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He knew he should stay away from her, should keep his mind on his goal, but he found he couldn’t stop from visiting, couldn’t help but invite her to Dunnottar. Each time he told himself would be the last time.
The thing of it was, he liked her. He liked being by her side. He found he relished an honest day’s work, tied to the land, and with a woman by his side. Days when he saw Elspeth were good ones, even if they did often mean he had to endure her father in the bargain.
He liked how she carried herself—she was reserved, but she stood tall. She seemed a good person, a person who knew herself, knew what she was about. He liked the little things about her too, like the way she held her books, and her look of wide-eyed appreciation as she read them, the way she bit her lower lip in concentration. She’d finish and look up at him, meeting him with a face of open pleasure, lacking artifice, or judgment, or pity.
It was as though Elspeth saw him simply as a man whose company she enjoyed. With Beth, he was neither servant nor victim. He was only Aidan. And he found he’d begun to crave the feeling.
He realized with a shock that he’d begun to crave her too, in ways that made him wish their collaboration lasted longer than dawn till dusk. Because Aidan had decided he might like to keep her close the whole night through.
Chapter 16
Elspeth set out that morning, using her walk as an opportunity to replay Aidan’s each and every wink in her mind. She relived every brush of his hand, every twinkle in his eye, thinking if she could only but inure herself to his charms, she’d be able to face him with more composure.
However, she refused to be distracted by that charm. Surely Aidan knew how much his rakish ways devastated women, and she suspected that husky voice and those sparks in his eyes had only been tools with which to dis-tract her from documents he wished to keep secret. But she wouldn’t be dissuaded. She was too curious.
Not to mention too concerned for his safety.
She arrived at Dunnottar earlier than the agreed-upon time, her heart set on a little snooping. There was risk in her plan, but she was sure Aidan wasn’t the sort to linger about the house. She knocked repeatedly on the tower house door, and was relieved to find nobody around. She promptly turned and strode straight for the old guardhouse that he’d taken for his lodgings.
Elspeth listened at the door. Silence. Then, not allowing herself a chance to doubt, she darted inside, quickly shutting the door behind her. Bracing the door at her back, she gave her eyes a moment to adjust. Though light filtered in through a row of musket holes and the lone window, the room was dim.
Her heart pounded from the thrill. She was sneaking around as though she were the one on a secret and dangerous mission. Like a pirate bride helping her man. Or some mysteriously seductive lady spy.
As Elspeth’s sight adjusted and his few belongings came into view, she began to tremble for an entirely different reason. This was his room, and though she’d been in it before, it was a different experience getting to study everything so unabashedly.
She stepped farther inside, taking in every sight, every scent. She sat on his narrow cot. It was neatly made, and the crunch of dried heather was so loud in the silence she promptly stood again, careful to smooth the wool blanket back into place.
There was a small side table, upon which stood a child’s toy knight, whittled from a bit of wood. She picked it up, marveling at the detail. Marveling at the strange, unknown layers to his personality that Aidan kept hidden. Carefully, she set the knight back in its place by the washbowl, then dipped her fingers in the water and smiled—he’d probably used this to wash, just this morning.
“Fool,” she whispered to herself. Smiling and shaking her head, she dried her hand on her skirts. “Silly fool. ”
She’d come to find his secret papers. So where were they? She paced the tiny room, nudging the slate flooring with the toes of her boots—she’d read that wee cracks and chinks made excellent hiding places—but no luck.
Aidan appeared to live a spartan life. No desk, no drawers, no wardrobe … no possible hiding places. There was just an extra blanket and a few items of clothing, folded and stacked in a tidy pile under the table. She carefully sifted through all of it, but again, no luck.
She sat again on the bed, this time heedless of the groan of the frame and the crunch of the mattress. She smoothed her fingers over the blanket and, not really expecting to find anything, slid her hand under his pillow. And that’s where she felt it: the crisp give of paper at her fingertips. “Here you are. ”
She dared not risk any rumpling or ripping, and moved the pillow aside to read his papers where they lay. Riffling through, she paused at a peculiar-looking receipt of sorts. Squinting, she made sense of the words.
WARRANT OF ENTRY
BRIDGETOWN PORT, BARBADOS
CAPTAIN WM. DERBY-PHIPPS
THE ENDEAVOR (ORIG. LEÓN DE ORO)
TYPE: XEBEC, 160 TONNES BURTHEN, 18 GUNS
CREW: 95
GUARANTOR: DOUGAL FRASER, KING’S QUAY, ABERDEEN
It appeared to be a Barbadian port-of-entry clearance. But whose? She recognized Aidan’s handwriting by now, and these elegant loops looked nothing like his cramped scrawl. Who was Captain Derby-Phipps? And why would this hold such seemingly great importance to Aidan?
She lay on her stomach, propped up on her elbows. She adored a mystery—particularly a swashbuckling one— and scanned the document for clues.
She began to hum, distractedly at first, not even realizing that something had tripped a tune in the back of her mind. It was an old war song her father sang around the farm. Soon her humming became a low whisper of lyrics.
