Page 33 of A Secret Scottish Christmas

Her face was close to his as she looked up at him from the stair below. Her freckles, scattered over her nose like fairy dust, caused him to lean in. It would be so easy to bend his head and kiss her. He wondered if he should attempt it, but he never got the chance.

She climbed the last stair and walked past him, then looked back. “Wait for me and I will join you for breakfast.” Laughing, she added, “Save me some haddies.”

“The whole plate,” he replied with a smirk.

He watched her as she made her way to her chamber, her long hair hanging down her back like a waterfall of molten copper. A beauty, indeed, with a spirit to match her red hair. A woman he wouldn’t mind waking up to for the rest of his life.

As he descended the stairs he decided he must find a way to distinguish himself from his twin, else she would continue to get them confused. He wanted her to see him for the man he was, to recognize him at first sight. More, he wanted her to believe he was the man who could win her heart. A kiss might do it, confirming for them both what lay between them.

In his plans, he would find a way.

Rising with the sun, Ailie had thought to avoid being seen by their English guests. It would have to be Nash she encountered, who she had mistakenly believed to be Robbie only because of that impertinent grin he’d given her. Once she had looked deeply into his hazel eyes and felt the effect of his presence, the force of his gaze, she recognized him.

She enjoyed the company of both twins, but only Nash turned her legs to jelly. When he’d placed his hands on her arms to keep her from falling, she had felt his strength anchoring her to the stair. With any other man, she would have brushed away his hands, but she had not wanted him to let go of her. Perhaps that is why she had told him about her dream of the Ossian. It had seemed perfectly natural to share with him what she had shared with no other.

In her chamber, Rhona was waiting for her. “Good day, Mistress. Did ye enjoy yer morning walk?”

“More like a romp. Goodness and Mercy are especially frisky this morning with the new snow. I ran them till they were panting from navigating the deep drifts. They lie fagged out in the kitchen.”

Rhona chuckled and helped her peel off the soaked clothes. “Ye do more for those dogs than ye would a man.”

Ailie toweled off her damp skin in front of the fire and put on a clean shift and corset, showing her back to her maid. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You have yet to see what I would do for a man I loved.”

Rhona pulled the laces tight. “Ye’re right in that, Mistress. Will ye be going outside again this morning?”

“To gather greens with the whole lot of them, I expect. I look forward to seeing the house decorated for the season and smelling Martha’s shortbread.” In truth, Ailie loved this time of year. Spending it with Nash Powell, his brothers and their wives and their friends had turned out to be more than a little diverting. She was actually enjoying herself.

“Shall ye wear the bottle green woolen gown?” Rhona asked, sorting through Ailie’s gowns.

“Aye, and the dark green cloak.” Rhona slipped the gown over her head and fastened the buttons.

“How is the countess?” Ailie inquired, taking a seat at her dressing table, aghast to see her hair had become tangled from the morning’s activity.

Rhona patiently combed through the tangles. “She is verra well. I am coming to like her and her ways. She can sound cross sometimes, but I think ’tis just an act.”

“I thought the same. I am glad she decided to come. Emily is so happy to have her here.”

Rhona gathered Ailie’s hair and tied it at her nape with a ribbon. “If you do not require more, I’ll be off to tend her.”

“Go.”

When Rhona quit the chamber, Ailie took out her quill and ink and jotted a short note in her diary.

20 December

I am to meet Nash Powell (the twin I took to the shipyard) for breakfast, so this will be short. The snow that fell last night is so deep I fear none of the workers will make it into the shipyard today. However, Goodness and Mercy are pleased and enjoyed their morning romp. As for the rest of us, we’ve plenty of food in the larder and the Yule log has been acquired so ’twill be a day of gathering greenery to decorate the house and perhaps card games in the parlor. Emily says Mrs. Platt will make wassail.

She decided not to record in her diary her growing attraction for Nash Powell. Besides, she had yet to determine if he was the man in her dream. It could be either Nash or his twin brother. And why had she seen a tavern? None of their guests had yet to go to Arbroath town. Could it have been a scene in London?

By the time she got to the dining room, it was filled with their guests. She paused in the doorway, listening. At one end of the table, Muriel was opining on the importance of a London season for a young lady.

The countess garnered many arguments to the contrary, the most strident from Nick’s wife Tara, who had found her brief time in London’s social whirl disappointing.

Mary agreed, glad her season had been cut short by her trip to France where she’d fallen in love with the marquess who became her husband.

Emily and Kit sided with the countess, saying they enjoyed their time of parties, balls and dinners. “The year was all too short,” said Kit.

Ailie took a plate from the sideboard and added to it some haddies, eggs and girdle scones before taking the chair next to the Powell twin she thought had to be Nash. She was rewarded when he leaned in to whisper, “You clean up well, Mistress Stephen.”