Good granite was abundant in this glen, James realized, as he stood atop the high conical hill overlooking Struan House and its wide swath of gardens. The morning air was fresh, the sunlight warming as he took in the vastness of glen, hills, and mountains. Invigorated, he resumed his work.
Tapping with a small hammer and chisel, he broke off a chunk of the broad stone ledge that ran along the hillside. The rock broke easily, just a crust of sedimentary rock, limestone, and red sandstone. James was sure the layers stretched a long way through this string of hills. He had discovered a shoulder of granite close to the surface, a gray composite studded with glittering white quartz, bits of smoky cairngorm, and more.
Angus MacKimmie had told him of a quarry in the glen that produced sandstone and limestone, with granite and trap rock so hard it could not be quarried easily. As James worked, he thought about the variety of stone in the glen. Large deposits of granite and basalt here in the central Highlands would reinforce his geological research and theory.
He broke off bits of limestone that showed fossil traces, knowing his sister would enjoy examining them. Fiona shared his interest in geology and was particularly knowledgeable about fossils. Dropping the chunks into a leather bag, he set aside the tall, gnarled walking stick that Angus had given him for strenuous hill-climbing, and sat, pulling a small leather notebook and wood-cased pencil from his pocket.
Granite and whinstone formations NW of the house...100 ft. plus above the level of the house, he wrote. The deposits indicate possible internal heat, fusing masses together to create beds of sedimentary rock...molten material extruded from terrestrial core, cooled as crust, becoming volcanic rock. Evidence here. Basalt, dolerite, gray granite. Traces of red sandstone also in the vicinity.
Excellent material for lectures, he thought, satisfied. He could also work this into the geology book he was writing. That project added more evidence and analysis concerning the theory of a catastrophic development for the Earth, with stupendous heaving shifts of primeval land and sea masses. Some scientists theorized that landmasses and rocky formations had evolved slowly through gradual erosion, but James leaned toward the Catastrophists, though he agreed with details in both groups. What he had observed in these hills, for instance, supported the catastrophe theory. He continued his notes.
Granite, a rocky mass requiring tremendous heat to form, is evidence of volcanic activity, he wrote. Finding rich sources of granite this far in the Highlands, a considerable distance from known volcanoes such as the old formation near Edinburgh—this is significant.
He was particularly pleased to find such beds on his own property at Struan, giving him access to the sites—and dominion over the information and discovery.
What he was finding here was worthy of exploration, and could be an enormous contribution to the information accumulating as geologists pieced together a picture of Earth’s creation. Such discoveries could also indicate a future direction of terrestrial evolution. All of this was important for his scholarly book.
The wind blew briskly as he set down the notebook and rummaged in the leather bag for tools. He brought with him various chisels, two small hammers, and a fine loupe—two small hinged magnifying lenses banded in engraved brass, a gift from Fiona. The bag also contained chunks of unfired clay to test the streaking properties of minerals, along with bits of metal and shards of wood for testing hardness and density. There was a small vial of hydrochloric acid, well-capped, as well, for dissolving sedimentary deposits so he could clean and identify rocks. Today, he had put to good use the chisels, hammer, and loupe.
Hearing dogs bark, he looked around to see Angus climbing the hill with the wolfhound and the white terrier running alongside. Nellie reached him first, and James rubbed her head in greeting.
“Your guests are arriving, sir,” Angus said, pointing southeast.
“Sooner than expected! I had a letter from Lady Rankin saying they would arrive by Thursday. It is but Wednesday.”
“Mrs. MacKimmie has the house ready,” her husband said.
“She does indeed.” Struan House virtually sparkled, from polished furniture and floors to dazzling silver and glass downstairs and white counterpanes and fresh linens in all the guest rooms.
Standing beside Angus, he saw a vehicle approaching in the distance. The black coach and matched four followed the winding road toward Struan House. “Only two or three miles away,” James said.
“No hired chaise neither, but a fine private coach. I sent a groom ahead to lead them to the house. The roads are still rutted, and will stay so until they are fixed, which could be never,” he added bluntly. “Yon coachman best go slow.”
“Would we had the means to fix the roads and bridges, too.” James understood Angus’s broad hint. Waiting here, on this peaceful point overlooking the beautiful glen, he was in no hurry to leave, but he had to greet his guests. Dropping tools and rock bits into the leather bag, he shouldered it and took up the walking stick. Angus and the dogs descended with him.
The young groom came along the road on foot, one of Angus’s nephews, a kilted boy with red hair and an elfin grin. The ghillie went ahead to meet him, while James came slowly, using the stick to balance his limping gait.
The pockets of his tweed jacket sagged, for he had dropped rock specimens into those too. The loose, comfortable jacket had been a gift from Donal MacArthur, a package that had arrived at Struan House two days after his visit to Kilcrennan House. Its handsome woolen weave was sturdy, warm, and impervious to damp, perfect for explorative outings in the hills.
But he had not heard from Elspeth. He had returned a note of thanks for the coat, extending a dinner invitation to the MacArthurs and Mrs. Graham, and had inquired politely after Miss MacArthur. He had added his hope that she was still interested in acting as his research assistant.
No answer had come back, though a week had passed. James had contemplated riding to Kilcrennan, but pride and uncertainty delayed him. He was already allowing his familiar shell to close over him again. The freedom he had felt with Elspeth had changed him, but he could easily revert. With Elspeth, he had been ready to shake off the past and step away from the old, restrained, bitter part of himself. Without her, he was content to slip back to his old self.
Nor would he ask her to marry him again. She had refused, and he would not make a fool of himself. He still had to meet the conditions of his grandmother’s odd will, and Elspeth was more than perfect for that—and for him. But he told himself that he could live without her.
No matter that he wanted and desired her, craved to be her husband. Daydreaming was not in his character, but he indulged in that a little, imagining her in his house, in his life. But that avenue of dreams was closed. He must accept it.
Yet without the prescribed Highland fairy bride, he would jeopardize his siblings’ inheritance and even his ownership of Struan House and estate. He needed a wife, without question. Lady Rankin would push Charlotte Sinclair at him, but Charlotte could not satisfy the silly legal requirements.
And he already had a bride in mind and heart.
He would have to let go of that. He would recover from it, just as he had healed from other wounds. He was accustomed to a solitary, modest life. And he could sell Struan House to generate funds, though it broke his heart to think of it.
Angus returned, pointed toward the carriage in the distance. “Davie says there are three gentlemen in the coach. The rest are following in a second coach.”
“My brother Patrick wrote to say they would likely arrive today. Perhaps we will have more guests than expected.”
“Could be. Tcha, that driver is flyin’ fast on a poor road.”
James chuckled. “No one takes that road faster than you, MacKimmie.” He walked down to wait at the foot of the hillside as the vehicle came closer. It was a handsome black barouche drawn by four powerful bays with whipping black manes. Angus lifted his arm in salute, and the coach slowed and stopped. For a moment, James thought of the devil’s coach said to haunt some Highland roads. He dismissed the thought.
The door opened and his brother Patrick leaped down. Smiling, James went to greet him with a handshake and a thump on the shoulder.
“You look well, Jamie! Being a country laird agrees with you,” Patrick said, grinning. “The others are following—Fiona, Aunt Rankin, Philip, and Miss Sinclair in a second coach.”
“Very good. Who is with you?” The carriage door opened and a second man emerged. “Sir John! Excellent to see you,” James said, stepping forward to extend his hand as John Graham approached.
“Struan! Good to see you.” John tipped his hat, blond hair bright in the sun. “I hope you do not mind the intrusion. I know you did not expect us, but we had a business endeavor just north of here, and Patrick invited us along. Lord Eldin was generous enough to offer the use of his carriage for the trip.”
“Eldin?” James tensed, glancing toward the barouche’s open door. A third man remained inside, dressed in black from the crown of his hat and dark hair to his immaculate clothing and polished boots. He shifted his long legs to lean forward.
“Greetings, Struan. I see no reason to get out now, with the driver about to take us to the house.” His cousin, Nicholas MacCarran, Earl of Eldin, nodded and extended a hand.
“Eldin,” James said, reaching to briefly shake the man’s gloved hand. Propriety demanded that he hide his resentment of the fellow.
“No doubt you’re surprised to see us,” Eldin said, “but Sir John and I have business near here—I have a building project near Loch Katrine—we thought it efficient to travel with your brother.”
“Of course,” James said. “Will you stay the night at Struan House?”
“For luncheon only.” Lord Eldin answered as if he regarded Struan House as an inn. “We will be traveling to our hotel later today.”
“I see. Please go ahead up to the house. I’ll walk and meet you there,” James said curtly, though he was used to his cousin’s haughty manner.
“I’ll walk with you,” Patrick offered as John Graham climbed back into the coach. Angus and Davie joined the driver and set off.
“Couldn’t be helped,” Patrick said. “Nick insisted on being here. He is persistent as well as rude.”
“True. He did talk our uncle into selling the clan seat, years back.”
Patrick huffed. “He and John are heading north to see to the renovation of an old castle near Loch Katrine, a property Nick has purchased. He intends to repair and furnish the place as a hotel. With more travelers touring the Highlands, more accommodations are needed, and he sees opportunities there. He hired John Graham as the engineer on the estate to build private roads, a bridge, and so on. They are even talking about a small canal to connect two waterways.”
“He might find that the local Highlanders regard it as too much improvement to suit them,” James murmured. “Though I should ask John’s advice about bridge repairs here in the glen. So Aunt Rankin wants to tour the Highlands too? It may be more demanding than she thinks.”
“She’s quite enthused about it. She plans to stay at Struan for only one or two nights, being in a hurry to get going. You know how she can be. She’ll breeze through the Highlands in the most convenient and fastest way possible and barely appreciate it. But once home, she will be quite the expert to impress her friends.”
“I am surprised you decided to accompany her. You have scant patience for her or her entourage. Who is with her?” James glanced over his brother’s shoulder to look for the coach following along soon.
“Fiona, thank heavens. I could not have borne that company for long without her. Aunt Rankin has also dragged along her nephew, Philip, and Miss Sinclair. The latter for your benefit, I am sure.”
“No doubt,” James muttered.
“I would have begged off entirely, but I wanted to see you. And,” Patrick added, “I wanted to tell you that I have been appointed to a position in the Highlands, as an excise officer. I am to work with a local sheriff a little north of here.”
“Splendid! That is a better use of your talents than clerking documents in the Signet Courts all day. You have a taste for adventure.”
“Smugglers—free traders, they prefer to call themselves—abound in these hills and all through the Highlands. So it should prove interesting.”
“And dangerous, so be wary.” James thought of Donal MacArthur’s cousin, a MacGregor producing illicit whisky, some of it supposedly fairy make. He wondered if the fellow engaged in smuggling, and thought it likely.
“I am to assist Mr. Dougal MacGregor, a sheriff and laird there,” Patrick said.
James frowned. Was that the cousin’s name? A fair number of MacGregors would share names that ran in families. But a sheriff would hardly being brewing and smuggling illicit stuff—or would he? James knew better than to put anything past a true Highlander.
“I am glad Fiona decided to come with Aunt Rankin after all,” he said mildly.
“She has arranged to teach at a Gaelic school, and she was eager to see you before she goes there. She has her own legal requirement to fulfill, as do we all, with Grandmother’s will.” Patrick glanced at James. “Any progress, sir?”
“Huh,” James said with a half-laugh. He could never explain the whole of it. “I am learning a good deal about fairy lore. But I have not found a fairy bride, if that is what you mean.”
“I imagine they are not thick upon the ground.” They reached the stone pier gates along the drive leading to the house. “What if you do not find such a bride?”
He sighed. “Then I will have to sell Struan House. It’s mine to do with as I please. We can divide the profits and no longer pursue this fairy nonsense.”
“But you would lose the property,” Patrick said. “Our grandparents loved this place. The house and estate are as much our family legacy as the inheritance.”
“We may have no choice,” James said curtly. “Fairy brides are scarce.” And deucedly unwilling, he thought.
“Selling would solve the financial problem. But we could lose rest to Eldin if we do not meet the will. We cannot let that happen.”
Ahead, the vehicle stopped by the entrance, and Lord Eldin stepped down. Dressed in black from head to foot, he lifted his haughty, handsome head to survey the house and immediate grounds.
“Perhaps Mr. Browne can interpret the will more liberally,” James said.
“I doubt it,” Patrick said. “Jamie, you cannot imagine what it is like to spend several hours in a coach with Lord Raven, over there. The man is cold as ice. Not a whit of humor or warmth. It’s as if someone plucked the heart out of him. I do not remember him being like that as a lad. He was a pleasant fellow when we were young, a good and hardy companion.”
“He was.” James had nearly forgotten the early years. But he would never forget the betrayals that he and his family had suffered since. He strode forward, determined to act the host and laird of Struan. Highland hospitality dictated courtesy no matter the guest. “Gentlemen, this way, if you please,” he said.
As they entered the house, James thought of Patrick’s words. It’s as if someone plucked the heart out of him. In a way, James felt like that himself. It came from hurt, he realized. He wondered if he would grow as unfeeling as Eldin one day.
A shout from Angus MacKimmie caught his attention. James turned to see the ghillie pointing toward the road, where a second landau approached. He waited until it entered the drive, then walked forward to meet it.
The driver opened the door of the coach, and Sir Philip stepped out first with a mumbled greeting and handshake. He and James assisted the ladies to disembark.
“James!” Lady Rankin exclaimed as he helped her step down. “How good to see you. What dreadful roads. My spine shall not be the same. Look who is with me!”
Fiona stepped out, placing her gloved hand in her brother’s, her smile quick and bright, her kiss on his cheek sweet and welcome. As she moved aside, James looked up.
Charlotte Sinclair stepped out, twitching the pale skirts that fell beneath a red spencer, her blond hair neat under a straw hat tied with matching ribbons. She smiled and stretched out her hand. “Dear James, how I’ve missed you!”
“Miss Sinclair,” James said coolly. “How good to see you. Welcome to Struan House.”
Charlotte took his arm, smiling, but James thought of Elspeth as they walked to the house. He keenly missed her.
Later, while they enjoyed Mrs. MacKimmie’s excellent luncheon of cold lamb and butter-mashed turnips, James listened while his great-aunt explained her plans in excruciating detail. The woman scarcely took a breath as she spoke, despite repeated attempts by others to speak as well.
“Miss Sinclair has the headache and would like lunch in her room,” Lady Rankin told Mrs. MacKimmie for likely the third time. “Send a tray to her, please.”
“Aye, Madam, we’ve seen to it,” Mrs. MacKimmie answered, quietly directing two housemaids, who offered dishes around the table.
“James, I want you to find us a local guide,” Lady Rankin said next. He nodded, accepting a piece of lamb and a spoonful of rowan jelly. “Sir Walter Scott planned to join us on our trip, but he was unable at the last moment, a prior obligation. I am very disappointed. He would have been a superb guide on our journey through the Trossachs. His poem is set there, you know, The Lady of the Lake—”
“I know, Aunt,” James said. “I will ask if—”
“—although he gave us a most excellent travelogue for the area, written out in his own hand. Fiona has it—you did remember it, dear?”
“I have it, Aunt,” Fiona said, reached into her reticule to produce a folded letter. She opened it to reveal a page densely covered in handwriting that filled every available space on the page. James leaned toward his sister to study it.
“We are so excited to see Loch Katrine, which Scott described in his poem,” Lady Rankin said. “Lady Murray told me at tea last week that the views are simply breathtaking up there. Fiona, do bring your sketchbook so that later we may all enjoy pictures of our trip.”
“I will, Aunt.”
“Very good,” Eldin said. “The area is quite popular with tourists. In fact, I plan to open an inn over in the next glen. I’ve purchased an old castle to refurbish it.”
“How nice that will be. We must all return for a visit!” Lady Rankin said.
James noticed that Patrick and Fiona quietly and silently applied themselves to the meal, as did Sir John Graham, while Sir Philip and Lady Rankin went on asking about Eldin’s project.
“I would be honored if you would stay there when it is ready for guests,” Eldin was saying. “A reasonable price would be extended to family and friends.” Patrick looked at Fiona and James and rolled his eyes.
“Thank you, dear Eldin,” Lady Rankin said. “Fiona, you must consider Lord Eldin’s hotel for your accommodations if your teaching assignment is near there.”
“Cousin Fiona would be more than welcome,” Eldin said.
“Perhaps,” Fiona said flatly.
With the ladies retired to their rooms to rest, James stayed with the men to have coffee at the table, a more casual choice than the parlor. As a housemaid filled china cups from a silver server of steaming coffee, Sir John Graham asked if James had tried any local Highland whisky yet. When James fetched a bottle—his grandmother had kept a good stock of various bottles, he had found—Eldin held up a hand in curt refusal, while the others accepted small drams. James drank only the coffee, dark and bitter, even with a spoonful of sugar. That reminded him of Elspeth and her taste for sweets. She was never far from his mind.
As they discussed engineering improvements in Scotland, James felt aware of the glowering presence of Lord Eldin. Though his cousin said little, he brusquely ended one topic, declaring boredom, and brought up another. The man was cool, polite, enigmatic, and seemed keen to know plans for building in the Highlands.
“The roads in your glen are in very poor condition,” he told James. “I hope you have plans to repair them.”
“Recent storms did a good deal of damage. I have asked Mr. MacKimmie to hire a few men to repair a local bridge. The work should be completed soon,” James answered. “But long term repairs are needed there and along the main road.”
“The roads that the Highland Commission planned several years ago are nearly complete,” John Graham said. “The work of Telford, and others like him, will make a real difference all over the Highlands. Between the new roads and the older ones created under General Wade for the British campaign near a hundred years ago, the Highlands are more accessible than ever before. Though I do not know if this glen was included in any of the plans.”
“I have not heard of it, if so. There is a good deal of work needed. The cost would be considerable.”
“You should submit a report on the condition of the area to the Commissioners for Roads and Bridges in the Highlands,” Graham said. “It would require an engineer to assess the problems, and I would be happy to help. Though it takes time to gain the commission’s approval, and find funds, hire teams, and acquire materials.”
“You might better pay for it yourself, Struan,” Sir Philip suggested, “as the road and the bridge are on your estate. Get the thing designed and hire the laborers and workmen yourself.”
“Others have done so, finding it unwise and unsafe to wait,” Graham agreed.
“Perhaps Struan lacks the funds for repairs,” Eldin said.
“If it needs to be done, I will do it,” James said curtly.
“Allow me to offer a donation for the work to be done,” Eldin responded.
“Why would you do that?” James asked, wary.
His cousin shrugged. “It is a pretty glen, from what I have seen of it. I hear it is a place of fairy legends, too. I’m partial to fairies,” he murmured.
Was he mocking? James narrowed his eyes. “There are interesting legends here, like many Highland areas. As for the work to be done, I appreciate the offer, but it is not your concern.”
“I do not offer out of the goodness of my heart,” Eldin said. “I intend to open a hotel at the head of Loch Katrine, and this glen would provide access for travelers coming north. I would prefer the roads and bridges to be in good repair.”
“Ah,” said James, tight-lipped.
“How is your research going, Struan?” Philip Rankin asked. “I understand you are doing some geological exploration here, and a bit of folklore research as well.”
“My work is progressing, thank you. My grandmother requested that I complete her last book, and that’s going well also.”
“A while ago,” Eldin began, “I heard a tale of lost fairy gold in this glen. Have you encountered anything about it?”
“In passing. A curious tale. No truth to it, I think. My grandmother does not mention it in her notes.”
“She was a thorough scholar of folklore,” Eldin said. “I had great respect for the lady. I am sure she entrusted her work to you in good faith.”
James inclined his head. “I am doing my best.”
“Treasure?” Patrick looked intrigued. “A bit of gold would solve problems for all—well, it would be nice if it was ever found.”
“Certainly others are looking for it,” Eldin said. “Temptation is strong where legends of gold and treasure exist.”
“Have you met my cousins hereabouts by any chance, Struan?” John Graham asked then. James turned, grateful for a new subject. “We are to meet the Glasgow architects in the morning, so I cannot stay long enough for me to arrange a visit.”
“I have met Mrs. Peggy Graham,” James said carefully. “She is quite well.”
“Excellent! I have not seen her since I was a child, but please give her my best regards. And my other cousins too, should you see them. Miss Elspeth MacArthur and her grandfather.”
“Ah,” James said. “Yes.”
“You must invite them to dinner while we are here,” Patrick said. “Miss MacArthur attended the Ladies’ Assembly in Edinburgh, did she not?”
James took a sip of coffee, then nodded. “I have met the MacArthurs here.”
“That very pretty Highland lass? She seemed quite taken with you in Edinburgh.” Philip grinned. “The kisses flowed that afternoon, as I recall! You and Miss MacArthur seemed in good agreement with one another.”
“Met a Highland lass, did you?” Eldin asked. “Very good.”
Sensing the edge in the tone, James smiled flatly. He would be glad to see Eldin’s fancy black barouche roll away from here at last, along the same rough and rutted glen road the man complained about.
And may the very de’il bounce him back to hell, he thought.