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Chapter 4

Robbie relaxed on his bed, idly watching his brother set out the books he had brought from London, wondering why Nash had done so. “You might have left the books behind. I’m certain William Stephen keeps a good library for Scotland’s long winters.”

“Perhaps, but he may not have these.” Nash turned from his books to face Robbie. “Now that you mention it, we will need William’s library for the times when one of us hies off to the village for news of Kinloch while the other remains behind. How’s your Scottish brogue?”

“Miserable,” returned Robbie. “Yours has always been better.”

“’Tis merely a matter of practice. Tonight might be a good time for you to do just that since we’re in the home of Scots.”

Robbie thought of the voices he had heard since their arrival. “Emily’s speech is as English as our own and William has only a faint brogue. Captain Anderson has a deep accent, but he may not be at dinner. Besides, I’d rather talk to William’s pretty sister even if her brogue is not so pronounced.” He gave Nash a sidelong glance, making a mental note of his brother’s frown at Robbie’s interest in Aileen Stephen.

Hearing no response from Nash, Robbie said, “Are you ready to join the others? We don’t want to be late.”

“Almost ready.” Nash crossed the chamber to the chest at the foot of the bed he had claimed as his. “William told us not to change, but I want to wear a different tailcoat. As you have on a brown one, I’ll wear dark green.”

“We’ll need to switch coats in the days to come if we’re to assume each other’s identity,” Robbie reminded him. This they had done many times. Coupled with their ability to ape each other’s gestures and expressions, they could be virtually interchangeable.

Nash pulled on the green tailcoat. “Whichever of us is in the village will have to don the locals’ attire.”

“I wonder how Kinloch might be dressed,” Robbie mused. “He’s a gentleman but he’ll not be wearing a gentleman’s clothing, will he?”

Nash straightened his cravat. “I doubt it. Wouldn’t he be more likely to appear as a farmer, a sailor or a fisherman? All are plentiful in Arbroath, I would think.”

They began to descend the stairs just as Aileen Stephen came through the front door, her cheeks rosy from the cold. She let her tartan scarf fall to her shoulders, revealing a bounty of bright red hair. A tempting picture to be sure.

Two great black and tan dogs bounded in after her.

“Why, hello,” said Robbie, giving her one of his sincerest smiles. Beside him, Nash tensed, none too pleased at Robbie’s initiative.

His brother smiled at the girl. “What dogs are these?”

She looked up at them, her dogs wagging their long tails, their paws on the steps sniffing at Robbie’s feet. “Goodness and Mercy, a gift from the Duke of Gordon. He raises them on his estate in Moray to the north.”

Robbie stepped down to the entry hall’s stone floor and patted the head of the closest dog, a friendly sort, then returned his attention to the girl.

Nash alighted from the last stair to scratch one of the dogs behind the ear. “How ever did you come up with those names, Miss Stephen?”

“You may call me Ailie. Most everyone here does. You are Robbie and Nash?”

“I am Robbie and this is my brother, Nash,” said Robbie, gesturing first to himself and then to his twin.

Her beautiful face lifted in a one-sided grin as she glanced between them. “’Twill be difficult telling you apart. As for the names of my dogs, do ye nae ken yer Scriptures?”

Robbie exchanged a look with his brother. Neither, he was certain, had a clue as to her meaning, yet she had spoken in the way of the Scots, intentionally deepening her accent. Perhaps she meant to suggest Englishmen might be ignorant of the Good Book’s teachings.

“The twenty-third Psalm ends,” she recited, “‘Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life…’ aye?”

“Clever,” said Nash. “I won’t be forgetting their names any time soon.” From the admiring look Nash gave the girl, Robbie surmised his twin wouldn’t be forgetting her either.

Robbie returned his attention to the large lean dogs he decided were setters, but not the black and white speckled ones he was used to. These two were mostly black with small bits of copper and white trim. “I can scarce see a difference between them.”

Her brows lifted. “This from two brothers who are made from the same mold? Really, ’tis easy to tell them apart. Goodness is the male and Mercy is the female.”

“My brother’s a bit slow,” muttered Nash.

Robbie shot Nash a look of annoyance. “Seems I recall you accusing me of being too fast, Brother.”

Nash coughed into his hand. “I was speaking of understanding just now, not your manner of living.” Then to Ailie, “Please excuse my brother.”