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She lifted a foot to walk, then put it back down again, wondering how to approach him, what to say. Good day, Master MacAlpin. Good morning. Hello, Aidan. Or perhaps she should simply clear her throat.
In the end, she blurted, “What’s that?”
He startled, shoving the paper into his sporran. “You. How long have you been standing there?”
“I … I … just a moment. ”
He touched a finger to his ear. “What? Girl, you’re as quiet as the grave. ” He looked around the room as though there might be other spinsters hidden about. “What are you doing anyway, lurking around? Come in here. ” He scanned the length of her. “I daresay, you’d make a tidy wee spy. ”
His tone and his gaze had been suspicious, but secretly she rejoiced. Her. A spy. She could be one, she knew it.
But what did one say to such a statement? It wasn’t exactly a compliment. She walked to him, forcing one foot in front of the other, willing herself not to trip. She could be worldly. She could be mysterious. She formulated a sophisticated reply in her head.
And then she tripped.
Quickly, she set her skirts to rights, glaring hard at the ground as if it were to blame for her clumsiness. Maddening tears stung her eyes, and she blinked hard, refusing to let embarrassment get the better of her.
This was about her father’s debts, not mooning over Aidan MacAlpin.
Stiffening her mouth, she risked a glance at her so-called student. She’d borne men’s scorn before and expected she’d find no different with Aidan. But rather than a smothered laugh on his lips, or disdain, he studied her from beneath a furrowed brow.
“Come on, then,” he said, with unexpected gentleness. He scooted over on the bench, making room for her. “Sit just here. ”
“Thank you,” she managed. Other men might have mocked her, but not him. Even if she never saw Aidan again, she knew she’d be forever grateful for that single, small kindness.
She settled next to him, pretending she didn’t feel the heat of his body like an open flame along her side. With a sharp inhale, she focused, shuffling her papers, setting up quill and inkpot for their first lesson. “I thought we’d begin with a simple reading. ” Each word tripped over the other as she spoke.
There. That was simple enough. She could do this.
“As you say. ” He shifted closer, reaching for the small bound book she’d brought to use as a primer. He riffled through the pages. “Is this what you’ll teach me to read?”
“Yes, it’s common for”—she paused, wanting to choose her words carefully so as not to offend. Students? Readers? Learners?—“p-people to begin by reading The Book of Common Prayer. ”
“I didn’t sign on for sermons, luvvie. ”
She girded herself to look at him, but his relaxed smile told her he wasn’t angry. “Nor I. ” She managed a smile, which seemed to broaden his. “It’s the most … the best … it’s a good book for this sort of endeavor. ”
She’d meant, it was easy. Simple, with repetitive words.
She’d actually fantasized about the other books she might bring, entertaining sinful thoughts of him reading aloud from her translation of Boccaccio’s Decameron. Or, better yet, to hear his rich voice pitched low, reciting from her collection of sonnets.
He swung his leg to straddle the bench. Hitching his hips closer, he cupped the side of her face. He leaned close and whispered, “ ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’ ”
Her skin shivered to gooseflesh.
“Do you need the fire?”
She clicked to. “The fire?”
“Aye, you seem cold. ” He was giving her a quizzical look.
“Cold?”
Aidan inhaled deeply. “I don’t ken much about tutoring, luvvie, but I do have enough sense to know this would get on more easily if you didn’t repeat my every last word. ”
“Of course. ” She felt silly. Why could she not focus? She was the most focused person she knew.
He gave her an awkward pat on her shoulder. “Don’t worry yourself over it. ”
