away by fairies or anyone else,” she reassured him, and tucked her arm in his. “And I intend to stay with you for a long time to come.”
“Elspeth, you must marry soon, and may that man watch out for you as well as I have. And may he take you south and away from this glen. That would be best.”
“I need no watching over.”
“Mr. MacDowell is a good man, and successful—”
“And keen on inheriting Kilcrennan’s weaving business through me. You know he would not be so interested in me if he knew the truth,” she added.
“Then we will not tell him,” he replied. “He need never know. Of course he considers Kilcrennan’s weaving business. He is well suited to manage this place after I am gone. I will not be here forever, and I must think about that, and your well-being.”
“I can run Kilcrennan Weavers myself someday, you know that.” She looked up. “There are few men who would understand the truth about us, that you go off to the fairies every seven years, and that I…” She stopped, shrugged.
“That you are half fairy, and they may call you back to them someday? I tell you, if you are not married and away from this glen soon, you will not be here to explain it to anyone. I will allow Mr. MacDowell to court you. I should have done so earlier.”
“Grandda, please. I do not want to marry and leave Kilcrennan.”
“You are stubborn, but this is best.” He looked at her sharply. “Unless…is there someone else now?You mentioned meeting the new Lord Struan at the king’s ball in Edinburgh. What a match that would be, hey.” He grinned. “My granddaughter and Lady Struan’s grandson.”
“Oh, stop.” She smiled to hide her true thoughts. Last August, she had been kissed and left yearning for a man she might never see again. Those brief, tender kisses had meant far too much to her, and likely nothing at all to him.
“I’ve heard he’s returning to Struan House soon—something to do with his grandmother’s effects. Reverend Buchanan heard it from Mrs. MacKimmie.”
Elspeth felt breathless suddenly. “Is it so? Well, I expect he would stay but a few days. He does not intend to live here. If we ever met him, it would be outside the kirk on a Sunday morning, once or twice a year. There is no match there, Grandda. A viscount is unlikely to marry a weaver girl.”
“Why not? Your grandfather is a wealthy weaver.” He shrugged. “I hoped you would be married and away from Kilcrennan by now. It is a worry to me, your approaching birthday, and no solution yet.”
“You think me a spinster already?” Elspeth meant to tease him back into his usual bright mood, but she knew he was serious. Though she did not fear any danger, Donal remained convinced. From childhood, she had heard her grandfather’s stories of meeting the Fey in his youth, and he claimed to visit them every seven years. She liked the notion that she could be part fairy, but she wondered how much Donal MacArthur had invented about that tale.
Mrs. Graeme, who had been all but true mother to her, always said that Elspeth’s mother was dead and her father had run off. But local rumor in the glensaid that Donal and Niall had both gone over to the fairies, with Donal returning, and Niall lost. All her life, Donal had insisted that it was true, including a spell that would come into effect on her twenty-first birthday in mid-October, when the Fey would take her back with them to their realm—unless she found love first.
Was there truth in that, or was it a charming fairy tale, quite literally, from a charming man? She had never been sure of the answer.
At fourteen, she had followed Donal to a hillside near Struan House, and had seen her grandfather set a pretty stone into a rock wall—and had watched as he disappeared into a door that had suddenly opened there. Elspeth had run home frightened. Donal had been gone for two weeks, and upon his return, after Elspeth had persistently questioned him, he had told her his
“Elspeth, you must marry soon, and may that man watch out for you as well as I have. And may he take you south and away from this glen. That would be best.”
“I need no watching over.”
“Mr. MacDowell is a good man, and successful—”
“And keen on inheriting Kilcrennan’s weaving business through me. You know he would not be so interested in me if he knew the truth,” she added.
“Then we will not tell him,” he replied. “He need never know. Of course he considers Kilcrennan’s weaving business. He is well suited to manage this place after I am gone. I will not be here forever, and I must think about that, and your well-being.”
“I can run Kilcrennan Weavers myself someday, you know that.” She looked up. “There are few men who would understand the truth about us, that you go off to the fairies every seven years, and that I…” She stopped, shrugged.
“That you are half fairy, and they may call you back to them someday? I tell you, if you are not married and away from this glen soon, you will not be here to explain it to anyone. I will allow Mr. MacDowell to court you. I should have done so earlier.”
“Grandda, please. I do not want to marry and leave Kilcrennan.”
“You are stubborn, but this is best.” He looked at her sharply. “Unless…is there someone else now?You mentioned meeting the new Lord Struan at the king’s ball in Edinburgh. What a match that would be, hey.” He grinned. “My granddaughter and Lady Struan’s grandson.”
“Oh, stop.” She smiled to hide her true thoughts. Last August, she had been kissed and left yearning for a man she might never see again. Those brief, tender kisses had meant far too much to her, and likely nothing at all to him.
“I’ve heard he’s returning to Struan House soon—something to do with his grandmother’s effects. Reverend Buchanan heard it from Mrs. MacKimmie.”
Elspeth felt breathless suddenly. “Is it so? Well, I expect he would stay but a few days. He does not intend to live here. If we ever met him, it would be outside the kirk on a Sunday morning, once or twice a year. There is no match there, Grandda. A viscount is unlikely to marry a weaver girl.”
“Why not? Your grandfather is a wealthy weaver.” He shrugged. “I hoped you would be married and away from Kilcrennan by now. It is a worry to me, your approaching birthday, and no solution yet.”
“You think me a spinster already?” Elspeth meant to tease him back into his usual bright mood, but she knew he was serious. Though she did not fear any danger, Donal remained convinced. From childhood, she had heard her grandfather’s stories of meeting the Fey in his youth, and he claimed to visit them every seven years. She liked the notion that she could be part fairy, but she wondered how much Donal MacArthur had invented about that tale.
Mrs. Graeme, who had been all but true mother to her, always said that Elspeth’s mother was dead and her father had run off. But local rumor in the glensaid that Donal and Niall had both gone over to the fairies, with Donal returning, and Niall lost. All her life, Donal had insisted that it was true, including a spell that would come into effect on her twenty-first birthday in mid-October, when the Fey would take her back with them to their realm—unless she found love first.
Was there truth in that, or was it a charming fairy tale, quite literally, from a charming man? She had never been sure of the answer.
At fourteen, she had followed Donal to a hillside near Struan House, and had seen her grandfather set a pretty stone into a rock wall—and had watched as he disappeared into a door that had suddenly opened there. Elspeth had run home frightened. Donal had been gone for two weeks, and upon his return, after Elspeth had persistently questioned him, he had told her his
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