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Authors: To Wed a Highland Bride
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Highlands. Ah. So the elfin sort are the fey sort. Right, then.” He scribbled that down.
The most formidable attribute of the elves, Sir Walter Scott had written, was their practice of carrying away, and exchanging, children; and that of stealing human souls from their bodies…. the power of the fairies extended to full-grown persons, especially those found asleep under a rock or on a green hill belonging to the fairies…
“Good God, even Sir Walter has succumbed to this nonsense,” James muttered, shaking his head. Heflipped pages, skimming the essay. A farmer, he next read, had gone out to wait for a procession of fairies, and then heard the ringing of the fairy bridles, and the wild unearthly sound which accompanied the cavalcade….
James sat up, finding that of interest, considering the fairy riding that Mrs. MacKimmie had mentioned. He would have to make sure that those details were included in his grandmother’s book. Flipping more pages, he came to the old Scots ballad of Tam Lin. Tam had been lured by the irresistible charms of the queen of fairies; appearing to his true love, Janet, he asked her to meet him when the fairies rode in procession. Janet must grab him and hold fast no matter what, so that he could be free.
Betwixt the hours of twelve and one
A north wind tore the bent
And straight she heard strange eldritch sounds
Upon that wind which went.
Outside, the wind and rain picked up fiercely, rattling the windows. He glanced up, hoping that Mrs. MacKimmie and the others traveled in safety, for they would be well on their way by now. Reaching out, he took a stack of handwritten pages from Lady Struan’s thick manuscript. More pages were piled beside his right hand, and to his left, stacks of books teetered on the desk and on the floor as well. He slid his own notes among the manuscript pages, planning to revise later with editorial passages.
He stood to fetch another book from a high shelf, climbing an iron stool to reach it, and limped back to the desk, doing without his cane, which he usedmostly for distances and on cold or rainy days, when the leg ached, as it had done for days in this dreary weather. He settled in his chair to read again.
“Fairy rings…fairy phosphorous…now that might prove interesting,” he said.
The study walls were lined with books behind mesh-fronted shelves, and the small, cozy library beyond, with its horsehair sofa, wing chairs, and fireplace, was filled with even more books, most of them collected by his grandparents, though some had belonged to previous generations of the lairds of Struan. His grandfather had purchased the property in his middle years, and had been elevated to a peerage for brave ser vice in the military, so that James had become the second Viscount Struan.
He picked up a sheaf of his grandmother’s book, the topmost of the handwritten pages with their curling edges and the smell of the ink, even years dry, lingering still. Her handwriting was small and certain, and every page was densely covered, some of them even crisscrossed with sentences. There were at least six hundred pages, he had estimated. He had spent nearly a fortnight just reading, either Grandmother’s close, fine handwriting, or various books on fairy lore and social customs in Scotland. All the while, he had taken new notes of his own, so that the pile of papers grew daily.
The scope of the thing was more than he had expected. Lady Struan’s handwritten chapters were not fairy tales, but scholarly assessments of aspects of Highland lore. He had to admit that some of it was fascinating, if fanciful. Ever since his arrival, he had applied himself diligently to reading her manuscript and studying reference books, but for long walks forexercise, and to search for rocks to support his geological studies.
Needing a stretch, he rose and walked to the window that faced toward the back. Gazing at the vast, upward-sloping garden—expanded to contain a grotto cut from a rocky
The most formidable attribute of the elves, Sir Walter Scott had written, was their practice of carrying away, and exchanging, children; and that of stealing human souls from their bodies…. the power of the fairies extended to full-grown persons, especially those found asleep under a rock or on a green hill belonging to the fairies…
“Good God, even Sir Walter has succumbed to this nonsense,” James muttered, shaking his head. Heflipped pages, skimming the essay. A farmer, he next read, had gone out to wait for a procession of fairies, and then heard the ringing of the fairy bridles, and the wild unearthly sound which accompanied the cavalcade….
James sat up, finding that of interest, considering the fairy riding that Mrs. MacKimmie had mentioned. He would have to make sure that those details were included in his grandmother’s book. Flipping more pages, he came to the old Scots ballad of Tam Lin. Tam had been lured by the irresistible charms of the queen of fairies; appearing to his true love, Janet, he asked her to meet him when the fairies rode in procession. Janet must grab him and hold fast no matter what, so that he could be free.
Betwixt the hours of twelve and one
A north wind tore the bent
And straight she heard strange eldritch sounds
Upon that wind which went.
Outside, the wind and rain picked up fiercely, rattling the windows. He glanced up, hoping that Mrs. MacKimmie and the others traveled in safety, for they would be well on their way by now. Reaching out, he took a stack of handwritten pages from Lady Struan’s thick manuscript. More pages were piled beside his right hand, and to his left, stacks of books teetered on the desk and on the floor as well. He slid his own notes among the manuscript pages, planning to revise later with editorial passages.
He stood to fetch another book from a high shelf, climbing an iron stool to reach it, and limped back to the desk, doing without his cane, which he usedmostly for distances and on cold or rainy days, when the leg ached, as it had done for days in this dreary weather. He settled in his chair to read again.
“Fairy rings…fairy phosphorous…now that might prove interesting,” he said.
The study walls were lined with books behind mesh-fronted shelves, and the small, cozy library beyond, with its horsehair sofa, wing chairs, and fireplace, was filled with even more books, most of them collected by his grandparents, though some had belonged to previous generations of the lairds of Struan. His grandfather had purchased the property in his middle years, and had been elevated to a peerage for brave ser vice in the military, so that James had become the second Viscount Struan.
He picked up a sheaf of his grandmother’s book, the topmost of the handwritten pages with their curling edges and the smell of the ink, even years dry, lingering still. Her handwriting was small and certain, and every page was densely covered, some of them even crisscrossed with sentences. There were at least six hundred pages, he had estimated. He had spent nearly a fortnight just reading, either Grandmother’s close, fine handwriting, or various books on fairy lore and social customs in Scotland. All the while, he had taken new notes of his own, so that the pile of papers grew daily.
The scope of the thing was more than he had expected. Lady Struan’s handwritten chapters were not fairy tales, but scholarly assessments of aspects of Highland lore. He had to admit that some of it was fascinating, if fanciful. Ever since his arrival, he had applied himself diligently to reading her manuscript and studying reference books, but for long walks forexercise, and to search for rocks to support his geological studies.
Needing a stretch, he rose and walked to the window that faced toward the back. Gazing at the vast, upward-sloping garden—expanded to contain a grotto cut from a rocky
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