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hill behind the house—he watched the rainfall, and saw something moving about high up on the garden slope.
For a moment, he thought it was a girl. The fairy the maid had seen was no doubt an illusion formed of flowers, rocks, and atmosphere. Amid the silver rain and twilight, whatever it was moved again—very much like the fleeting form of a girl. Whether wraith, ghost, human, or mist, something was at the top of the hill.
After a moment, he saw her again—definitely a girl. Dark hair, pale face. She looked toward the house, then disappeared behind the wet shrubbery.
He frowned. Rain trickled in rivulets down the hillside. Perhaps it was a tree or a garden statue blurred by the downpour, and he ought to check into it. A garden statue or some of the decorative rocks could dislodge in the mud.
A lightning flash showed the form again—female, or looked that way. The grotto was up there, completed the year before Lady Struan’s death. A fairy portal, his grandmother had called the hillside in her manuscript notes.
Fairies, indeed. If someone was mucking about in his grandmother’s fairy grotto in this torrent, James intended to find out why.
Turning on his booted heel, snatching up his cane, James marched out into the corridor. Osgar the wolfhound, who lay sleeping in the hallway outside the door, rose and loped after him.
She had to hurry. Two vehicles had left the house in the time since Elspeth had entered the garden, and someone else might still be in the house. She had hoped the place was empty, and thought the storm might hold off, but she had been wrong on both counts. Now she could only hope that the viscount himself was not there.
Given another day, the staff would be gone to avoid the fairy riding, and she would not have had to lurk like this in the garden. But with the poor weather, today had seemed the best chance to look for the stone her grandfather wanted.
She had told Mrs. Graeme that she would stay with Margaret Lamont if the weather got bad. She enjoyed visiting Margaret and her husband and children, for Elspeth loved the company, as well as the chance to lend a hand in the process of combing, dyeing, spinning, and twisting the new wools. But rather than walk the nearly ten miles straight through the glen—like most Highlanders, she was used to walking long distances—Elspeth had stopped at Struan House first. Now she regretted the detour.
But she had to find the stone for her grandfather. According to legend, and Donal, too, a fairy portal existed somewhere in the hill. And she wanted to see for herself if Donal’s tales were true. Now, the rain and lightning had set her plans awry.
She even wondered if the daoine sìth themselves had taken a hand in this weather, for tradition claimed that they could wield such power. Growing more uneasy, she stood by the rock wall that thrust up at the top of the hill and looked around.
The original hill had been crested by a great cluster of rock, but the work of the last few years had enclosed much of the slope. Elspeth tried to remember where Donal had stood when he had visited this rock, and disappeared into what he said was the fairy world. Where had he hidden the crystal?
In the rain, she pulled up her plaid shawl to better cover her head. Her gown, spencer jacket, and leather boots were already soaked, but she was intent on her task. She could not be discovered here—how could she ever explain that she searched for a precious crystal rock to steal from the garden, a stone that was a key to the fairy world. She would seem mad indeed. The late Lady Struan had been interested in local lore, but she was gone. The others might not be so curious and accepting.
Lady Struan had invited Donal and Elspeth to Struan House once or twice to talk about fairy legends. Donal had told some of his tales, and had warned Lady Struan that certain stories must not be written down, at risk of angering the fairies. Lady Struan had been intrigued; she had also been
For a moment, he thought it was a girl. The fairy the maid had seen was no doubt an illusion formed of flowers, rocks, and atmosphere. Amid the silver rain and twilight, whatever it was moved again—very much like the fleeting form of a girl. Whether wraith, ghost, human, or mist, something was at the top of the hill.
After a moment, he saw her again—definitely a girl. Dark hair, pale face. She looked toward the house, then disappeared behind the wet shrubbery.
He frowned. Rain trickled in rivulets down the hillside. Perhaps it was a tree or a garden statue blurred by the downpour, and he ought to check into it. A garden statue or some of the decorative rocks could dislodge in the mud.
A lightning flash showed the form again—female, or looked that way. The grotto was up there, completed the year before Lady Struan’s death. A fairy portal, his grandmother had called the hillside in her manuscript notes.
Fairies, indeed. If someone was mucking about in his grandmother’s fairy grotto in this torrent, James intended to find out why.
Turning on his booted heel, snatching up his cane, James marched out into the corridor. Osgar the wolfhound, who lay sleeping in the hallway outside the door, rose and loped after him.
She had to hurry. Two vehicles had left the house in the time since Elspeth had entered the garden, and someone else might still be in the house. She had hoped the place was empty, and thought the storm might hold off, but she had been wrong on both counts. Now she could only hope that the viscount himself was not there.
Given another day, the staff would be gone to avoid the fairy riding, and she would not have had to lurk like this in the garden. But with the poor weather, today had seemed the best chance to look for the stone her grandfather wanted.
She had told Mrs. Graeme that she would stay with Margaret Lamont if the weather got bad. She enjoyed visiting Margaret and her husband and children, for Elspeth loved the company, as well as the chance to lend a hand in the process of combing, dyeing, spinning, and twisting the new wools. But rather than walk the nearly ten miles straight through the glen—like most Highlanders, she was used to walking long distances—Elspeth had stopped at Struan House first. Now she regretted the detour.
But she had to find the stone for her grandfather. According to legend, and Donal, too, a fairy portal existed somewhere in the hill. And she wanted to see for herself if Donal’s tales were true. Now, the rain and lightning had set her plans awry.
She even wondered if the daoine sìth themselves had taken a hand in this weather, for tradition claimed that they could wield such power. Growing more uneasy, she stood by the rock wall that thrust up at the top of the hill and looked around.
The original hill had been crested by a great cluster of rock, but the work of the last few years had enclosed much of the slope. Elspeth tried to remember where Donal had stood when he had visited this rock, and disappeared into what he said was the fairy world. Where had he hidden the crystal?
In the rain, she pulled up her plaid shawl to better cover her head. Her gown, spencer jacket, and leather boots were already soaked, but she was intent on her task. She could not be discovered here—how could she ever explain that she searched for a precious crystal rock to steal from the garden, a stone that was a key to the fairy world. She would seem mad indeed. The late Lady Struan had been interested in local lore, but she was gone. The others might not be so curious and accepting.
Lady Struan had invited Donal and Elspeth to Struan House once or twice to talk about fairy legends. Donal had told some of his tales, and had warned Lady Struan that certain stories must not be written down, at risk of angering the fairies. Lady Struan had been intrigued; she had also been
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