leg, and I have written a volume on geology that weighs nearly as much as you do.” He stopped, surprised at his own fervor. He was never one to tout himself or reveal feelings or needs. Yet he had never courted any girl with so much determination. “Surely that counts for something.”
“I am impressed. You will have no difficulty finding a bride in Edinburgh.”
He exhaled, exasperated. “It is more difficult than you know.”
“Marrying me will solve all your problems and mine, I suppose,” she said. “Wait. Legal…problems? What does that mean?”
If one factor discouraged him from having Elspeth for a wife, it was her uncanny ability to ferret out his private thoughts. “Marry me and I will tell you the whole of it.”
“No.”
“Elspeth, I will not stand here begging. Consider it and give me your answer tomorrow.” He leaned his forehead against the door. “I am not good at this confounded courting business.”
“Better than you know,” she said. “I am flattered. You are a titled gentleman, and very pleasant to look at. I do not mind the leg at all, if that worries you about courting. I have a bad ankle myself. In fact, I should rest it now rather than stand here. Goodnight.”
He wanted her to stand there—he wished he could take her into his arms. “You know we must marry. Truly, what is your objection? Blast it all,” he muttered.
“You swear too much. It is a plague in your personality.”
“Elspeth,” he growled.
“Very well. I would stay in the Highlands, but you are a Lowland man. And I think you cannot wait to be gone from here and back in the south again.”
“I never said that.” Not in her hearing, at any rate. “You would have a comfortable life in the city with me.”
“I know,” she said softly. “I am sure you would accommodate whatever I wanted. I know that. Now let us be done with this tonight, Struan. It is late.”
The more she denied him, the more appealing the prospect grew. She was interesting. Intriguing. Fascinating. “Tell me this first.” He leaned to the door, speaking low. “Are you perhaps waiting for someone else? Is there a man who lives in this glen who has your heart instead?”
“I wish he did live in this glen,” she whispered. “He is a fine man. We loved sweetly, once, with the fairy magic upon us, and he won my heart. But not all of it,” she added. “Not yet.”
James went still, heart thumping. Passion, excitement, a lightning strike of hope went through him. “And this fine man, is he the one for you?”
“So he likes to think. Away with you now, James MacCarran, Lord Struan.”
Moments later, he knew she was gone from the door. He lingered, head bowed. He felt touched deep, could not define it. Stepping back, he went down the shadowy corridor.
He felt different somehow. He was not quite the man who had arrived at Struan House originally, no longer just a scientist with a cool head and shielded heart. But he was not yet sure how he was changed.
Elspeth smoothed her skirts and straightened her green jacket, her garments dry now, having hung by the hearth fire while she slept. Most of the dried mud had brushed away, though the stains might never disappear even with a thorough cleaning. She hurried, aware that time was slipping away. She must be home soon. Outside, rain still pattered the window glass.
But she wanted to stay. Struan’s marriage proposal still echoed in her mind. The intimacy of his voice was a caress, and his words, his meaning, had thrilled her. She felt she must refuse, but regretted it more than Struan could ever know.
Glancing into a little mirror on the chest of drawers, she combed her fingers through her tousled hair and plaited it in a single braid, tied it with a ribbon tugged from her bonnet. Like her gown, her favorite straw hat had gone limp, the ribbons ruined, but she set it on her head anyway. Then she grabbed her plaid arisaid and tossed it over her shoulders. Her garments could be restored, but she herself had changed—not ruined, but altered. And she would never be the same.
She glanced out the window at the dreary, sodden landscape. With her ankle swollen and sore, it was impossible to walk home. She would have to ask the viscount to drive her. He had not returned to her door last night, though she had lain awake, wondering and thinking. Just as well he stayed away, she thought. She teetered on the verge of agreeing to marry him, even knowing it was just obligation. Still, she tried to convince herself that she need not marry him, or anyone.
What she wanted most was to remain at Kilcrennan and in the Highlands, and if that meant not marrying, she would accept it. The difficulty, she realized, was that she was falling in love with a Lowlander. Last night had not been the beginning. It has started on the August afternoon she had first met Struan in Edinburgh.
If she ever did fall in love, according to her grandfather, that would end the fairy magic binding her and binding him as well. So it might seem a solution.
But that very magic made Donal MacArthur happy. And she could not take that away from him in his twilight years.
After last night, she began to understand the power of the fairy sort. Perhaps it was real—she felt the chill of that possibility. Grandda had tried to warn her, always claiming that he had lost a son to the Fey and succumbed to the thrall of the queen himself. His bargain, so he said, brought him into the fairy world every seven years, and gave him a gift for the weaving—but over and over, he had warned Elspeth not to risk challenging the fairy ilk.
But Kilcrennan and her grandfather were all she knew and loved best. She could not bear to bring harm to them. Marriage to Lord Struan, even love, seemed a selfish choice if it could take away the happiness of others.
Sighing, she knew it was time to talk about this with him—at least some of it. She left the bedchamber and went to the stairs. Her ankle still ached but seemed improved as she descended cautiously.
Struan was nowhere to be found. She had peered into the library, study, and parlor, even the kitchen, encountering the dogs in the corridor by the garden door. Beyond the window, the rain continued, and through the mist she saw the green lawn where she and Struan had tumbled to the grass with wild and tender kisses, while the fairy court rode past.
Inhaling sharply at the memory, she entered the kitchen and noticed a tray on the long pine table. A silver pot, a china cup and saucer, a plate with a bit of toast, and a folded piece of creamy paper sat on the tray. Steam swirled up from the silver spout, fragrant with cocoa.
She touched the note. His handwriting was strong and slightly spiked, with a hint of roundness, like a secret tenderness. She traced a finger over her name—Elspeth, he had written. Nothing more. The tray contents told the rest. He had prepared this for her and then had gone out, she guessed, in a hurry.
Pouring out the chocolate, she sipped it and nibbled on the buttered toast. Osgar came forward to nudge at her hand, and she relented, giving him a scrap of toast. He urged her toward the door, and she followed.
As he scratched at the back door, the terriers trotted into the room as well. Elspeth tied her bonnet securely and opened the door, pulling her arisaid up, too, against the wet. Letting Osgar out, she kept the other dogs back, for they would need chasing eventually, and she knew they had been out already, their coats damp.
Limply slightly, she lifted her skirt hem out of the mud, and Osgar pushed against her to offer support. She patted his shoulder. “Good dog. My loyal friend.”
She would dearly miss the dog. And his master. Sighing, she looked around.
The gardens were windblown and deserted. Just as she turned to go back inside, she saw James—Struan, for she should not continue to think of him more intimately—walking toward the house from the direction of the stables and outbuildings. He wore a greatcoat and hat, one hand engaged with his cane, the other shoved in a pocket, coattails billowing in the wind.
“Good morning, Miss MacArthur,” he said as politely as if they had met in a park or a village green. “Chilly and wet today.”
“Lord Struan,” she said with a touch of coolness. Now that she saw him, she was not sure how to react. She thought he might feel the same. “The weather has improved some. I can return home this morning.”
“Aye, but not on foot. I will drive you as soon as the roads dry enough to allow it. I have walked about some—the roads appear to be deuced muddy at the moment, but we will see how the day develops. Stay as long as you like.” His smile was shy, quick, somehow heart-wrenching.
“I should go.” She glanced away. “Have you seen to the animals already?”
“All is well. I may be a city lad now, but I know something of country life. Most of the animals here are on the home farm in the glen, but there are a few in a byre here. I saw one of the grooms—he came up briefly to see to the animals, as he had promised. The cow gave no milk this morning. Frightened by the storm, he thought.”
“Or the Fey.”
He tipped a brow but made no direct comment. “Mrs. MacKimmie keeps some chickens here. There were a few eggs this morning. The lad and I split them.” He put his hands into his pockets, displayed four brown eggs, pocketed them again. “We can have breakfast.”
“I had hot chocolate and a little toast already, thank you for that. A bit more would be lovely.” She turned to walk toward the house alongside of him.
“Quite welcome. I am not a bad hand in the kitchen for basics, being a bachelor and used to scant household staff in my own home—in Edinburgh. How is the ankle this morning?” He glanced down as she limped along. His own gait had the slight rhythm that seemed a part of him. “You’re in no condition to walk home, though you seem anxious to escape Struan House and its laird.”
“I do not want to escape. But I must not be here alone with you.”
“Unless, Miss MacArthur, we change our status.”
She said nothing. In silence, they followed the path toward the kitchen door. The soft rain lessened, and in the pale morning light, the ground was beset with puddles and runnels of water. Elspeth went carefully, now and then accepting Struan’s assistance. He was right—it was clear she could not walk home. He would have to drive her, and she would have to wait on the roads, and his whim, for that.
“Halloo! Halloo, my lord!”
Elspeth turned, as he did too, to see two men walking along a road toward the house. “Who is that?” Struan asked. “MacKimmie and the grooms are gone.”
One man wore a kilt, jacket, and dark bonnet, with a plaid over his shoulder. The other was dressed in a black suit and black hat. Elspeth felt her stomach sink.
“Mr. Buchanan and his son,” she explained. “The elder Buchanan is a smith, and his son is kirk minister down the glen.” She stopped, and Struan did too. “When they see us together, they will make their own conclusions, and the news will travel quickly. Those two do not guard their tongues well, nor do their wives.”
“Even a minister? Well, then. Let us meet our fate.” Struan took her arm to escort her toward the stile in the stone fence that curved over the meadow.
“Och, it’s the new laird!” said the older man. “And Miss MacArthur!”
She smiled. “Good morning to you both! Lord Struan, may I present Mr. Willie Buchanan, a blacksmith in the glen. And his son, the Reverend John Buchanan.”
“Good to meet you,” Struan said, shaking their hands. Looking like old and younger twins, the Buchanans tipped their hats to both.
“A fine soft day.” The elder Buchanan smiled. “After a wild night.”
“Aye.” Struan nodded. “Let us hope the rain clears soon.”
“The clouds are thick yet, and dark, see there, over the mountains to the west. More rain to come,” Willie Buchanan pronounced. “Sir, do you have any metals gone to rust in this weather, you be sure to send for me.”
“I will,” Struan promised.
“I meant to come sooner to welcome you to the glen, sir,” said the reverend, “but for the puir weather and my parish duties. What a surprise to find you here, Miss MacArthur,” he continued. “I thought you would be working your loom at Kilcrennan, all snug by the fireside.”
“I—ah—I went to visit my cousin, near here,” she stammered.
“We stopped by Kilcrennan just this morning to see if all was well after the storm, and Peggy Graham said you were away to Margaret Lamont’s house. She was concerned for you, in the bad rain.”
“We thought to go to Margaret’s house to see that that all was right and good there, but the roads are that muddy,” said the elder Buchanan. “Not safe that way.”
She drew a breath. “I did set out for Margaret’s house, but the storm made that very difficult. Lord Struan, ah, came to my assistance.”
“Did he now.” The elder narrowed his eyes. “What sort of assistance?”
“A dry roof, a fireside, and the offer of an escort home,” Struan said smoothly. “May I offer you hospitality, gentlemen?”
“Thank you, sir, but nay,” the old smith said. “We’d best be going. We are walking about to ask after others in the big storm, and off to see that me auld mum is well too. We canna take the pony cart, must go on foot. The river and stream are floody, too, and the auld stone bridge is washed out again. Not collapsed, but not safe for now.”
“Oh!” Elspeth glanced at Struan. “That is the way back to Kilcrennan.”
“You can walk the long way over the hills,” the reverend said. “No cart or gig can take the road or the bridge until things dry up again.”
“Is Mrs. MacKimmie home, then?” Willie Buchanan asked Struan. “I have greetings for her from my wife, who is her good friend.”
“Not at present, Mr. Buchanan, but I will tell her you called,” Struan replied.
“Not home? Perhaps Mr. MacKimmie, then.”
“He is not here at the moment. The weather, you understand.”
“Ah,” said Mr. Buchanan, glancing at his son. “Not home.”
Listening, Elspeth shivered and drew her plaid higher over her head. The gentlemen adjusted hat brims and jacket collars as they all stood in the drizzle and the wind, with a stone fence and iron gate between them. The two Highlanders did not seem in a hurry to leave. Shifting her weight to her uninjured foot, Elspeth felt Struan’s hand briefly at her elbow. A fast look exchanged between the Buchanans.
“All yer Southron housemaids ran off, I heard,” Mr. Buchanan said. “We saw yer groom driving the lasses along the road yesterday morning.”
“Apparently they dislike ghosts and fairies. I have not had much trouble from them myself.”
“Och, Lowlanders,” old Buchanan said. “Though I canna blame them for leaving. It is a custom in this glen to avoid Struan lands when the fairy riding comes about, whether or not one believes it, aye. My son does not, being a man of God. But I say you are a brave man to stay here at this time. Did no one warn you?”
“Mrs. MacKimmie mentioned the tradition. It does not bother me to stay.”
The elder Buchanan twisted his hat in his hand and glanced at Elspeth. “Are you sure he understands the whole of it, Elspeth?”
“He does, sir,” she answered, holding her chin high.
“You will find Highlanders a superstitious lot, Lord Struan,” the reverend said. “The people of this glen have their legends, of course. Many find the stories entertaining, but some put real trust in them.” He glanced at Elspeth. “It is not a matter of religious faith, nor paganism or Godlessness, as some suggest. Rather it is part of the unique Celtic character. As a pastor, I let it be and do not concern myself overmuch with it.”
“Very wise, sir,” Struan said. “The legends are fanciful and harmless.”
“The stories,” Elspeth said, “are not just amusement. I have always felt that as part of the culture of the Scottish Highlands, they should be given their due.”
“Of course,” Reverend Buchanan agreed. “The late Lady Struan was quite interested in the tales of the glen, as I recall. She often drove her pony cart about to interview people about local customs.”
“My grandmother loved her work,” Struan said affably. “The skies do look rather dreadful. Will you come in for tea or something stronger, though it is early?”
“No, thank you. We will be on our way. Miss MacArthur, may we see you home?” The reverend smiled. “We would be glad to walk you back to Kilcrennan.”
“Thank you, it is not necessary,” she said, smiling, standing on one foot, hidden by her skirts and the stone wall. Beside her, Struan was silent. She felt his alertness.
“No need to impose on the good laird,” the elder Buchanan said. “Yer grandfather would want ye home. He’s expected back this evening from the city if the roads permit.”
“I was about to see Miss MacArthur home,” Struan said.
“Nonsense, you are busy, surely. We can do it,” the reverend insisted. “I am sure you will agree, Lord Struan, that the situation is not particularly seemly.”
“There is nothing amiss here,” Elspeth said. “We are not strangers. Lord Struan and I are acquaintances. We met in Edinburgh,” she blurted.
“Just so,” Struan agreed. Elspeth was grateful for the support and security she felt as he stood beside her.
“Ah.” The smith glanced at his son and back again. “Well then, sir, we will move on before the weather worsens.” Then he turned to Elspeth and spoke in Gaelic. “A thousand good wishes to you in your future, Elspeth, daughter of Donal.”
“And to you, sir,” she replied in that language.
The men moved on. Then Elspeth picked up her skirt and hurried toward the house, limping with uneven steps. Catching up to her, Struan opened the door and waited for her to enter first.
“What is it?” he asked.
She whirled on him in the small kitchen passageway. “Did you hear that?”
“I heard, but I do not understand Gaelic.”
“Mr. Buchanan spoke a Gaelic blessing—one that is used for an engaged couple!”
“Engaged?” He frowned. “They must have assumed so.”
“Or else he was telling me indirectly what I should do, or be disgraced!”
“Indeed? Well, if we announced our engagement, there would be no scandal. Is there much scandal in the Highlands, come to think of it?”
“Sometimes. But I do not want to be engaged,” she added.
“We spent the night alone here, and now we’ve been seen together. An engagement should be announced. It can be broken later, if you are so adamant against it.”
“You are trying very hard to convince me.” She frowned, suspicious. “Why?”
“Because I think it is the best solution. You said these fellows might spread gossip. It will get about, to your detriment.” He bent to pet the terriers.
“Highlanders do not fret over scandal the way Southrons do. Some whispering might occur, but few in this glen would judge me unfairly. Even girls who have babies out of wedlock are not severely judged or sent away. We accept that such things happen.”
“Aye,” Struan said wryly. “They do. So that is why you are eager for compromise, knowing the consequences here are low? You should have explained.”
She felt a blush rise in her face and throat. “My cousin’s first child was such a one, and she but sixteen. Her family treated her kindly, and a few years later, Margaret married a different man. And a good husband he is to her. As for my wee transgression,” she said, “my grandfather would try to understand. And I would not be expected to marry the tailor. I could stay at Kilcrennan in peace to do my work.”
He nodded, frowning. “What work is that?”
“Weaving.” She lifted a corner of the plaid draped around her shoulders. “This is some of my work. I help Grandda with his tartan making. It is no occupation for a lady in the south, I suppose, but it is good and honored work here.”
“Ladies often have some kind of work they enjoy, though weaving would be unusual, I suppose. My grandmother did as she pleased, chasing fairy legends and writing stories. If she had set her mind on weaving, the walls of this place would be draped in plaid, I assure you. She never let convention deter her from what she most wanted to do. Even after she died,” he murmured.
“She also spent a good part of the year in Edinburgh. I will not abandon this place to go south for parties and such. A husband is not expected to give up his work, but a wife—“
“I would not ask that of you. Where is the argument, Elspeth? Marry me and solve this for both of—” He paused. “You can spend as much time here as you like.”
Elspeth busied herself ruffling Osgar’s silky ears. Then she looked up. “Away from my husband? I could not live like that, either.”
Struan frowned, and Elspeth again felt a sense that his persistence stemmed from more than gentlemanly conscience. “We can easily keep two homes,” he said.
Nellie, the white terrier, trotted toward her, and Elspeth bent to rub her snowy head. “Why are you so determined to see this done? Many men in this situation would be glad to be free of any obligation.”
He shrugged. “You require a husband. And I require a wife.”
She felt that like a blow. “I do not require it. And,” she said, standing, “I would never marry a man who values obligation above a wife.”
“I never said that.” He watched her evenly.
“There is no engagement,” she decided, hurt and angry. Snatching her skirts, she swept past him, walking unevenly, and went toward the steps to the main hallway. Her heart beat hard. Some raw feeling urged her to turn back to ask what this was truly all about. She hurried onward.
Every instinct, womanly and Celtic, told her she cared for this man, and she thought he cared about her. Were those instincts wrong? He suggested marriage, but dispassionately, despite what burned between them last night—and still.
“Damnation,” he said behind her.
Elspeth whirled, shaking, hoping.
“I forgot the eggs.” He took his hand from his pocket, eggshells in his palm, clear and golden slime coating his fingers.
She laughed, part sob and part giggle. Struan laughed sheepishly as egg dripped on his coat, his boots, and the floor. The terriers trotted over to lick at the floor and his shoes.
“I managed to save these.” He produced two eggs from the other pocket. “Miss MacArthur, would you share a small breakfast?”
She sighed, surrendering. “We can agree on being hungry, at least.”
Truly, she did not want to leave Struan House and its laird yet. If ever. The pull was strong, even if she denied it. Each moment with him added more facets to it.
Now, seeing his crooked half-grin, his damp brown hair and sky-blue eyes, the wide shoulders and lean build, she remembered how very good those arms, those lips felt. She melted, yearning to run to him. Yet she stayed where she stood.
He leaned on his walking stick in the hallway, a casual movement, though she knew he needed the support. He was empirical and factual, yet he was passionate and willing to learn about things he did not understand. He was careful in his personal appearance and with details, yet his study was in disarray. Even now he stood with rain dripping from his fine coat, egg smeared on his hands, one terrier licking his boot, the other pawing at him in adoration. He laughed, and her heart turned in delight.
“Do you know how to cook eggs, Lord Struan?”
“Actually, no, but I am willing to try. You need to rest your foot.”
An apology of sorts, and more. She nodded, felt a stirring of hope despite her fears. Yet if Struan knew the whole truth about her and her grandfather, he would regret his proposal, thinking them lunatic and a family to avoid.
She had to refuse his marriage offer, even though her heart softened toward it.
Yet she wanted his company so much just now, a little food too. Then, as soon as weather and roads allowed, she would leave. She followed him into the kitchen, dogs trotting beside them.