Sarah Gabriel by To Wed a Highland Bride Read Free Book Online Page A

them.”
    “Why would the household staff be reduced because of this, uh, phenomenon?”
    “We keep away at this time of year to allow for the fairy riding to take place. Your grandparents used to close up the house, and no hunting parties could hire the house then, either. It was true of the previous owners also. Already the locals say some fairies have been sighted, or so I’ve heard. ’Tis unlucky to be about when the Good Folk ride over Struan lands. The rest of the help will return after the fairies return to their own world. Each year, we repeat it. It’s how it is done, sir. I hope you understand.”
    “Remarkable,” James said. He must make sure that the odd custom was recorded in his grandmother’s book. “My own needs are simple, so a large staff is unnecessary. Whatever you have done in the past for your local holiday, please continue.”
    “It is no holiday, sir. No one will risk staying here during a fairy riding, with that sort about. I recommend we close the house for a few days. There is a good hotel in the next glen. You would be comfortable there for a bit.”
    The housekeeper seemed too sensible a woman for all this nonsense, he thought. “I am happy to stay here alone for a few days, Mrs. MacKimmie. I havea good deal of work to do, and the solitude would be useful.”
    “Oh no, Lord Struan, not that sort of solitude. ’Tis best we all leave.”
    “Nonsense. I’m a capable bachelor, so long as there is food in the larder and a few simple comforts. The staff may leave, of course. I do not want to disrupt local tradition.”
    “Very well, sir, but do be warned. And you must always beware the fairy ilk when you walk about on Struan lands at any time of year.” Her glance flickered to the cane he had set against a chair.
    “I keep a habit of long walks when I can,” he said quietly, aware of her interest, “and I will remember your advice.”
    When the housekeeper left to make the tea, James turned toward the window again, with its spectacular view, even in poor weather. Mist drifted over the hills and draped the treetops like veils. He thought again of Elspeth MacArthur, who lived somewhere in this glen—and he wondered if she thought of Struan’s new laird.
    When he left the room, he half expected to hear the shriek again. Apparently Mr. MacKimmie had found and silenced that madly squeaking door.
     
    Elspeth rose from her chair and stepped away from the old shuttle loom, pausing to stretch, arching her back a little to ease the strain that sometimes collected there. With one length of weaving half done on the loom, she was already thinking about the next pattern. Preoccupied with that, she left the weaving cottage and strolled across the yard, past two other cottages that held looms as well. The third building was usedto store yarn and finished lengths of plaids, and so its walls were of thick stone regularly limewashed against molds and moisture.
    Inside, Elspeth went toward the racks, shelves, and baskets where the skeins of yarns and thin woolen threads were kept, hanging in colorful loops on pegs, clustered in baskets on the floor, or spilling in rainbow arrays on a long worktable. The window at that end of the room was usually shuttered to prevent sunlight from fading the yarns and threads. She pulled her green plaid shawl, a favorite one woven years ago by her grandfather, closer about her shoulders, for the yarn room was chilly. Only a small brazier was kept in cold weather for basic comfort, for the smoke of hearth fire and candles could discolor the wool. Nor was Grandfather permitted to smoke his tobacco pipe here.
    A large book of patterns sat on the table, but the pattern forming in her mind was an original design, one she wanted to weave just for herself, rather than as a commissioned length, as most of their weavings were now. Opening a writing box to remove paper, quill, and ink bottle, she sketched a grid of crisscrossing lines, counting the warp and weft lines in dot