Page 76 of A Rogue in Firelight
“Beautiful,” he agreed, looking only at her. A breeze stirred his wrapped plaid and bared shirtsleeves. The simple Highland costume suited a day of fishing.
She smiled shyly, staying close though his arm bumped hers as he carried the fishing poles over his shoulder. “Yesterday’s rain seems to have washed the heat from the air,” she said.
“Washed the midges away as well, if we are lucky.”
“You were right about today,” she admitted.
“The weather, the fishing, or the midges?”
“All of it.”
“I hope my tutor is pleased with me, then.” He smiled. Her heart leaped.
She laughed and stepped ahead, skirts swishing, to pick her way across the shale rocks that formed a natural pathway along the riverbank. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the cart pulled by two sturdy Highland ponies, which Donal drove along an earthen track. Sorcha sat beside him, steadying the luncheon basket Mrs. Barrow had provided when they headed out that morning in Lady Strathniven’s dogcart-like vehicle, which seated four on benches. The cart had enough room for fishing gear and baskets, and Donal was a competent driver, following over the hills and alongside the stream.
Now they went onward toward a tributary of water beyond a hill. Ellison had wanted to walk for a bit, tired of bumping along in the cart, and Ronan came with her.
Negotiating a rocky incline slippery with spray, she was glad of her plain gray muslin dress. Under the chemise, she had added pantelettes at Sorcha’s suggestion, who had gone fishing before; the pantelettes could save modesty when stepping in the water. Ellison was also glad of the wide straw bonnet that gave her shade in the sunshine, and her leather boots and plaid shawl were practical and comfortable.
She had no intention of falling into the water that day, having done that recently to her embarrassment. Instead, she planned to sketch and read while the others splashed about. Just being outside on a glorious day, enjoying fresh air and sunshine and a sense of freedom was enough. Being near Ronan was enough too, for now.
“I can teach you to fish today,” he said. “You might prefer the pole, but the Highland manner is more effective and enjoyable.”
“They jump into the water to grab fish! I would rather watch you do that while I sketch.” She threw out an arm for balance as she walked over the damp rocks. On one shoulder, she carried a linen rucksack with sketchbook, journal, and graphite pencils.
“I might enjoy seeing you jump in after a fish,” Ronan said.
“I would be wet all day if I did that.”
She saw the twinkle in his glance. “Wet, but happy. If I teach you properly, you will not get too wet.”
She waved an arm. “I am enjoying freedom right now, as are you. Oh dear, I am sorry. I did not mean—”
“Free from prison?” He reached out to offer a steadying hand. “I am grateful for it, lass. And glad for a respite from lessons with my strict teacher.”
“I should end your lessons entirely,” she retorted. “Your English is perfect and your manners would hold up under anyone’s scrutiny.”
“See how much I have learned from you.” He supported her elbow as she followed a descending stack of rocks. The rush of the river kept their conversation private, and the brace of his fingers felt good. Too good.
“Donal can fish with you. I will sit in the shade. Sorcha might fish though.” She waited as Donal drew the vehicle along the track near where they walked.
“Miss Beaton, would you rather fish or sketch?” Ronan called.
“Fish!” Sorcha returned. “My father taught me how.”
“If you would rather read,” he told Ellison, “stay nearby.” He shot her a quick concerned look and pointed toward a grove of trees ahead. Near the trees, a branch of the river diverted into a peaceful stream. “We can stop here.”
Donal drove the cart toward the trees and helped Sorcha out of the vehicle as Ronan and Ellison caught up to them. Then Donal led the ponies into the cover of the trees and situated them, released their harnesses, and tied them securely to graze.
“Over there,” Donal said, pointing toward the water, “the fishing is very good.”
Entering the grove of birch trees, Ellison found a place to sit to watch the tributary that cut through banks feathered with trees and grasses. Beyond the water, wide flowery meadows met blue-misted hills far in the distance.
“Ronan,” she said as he came near. “Could there be danger out here? Do smugglers come through those hills?”
“Sometimes, but usually at night. It is not so common as you fear.”
“The men you met in Kinross the other day looked used to rough business.”
