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“I thought to watch for the impending snow,” he said. “Want to join me?”
“I would like that.” She turned to walk beside him.
He offered his gloved hand and she took it. “In London, I like to watch it when it first comes down. I like the feel of snowflakes on my face.”
Ailie inwardly smiled, seeing the small boy in him emerge as he turned his face to the sky expectantly.
They walked down the hill, the dogs running ahead. A short ways on, he said, “I like this time of morning when all is still, though typically, I’d be looking for the sun to be rising over the sea.”
A line from Burns came to her. “We two have paddled in the stream, from morning sun till dine; But seas between us broad have roared since days of long ago.”
“Another of Burns’ poems?” he said, giving her a lopsided grin.
“Aye, one that reminds me of us.”
Nash’s brows drew together beneath the brim of his hat. “What seas roar between us, Ailie?”
“The timeless ones between Scots and Sassenachs, I suppose. But I sense there is more I cannot see.”
They had come halfway down the path and he paused, turning to face her. “Not between us, Ailie. Any distance between us can soon be erased by time together.” The chilled air around them grew heavy with the anticipated snow. “Do you worry about us?”
She dropped her gaze, pondering what to say, then looked up. “You have not known me long enough to be aware of the Ramsay women’s second sight but, aye, I worry. My dreams speak a warning of danger.” She could not bring herself to tell him all that her dreams revealed.
He pulled her close. “Ailie, see only what is in my eyes.” He took her head in his hands and kissed her. When their lips met, her heavy heart lifted.
As he raised his head, she opened her eyes to meet his steady gaze. In the depths of his hazel eyes, she saw his longing, his desire and what might even be love.
“Can you see my feelings for you?”
“Aye.”
“Then come.” He took her hand and pulled her along toward the dock just as the snow began to fall. “Let us not worry. Instead, let us celebrate Christmas by greeting the new snow together.”
After a light breakfast, Nash again ventured into the gently falling snow, this time with Ailie and the others for the walk to Arbroath town and the Christmas service at St Mary’s.
Christmas had always been special to him, this one even more so with Ailie beside him. William and his sister had graciously agreed to attend church with their Anglican friends where, he assured them, Reverend Bruce would undoubtedly welcome them all, “even the Scots Presbyterians.”
“After all,” quipped William as he struck off down the same road Nash had traveled before, “we’re all Jock Tamson’s bairns.”
Nash raised a brow to Ailie. “Jock Tamson?”
“’Tis a Lowland Scots’ expression. ‘Jock Tamson’ is our way of referring to John Thomson, the minister of Duddingston Kirk in Edinburgh. He refers to his congregation as his bairns. Because he is well loved and well connected, the expression has spread to other parts of Scotland. It just means we are all one in the sight of God.”
“Ah,” said Robbie, “I like that. No reason we can’t observe the day together as long as we begin in one church or the other, hmm?”
Ailie directed a winning smile at Robbie. Nash experienced a pang of jealousy, as he always did when she gave her attention to his twin. He had hoped Robbie had given up his quest for the Mistress of the Setters, as he called her, but with Robbie, one never knew.
Nash did not want to disturb the mood by advising William that even though the Powell family attended an Anglican church, they were also Methodists. Their French mother, formerly a Catholic, had accepted the teachings of John Wesley and passed them along to her then growing family.
“Will you mind missing your own service tomorrow?” Nash asked Ailie. William had told them since tomorrow was Boxing Day, they would keep the English tradition of giving gifts to servants and baskets for Arbroath’s poor, and not attend the Parish Kirk’s Sunday service.
She shook her head. “One day of the week for worship together is good. Besides, no kirk will be celebrating Christmas tomorrow.”
The town, now familiar to Nash, somehow looked different with the snow falling. They walked on, passing the harbor, and a cold shudder of alarm coursed through him when he realized St Mary’s was located at the bottom of High Street, one street away from Marketgate where Kinloch lodged and a short distance from the harbor and the Panmure.
All too close in proximity for his comfort.
He exchanged a look with Robbie, seeing the discomfit on his twin’s face. What if Kinloch was walking the street with his guards and happened to see them? Would they be recognized in a gentleman’s clothing? He wondered, too, if anyone attending the service would remember him or Robbie from their afternoons spent in the taverns. He comforted himself in the knowledge that the vast majority of Scots were Presbyterians, like Ailie and William. Thus, it was logical to suppose that Kinloch’s religious affiliation would be as well.
