Sarah Gabriel Read Online Free Page A
Author: Highland Groom
mountains.”
“Enough,” Patrick groaned, then set her knapsack on the ground. “I will leave this with you.Please be careful when you walk back to Mrs. MacIan’s cottage—and all the while you are here in Glen Kinloch.”
“I will.” She kissed his cheek, and he turned to depart, waving a hand.
Watching him for a moment, Fiona then bent to retrieve a small hammer and chisel from the canvas knapsack. Kneeling again, she angled the chisel point against a pale rock and smacked the handle with the hammer until a chunk split away.
Grandmother’s intentions were good, she thought as she wrapped the piece of stone in a small cloth and tucked it into the canvas sack. But it was not so easy to find a Highland husband with a title and fortune, as indicated by Lady Struan’s will. Besides, Fiona thought, she had managed to recover from the grief of losing her fiancé, Archibald MacCarran, her cousin and chief of their Highland clan. Eight years earlier, Archie had died a hero on a bloody field of Quatre Bras the day before Waterloo. Her twin, James, had been left with a permanent limp after the same battle. She, too, carried scars from that day, hidden in her heart.
Since then, she had pragmatically accepted her situation, though secretly she still dreamed of a husband, a family, a home in the Highlands—dreams lost along with her fiancé.
Perhaps her grandmother had wanted Fiona to find happiness again. But I’m perfectly happy , Fiona thought, brushing her fingers over another rock. Well, she was fine, at least.
No magical solutions involving fairies would help this MacCarran find the bliss of love again. After all, that was what she had lost—love’s magic.
Enough, she told herself; the afternoon light on such a misty day would soon fade. She hefted the hammer and chisel again to resume her work. A few minutes later, she lifted her head, feeling a strange prickling along the back of her neck, as if she sensed someone watching her. Then she heard a sound like a crisp footfall.
“Who’s there?” she called, looking around. “Patrick?”
Her voice echoed in the mist, echoing softly. Shivers ran down her back. No matter how she might dismiss such things, she secretly believed in the possibility of haunts, bogles, and fairies. Everyone thought of Fiona MacCarran as practical, calm, capable, neither a dreamer nor a fool.
But she was not as dull as they thought. She had private dreams and precious hopes, though she tried her best to accept her life as it was now.
Turning, she glanced around the empty hillside, realizing then how far she and Patrick had walked. The long loch was visible far below, and limestone cliffs towered above the hills, which were crowned by wreaths of mist. The day was dreary and cool with a silvery light—the atmosphere was beautiful, eerie, and lonely.
Just then she saw a glint among the rocks, and even thought she saw movement. Gasping, startled, she paused—then told herself the gleam came fromthe varieties of rock crystal so common in the area. The cliffs, she was sure, were primarily limestone and sandstone, and would house not only tiny crystalline structures, but many fossil remains.
Did the hills also hide fairies, and handsome, rich Highland lairds ready to sweep her away? Then perhaps her grandmother’s spirit would feel pleased, and Fiona could help her brothers earn the fortune they needed far more than any of those dear fellows would admit, even to one another.
She had work to do, and fairies to seek out. Smiling a little, shaking her head in bemusement, she lifted her knapsack to her shoulder and walked onward.
Chapter 2
T he woman moved like a dream through the mist, lovely as a fairy sprite in a gown and bonnet gray as the fog. Just a glance told him that she was all he could ever desire in a woman—graceful and beautifully shaped, with a mysterious allure that could endlessly fascinate a man. With such a woman, the days, and the nights, too, would be filled with
“Enough,” Patrick groaned, then set her knapsack on the ground. “I will leave this with you.Please be careful when you walk back to Mrs. MacIan’s cottage—and all the while you are here in Glen Kinloch.”
“I will.” She kissed his cheek, and he turned to depart, waving a hand.
Watching him for a moment, Fiona then bent to retrieve a small hammer and chisel from the canvas knapsack. Kneeling again, she angled the chisel point against a pale rock and smacked the handle with the hammer until a chunk split away.
Grandmother’s intentions were good, she thought as she wrapped the piece of stone in a small cloth and tucked it into the canvas sack. But it was not so easy to find a Highland husband with a title and fortune, as indicated by Lady Struan’s will. Besides, Fiona thought, she had managed to recover from the grief of losing her fiancé, Archibald MacCarran, her cousin and chief of their Highland clan. Eight years earlier, Archie had died a hero on a bloody field of Quatre Bras the day before Waterloo. Her twin, James, had been left with a permanent limp after the same battle. She, too, carried scars from that day, hidden in her heart.
Since then, she had pragmatically accepted her situation, though secretly she still dreamed of a husband, a family, a home in the Highlands—dreams lost along with her fiancé.
Perhaps her grandmother had wanted Fiona to find happiness again. But I’m perfectly happy , Fiona thought, brushing her fingers over another rock. Well, she was fine, at least.
No magical solutions involving fairies would help this MacCarran find the bliss of love again. After all, that was what she had lost—love’s magic.
Enough, she told herself; the afternoon light on such a misty day would soon fade. She hefted the hammer and chisel again to resume her work. A few minutes later, she lifted her head, feeling a strange prickling along the back of her neck, as if she sensed someone watching her. Then she heard a sound like a crisp footfall.
“Who’s there?” she called, looking around. “Patrick?”
Her voice echoed in the mist, echoing softly. Shivers ran down her back. No matter how she might dismiss such things, she secretly believed in the possibility of haunts, bogles, and fairies. Everyone thought of Fiona MacCarran as practical, calm, capable, neither a dreamer nor a fool.
But she was not as dull as they thought. She had private dreams and precious hopes, though she tried her best to accept her life as it was now.
Turning, she glanced around the empty hillside, realizing then how far she and Patrick had walked. The long loch was visible far below, and limestone cliffs towered above the hills, which were crowned by wreaths of mist. The day was dreary and cool with a silvery light—the atmosphere was beautiful, eerie, and lonely.
Just then she saw a glint among the rocks, and even thought she saw movement. Gasping, startled, she paused—then told herself the gleam came fromthe varieties of rock crystal so common in the area. The cliffs, she was sure, were primarily limestone and sandstone, and would house not only tiny crystalline structures, but many fossil remains.
Did the hills also hide fairies, and handsome, rich Highland lairds ready to sweep her away? Then perhaps her grandmother’s spirit would feel pleased, and Fiona could help her brothers earn the fortune they needed far more than any of those dear fellows would admit, even to one another.
She had work to do, and fairies to seek out. Smiling a little, shaking her head in bemusement, she lifted her knapsack to her shoulder and walked onward.
Chapter 2
T he woman moved like a dream through the mist, lovely as a fairy sprite in a gown and bonnet gray as the fog. Just a glance told him that she was all he could ever desire in a woman—graceful and beautifully shaped, with a mysterious allure that could endlessly fascinate a man. With such a woman, the days, and the nights, too, would be filled with
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