Page 65 of A Secret Scottish Christmas

Chapter 15

24 December, Christmas Eve

The next morning Nash did not wake with a changed mind. Instead, he was more resolved than ever to try and persuade Robbie to allow Kinloch to sail. Besides, what harm could the man do in France? He would be gone from Scotland and unable to inspire those who might be inclined to rebellion.

Nash had just finished shaving when Robbie began to stir. Patting his face dry, Nash turned to his brother. “I’ve lost all taste for Sidmouth’s assignment.”

Robbie opened one eye and then closed it. “You would have me go to Arbroath alone?”

The words echoed in Nash’s mind, more unsettling than a blow. With them, Robbie played his trump card, leaving Nash torn between his loyalty to his twin and love for Ailie.

Love is what he felt for her, plain and simple, and she would have Kinloch go free. Yet Robbie had been his constant companion since they were toddlers.

The irony of was not lost on him. Robbie had always envisioned himself Nash’s protector, yet Nash could not allow Robbie to go to Arbroath alone to face the ruffians guarding Kinloch.

He let out an exasperated sigh. There was no help for it. He would go to town with Robbie and hope he could turn his brother from his intended course.

“All right. I will go with you to Arbroath the day the Panmure is to sail, but I still have reservations about your cause concerning Kinloch. The more I think on it, the more I wonder, just why was the man charged with sedition in the first place?”

Robbie sat up. “I remind you, Brother, Kinloch might have been arrested in Dundee, but the charge against him came from London. Our lot has never been to question Sidmouth.”

“Manchester changed that for me, Robbie. None but the basest of cowards would attack unarmed men, women and children. I cannot justify the deaths on St Peter’s Field, nor can I excuse the government’s failure to dispense justice after.” Fury rose in his chest as he remembered that day. He shook his head. “No, I cannot.”

Robbie cast him a worrisome glance. “I can see you mean to be stubborn. Very well, we shall celebrate Christmas and deal with Kinloch on Boxing Day.”

Good Lord. Nash had forgotten entirely the Panmure would sail on that holiday, unobserved by the Scots.

“You do recall that the twenty-sixth is Boxing Day?”

“I didn’t until you mentioned it, but now that I think of it, when I first learned the Panmure’s captain meant to sail on the twenty-sixth, the date sounded familiar. ’Tis the day when Mother gives gifts to the servants.”

Ailie woke from the dream, her chest heaving. This time, she did not have to call back the images, for they were terrifying and indelibly stamped in her mind. One of the Powell twins lay on the ground, his eyes closed and his skin pale as a ghost, as blood gushed from his head.

Was the gruesome specter a prophetic sign foretelling of one twin’s death? Her mind shouted, “No!” If the man were Nash, she could not bear his loss. And, if Robbie, Nash would never be the same, having lost part of himself.

She sprang from her bed, determined to banish her rising dread. Perhaps the dream merely reflected an irrational fear after the avalanche. But she knew it was not so.

Lighting a candle to add to that of the fire burning steadily, she went about her morning toilette, dabbing a bit of lily of the valley scent on her neck and wrists before donning her blue velvet wrapper.

Taking a seat at her dressing table, she combed the tangles from her hair she had forgotten to plait the night before.

A pale young woman looked back at her from the mirror, her brows drawn together in worry. She could not very well greet their guests looking like this. She set down her comb and pinched her cheeks. Then she thought of Nash kissing her under the stars and a blush arose on her sensitive skin.

A soft knock sounded on the door and Rhona peeked her head in. “Ye’re up?”

“Aye, I woke early.”

“Just as well.” Rhona opened the door wide and entered. “Yer guests are all awake, too. Lord Ormond and his wife are having an early breakfast before going fer an early morning ride. The countess is up, too, and reminded me that today is the English Christmas Eve. She seemed verra excited about it, saying her Mrs. Platt is to make special pies.”

Ailie started. “I completely forgot! That means the men will be dragging in the Yule log and Emily will need help with decorating.”

“Ye ken,” said Rhona, picking up Ailie’s brush and taking over the job of her hair, “I rather like the English celebration of the Christ Child’s birth. ’Tis proper to have a festive celebration.”

Rhona’s long strokes with the brush were soothing. Ailie closed her eyes, feeling the tension leave her shoulders. “It would not be difficult to welcome the Savior’s birth each year as they do. I just realized that tomorrow is Saturday and the first day of their Christmastide. I expect our friends will want to attend an Anglican church. It will have to be St Mary’s.”

“And then ye’ll all be off to the Parish Kirk the next day?”

Ailie opened her eyes, as she considered the possibility. “Two days of church might be a bit much. Perhaps Will won’t mind if we do not attend this Sunday.”