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An awkward silence filled the room.
“Very good, very good,” her father said, looking from one to the other.
“If that’s all, then. ” Angus turned as if to leave.
Her father shot her a meaningful, wide-eyed look, nodding encouragement.
Elspeth shrugged. She’d never been good at idle chat-ter. “Do bide a wee, Angus. We… we’ve just stoked the fire, and I’m afraid I’ve had enough of numbers this day. ”
“Very well. ” Angus went to the corner to retrieve another stool.
“What’s the word from town?” her father asked jovially. “I hear the oldest MacAlpin girl has returned a widow. Lost her husband to a war wound, or some such. ” He looked to Elspeth. “You two were mates. What was the lassie’s name?”
“Anya?” Was it possible her dearest friend had returned? How strange to hear such tidings, as though Anya had been beckoned by Elspeth’s thoughts alone. Though sadness for Anya’s loss pierced her, she couldn’t help but beam. “Anya MacAlpin is back?”
She cut her eyes to Angus, feeling instantly guilty. He’d not weather the news so well. Long ago, Anya’s sud-den marriage had struck him hard.
Sure enough, he still faced the corner, stool in hand, standing frozen. She was certain Anya was the reason Angus had never married.
Her smile faded. Would that a man felt half for Elspeth what that farmer must’ve held in his heart for the oldest MacAlpin sister.
Anya hadn’t wanted to marry a stranger, but her father had given her no choice. The day she watched Anya carted away in tears, Elspeth decided she’d either marry for love, or not at all. And now to think her friend was already a widow, while Elspeth seemed destined to remain forever a maiden.
Her father seemed baffled by the tense silence, and filled it with mindless chatter. “Quite a year for that family. Cormac—and what a strange, dour fellow he is, aye?—he up and marries the prettiest girl. From Aberdeen proper, she is. ” He shook his head, marveling. “And now there’s a rumor the brother’s back too. The twin. You remember the lad who was stolen? Aidan?”
“None would soon forget that name,” Angus replied, his features once again a stoic mask. He settled his stool before the fire.
Elspeth put her hand to her heart. “Young Aidan lives?”
She hadn’t known the MacAlpins when the lad was taken. But like every other villager on the outskirts of Aberdeen, she’d heard about the kidnap. Folk said he’d been mistaken for a poor climbing boy. Everyone had presumed him dead or worse, indentured to a faraway plantation.
Angus shook his head. “Not so young anymore. ”
The mysterious Aidan popped into her head, a shadowy, featureless silhouette. What came of a man after such an ordeal? And what would he look like? If he’d turned out half as handsome as his twin Cormac, he’d be handsome indeed.
“Aye, he’s returned. But the family is keeping a tight lip about it. ” Her father leaned in. “He was a slave in the tropics, I heard. They say he was branded. ”
“Branded,” she gasped. Owned like a common slave. And yet he’d escaped. Bearing secrets, no doubt.
She shivered, letting her mind wander. How on earth had he made his way back to Scotland, sailing all the way from Jamaica, or Barbados, or Hispaniola? Battling pirates, almost certainly.
Aidan MacAlpin would be dangerous, swaggering. Just like one of the heroes in her books. Would he speak a foreign tongue? Months on the open seas, his skin would be as smooth and brown as a cowry shell.
The sun beat down overhead. The timber planks were hot beneath her bare feet. She stood, gazing across the endless sea. The afternoon was sultry. It loosened her muscles. She felt heavy with the heat. Wanton.
She sensed him, and turned. He was climbing up the ladder, his virile form rising from the cabin below. His sun-kissed skin glowed with the fine sheen of exertion, accentuating his rippling muscles. He called to his sailors, his voice commanding.
But then he saw her. Their eyes met, and the rest of the ship fell away. He stalked to her, his very being intent on one thing and one thing alone. Her.
Elspeth’s breath caught. She put her hands in her lap, wringing her skirts. She hoped the men blamed the flush in her cheeks on the heat of the fire.
She pretended to listen to her father, all the while enjoying the wicked pattering of her heart, as she let herself imagine.
Chapter 2
Aidan sat, folded into a too-small chair, situated as close as he could to the door without appearing like he wanted to run. Which he did.
Home. It was a foreign notion. And Dunnottar Castle, no less. How this cavernous pile of rubble would ever be his home, he had no idea.
