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More than any revenge or intrigue, it was this genteel, bookish woman who’d managed to unnerve him. A mere few moments of her uncharacteristic lack of attention, and he’d frette
d and frowned like a schoolboy. But then, when he’d shown the simplest consideration, she’d come to life, looking at him with such warmth, and not an ounce of artifice. He fantasized what it would be to let her in. To tell her his secrets, feeling that gaze focused only on him, her responses ever transparent and true. Truly to keep her safe.
To keep her.
“Want to? Aye, Beth. I find I do. ”
But even as he said it, he knew he couldn’t share a bed with a treasure like her while his nights were spent dreaming of revenge. In a distant future, when he was a respectable man, a man of books and accomplished in a trade, he would court her in earnest. But first, he needed to exorcise his past.
He’d spent most of his life wanting one thing: to find and kill the man who’d kidnapped him so long ago. But now Aidan found he had a second dream, a fragile one, only now blooming to life in his chest.
To be worthy of Elspeth Farquharson.
But first, he’d need to settle his business. He’d track down and kill the man with the black pearl. He’d put his past forever behind him. Because, for the first time, he could envision a future.
“Someday,” he said quietly, “someday I’ll be worthy of it. ”
She bolted straight in her chair and grabbed his hands in hers, sending papers fluttering to the floor. “You’re worthy now. ”
He’d been bought and sold. He knew his worth. It was six pounds two shillings sterling.
“No, not of you, of this. ” He turned her hand over in his. It was so small, the fingers delicately tapering to clean, finely rounded nails. He traced her palm and then ran a thumb along a thin line of callus. She worked hard on the farm—harder than she ought.
She snatched her hand back with a rueful frown that cracked his heart. “My hands aren’t fine like a lady’s hands should be. ”
Grabbing it back, he kissed her palm. “You’re wrong. ”
Tenderly, he turned it over, kissing her knuckles like the most dashing of courtiers. “Yours are the finest of all. You, everything a lady aspires to be. ”
Not letting go, he met her eyes. Her look of dumbfounded wonderment was so endearing, a little laugh escaped him. “Sweet Beth. I would like to care for you someday. If you wished it. ”
The door swung open, and they sprang apart.
Her father scowled at him. “Time for you to leave. ”
Aidan gritted his teeth. One day he’d have his own cottage, and he’d sit with Elspeth by the fire for as long as he cared to.
“But he just got here,” Elspeth said, and the plea in her voice firmed Aidan’s resolve. “He’s helping me with my accounts. ”
“We’re off to see a businessman who knows accounts better even than you, girl. ” Farquharson grabbed her shawl from a peg and strode to her, gesturing impatiently. “Up, up you go. I’ve a message from the greatest knit merchant in all Aberdeen. ”
Aidan curled his fingers into his knees, determined not to leap from his seat to coerce a more respectful tone from the old man’s mouth.
She stood warily. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about none other than Dougal Fraser, and he’s a fancy to meet you. ”
Aidan’s feet shuffled abruptly beneath him, his body very nearly springing to throttle the man’s throat before he could think better of it. He’d seen the name Dougal Fraser before, on a slip of paper given to him by an Aberdeen hired man.
The movement had drawn her father’s eyes, and while he spoke to his daughter, he continued to glare at Aidan. “Fraser asked if you were promised to anyone. I’m happy to tell him you’re not. ”
She flinched back. “But he’s an old man. ”
Aidan shot her a look. What did Elspeth know of Fraser?
Her father stepped close, tossing the shawl haphazardly around her shoulders. “What do you know of Lord Fraser?”
“I … I’ve heard of him,” she said, adjusting herself. “I simply assumed. ”
