Page 91 of The Texan Duke
The maid who’d given him that information had been a cheeky little thing with a saucy smile, twinkling eyes, and bright red hair. She reminded him, oddly enough, of his youngest sister and a surge of longing for his home nearly prevented him from thanking her.
The wing was connected to the main part of Bealadair by a bridge on the third floor. Arches made up both walls on either side. He wondered if, at one time, they’d been open to the elements. Now the arches were covered in a clear sparkling glass that brought the winter night close to him.
From conversations he’d had with the staff, Highland winters lasted for some time. He hoped to be gone from here by spring. He just didn’t know when spring arrived.
He’d selected good men of character and determination to handle their assigned section of the ranch. They knew to report to Joe once a week. Joe would then forward on the reports to him. If anything needed to be done immediately, Joe and his lawyer together had legal authority to act in his stead.
He trusted the men he left behind, and that was the secret of being able to manage two million acres. No one man could oversee it all, but if you brought up men from trail riders to ranch hands to managers, you created a dependable and loyal crew.
That’s what Elsbeth was doing, whether she knew it or not. By putting herself out there to the crofters, by ensuring that they knew she cared about them, she was creating loyalty. She was the face of Bealadair and perhaps its heart.
Had Gavin known that?
Why the hell hadn’t his uncle written some kind of instructions or greeting? Why hadn’t he communicated with his brother? Connor had been surprised when Glassey had shown up at the ranch one day, armed with legal papers but no personal correspondence from the Scottish McCraights.
If he’d been in Gavin’s position, Connor would’ve written a letter to his heir, telling him what he hoped for in the future, what he had done to bring it about, and the people he considered of value. Not one word. Not one letter. Nothing at all.
In that, Gavin had been like his brother. His father hadn’t left a message, either. Not one damn thing.
A flash of something white caught his eye.
He stopped, turning to the left, trying to figure out what he’d seen. From his calculations, this wing was perpendicular to where the duke’s suite was located. Maybe he’d only seen a flash of something metallic or the glitter of the moonlight on snow.
No, it had been higher than that, almost on the roofline. There, there it was again.
He took a few steps to the left, braced his hands against the brick, and wished the gas lamps installed every few feet weren’t quite so bright.
What the hell had he seen?
“Connor? What are you doing here?”
He glanced to his right to see Elsbeth standing there. She’d begun to loosen her hair from its proper braid, and it was tumbling down over her shoulders. Her cheeks were pink, either from exertion or from the cold.
“I thought I saw something.”
“What?”
“Someone on the roof,” he said. “The parapet. A white figure.”
Her smile startled him. If he studied her for a dozen years, he was certain that he’d never grow accustomed to her beauty. Now her startling gray eyes were alight with humor.
Her teeth were so white that her lips always looked pink in contrast. He wanted to watch the way she spoke, the way her mouth moved, even how she sometimes bit her bottom lip.
Or the way her smile faded into nothingness as it was doing right now.
“Connor,” she said, and there was a note to her voice, something that hadn’t been there before. A caution? A warning? Or maybe only a question.
He took a few steps toward her, but stopped when she held up her hand. She shook her head, then moved her gaze from him to the window.
“You saw the White Lady,” she said.
“The ghost? I don’t believe in ghosts, Elsbeth. I don’t know what I saw, but it wasn’t a ghost.”
Her smile was back and it had a teasing edge to it. “You’re in Scotland now,” she said. “Every great house has a few ghosts. Bealadair is no exception. The White Lady is supposed to warn a McCraight.”
“Addy has educated me on all Bealadair’s ghosts. That still doesn’t mean I believe in them.”
He was close enough that he could smell her perfume, only she wasn’t wearing anything flowery.
