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She sighed, realizing he had no reply. “Well, there’s no reason you shan’t learn. Think on it. ”
She rose, silent as a wraith, but paused at the door. “Tell me, Aidan. The sweetest wee horse, carved of wood, mysteriously appeared in my Duncan’s things. It brought a smile to his face, and trust me, there’ve not been many smiles of late. Do you know how it might have appeared? Where it might have come from?”
He kept his head down, raking his fingers through his hair. “What do I know of toys?”
She was quiet for a moment, then said only, “I thought as much. ”
He didn’t look up until he heard her whispered footsteps leave. He stood and closed the door, leaning his forehead against the cool wood. Learn to read?
Could he suffer further humiliation before his family? Would he confess his ignorance, doing lessons and exercises more suitable for young Duncan? But he knew, if it meant catching the man with the black pearl, he’d stake his very soul.
Thoughtful, Aidan dropped onto his bed, kicking back. He pulled a small bundle from his sporran, unsheathed his sgian dubh from where he’d tucked it at his calf. And he began to whittle.
A bit of wood, taking the shape of a knight.
Chapter 3
Elspeth stood before the scarred slab of wood that served as the front door to Dunnottar’s living quarters. A featureless silhouette of the mysterious Aidan MacAlpin had kept her up all night. Would he be wandering the grounds wearing sailors slops for trousers, topped by a half-opened shirt with sleeves like great bells? Had his hair been lightened by the sun? Would he have a roguish twinkle in his eyes? Would they twinkle for her?
She’d simply had to come see for herself.
She smoothed her skirts, chiding her silly notions. But then, raising her fist to knock, she made the mistake of sweeping her eyes upward, taking in the cavernous ruins the MacAlpins called home, and she snapped her hand back down. Last time she’d visited, her family had had more money. Her dress hadn’t been quite so threadbare. She, not quite so desperate.
But it was Anya, she assured herself. Anya wouldn’t care about last year’s dress.
Mustering her courage, she stepped forward to rap on the door just as it flung open. A man bolted out and knocked right into her. His hands grabbed her upper arms to steady her. She met his eyes, and the breath was stolen from her lungs.
He was tall, broad, tanned. And as dangerously handsome as any rogue she’d conjured for herself in the past twenty-four hours. His features were masculine, with a strong nose, full mouth, and an unruly thatch of dark brown hair. She stared at his blue eyes, willing them to twinkle.
Aidan? She
opened her mouth to ask, but all that came out was a squeak.
Straightening his arms, he placed her away from him. “Who are you?” His voice was gruff and as rich as island rum.
His eyes never strayed from her. “Who are you to enchant me so? I’ve been waiting. For you. ”
She gave a seductive laugh. “You wicked, wicked man. You know I’ve been here all along. ”
She hiccuped in a breath. “I … I… I’m—”
He gave her a puzzled look, then turned, and leaning back inside, shouted, “Bridget! Someone’s here for you. ” He gave her a brusque nod and stormed from the castle and out of view.
She swallowed hard, her arms tingling where he’d touched her.
“I must run. ” He reached out, the backs of his fingers trailing down her cheek. “But I shall return for you.
Our ship sails at dawn. ”
“Hello?” Bridget stood in the doorway. Her perplexed expression said Elspeth had been standing there, staring into space, for a few seconds longer than was customary. “Oh, it’s just you. ”
Anya appeared behind her sister, her eyes going wide. “Elspeth!” She turned and held a bucket out to Bridget. “Be a dear, will you? I was off to fill this, but…”
Bridget let the implication hang for a moment, and then with a grand huff, took the bucket and edged past both of them out the door.
Anya stood in the doorway, smiling. But Elspeth saw through the surface cheer to her friend’s exhaustion—in the strain of Anya’s posture, in the faint purplish circles beneath her eyes. And yet, despite it all, Anya was even more ethereally pretty than she’d ever been.
“Anya,” she said, joining her in an embrace, “you’re as lovely as you ever were. ”
