Page 8 of A Secret Scottish Christmas

Chapter 3

Arbroath, Scotland, 18 December

“Wait for me!” Ailie shouted, running to catch up with Emily who was trailing William as he strode toward the ship that had just arrived from London.

Emily paused and turned back. “You need not run. I’m happy to wait.” In her blue woolen gown and MacTavish red and blue tartan pulled over her black hair, Emily looked more like a Scot than an English aristocrat. Only her proper English speech gave her away.

Ailie preferred to wear the Ramsay blue tartan of her mother’s clan, but the Stephens were a sept of Clan MacTavish and William always wore that clan’s red plaid, as did his new wife.

Slipping her arm through her sister-in-law’s, Ailie strolled with Emily toward the dock, leaning in to say, “I wouldn’t dare meet our guests from England without you.”

Behind them, the sun had dipped low in the sky even though it was still afternoon. Winter days were short, cold and windy. While there had been no new snow, much of what remained on the ground and roofs from the last storm had not melted. The frigid wind out of the west made Ailie shiver.

“You must be anxious to see your friends,” said Ailie.

“I am, especially Muriel and the Ormonds. The others I have yet to meet. Won’t it be wonderful to have company for my first Christmas in Arbroath?” Her heather-colored eyes glistened. “I’ve not told Muriel of my good news.”

They reached the dock just as the crew began lowering the gangplank. The passengers stood at the rail, a few waving to her brother.

Even from a distance, Ailie could see the women’s fine coats, stylish hair and hats marked them women of quality. The older woman, whom she assumed to be the dowager countess, wore a hat with grand feathers.

Londoners, the lot of them.

“William says the Powells are in the shipping business,” she said to Emily. “I do hope you aren’t bored with all the talk of ships.”

“Oh, do not worry about me, Ailie. I will be happy to visit with Muriel and hear the news from London. Besides, Lady Ormond and the other two wives are mothers of young children. I will enjoy hearing about their experiences.”

Ailie squeezed Emily’s arm and smiled at the woman she had come to consider a sister. “You’ll have your own bairn in the spring.”

They arrived at the gangplank and took their place beside Will.

Now that she was closer, Ailie studied the men and women standing at the rail. All the men had dark hair, making her think of the man she had seen in her dream. All were tall. Two appeared identical except for their clothes. Two of the women had blonde hair; the other was a redhead, whose hair color was somewhere between Ailie’s ginger and Will’s auburn.

The countess stood next to Captain Anderson, her age and feathers setting her apart from the other women. She pulled a white handkerchief from her reticule, flicking her wrist to swish the white cloth in the breeze.

“Oh, look!” exclaimed Emily. “Muriel is waving to me.”

Captain Anderson descended the gangplank first, leading the countess. One of the tall dark-haired men followed, holding the hand of a pretty woman with fair hair confined in a knot at her nape beneath a small hat set at a jaunty angle.

Will offered his hand to the shipmaster. “Welcome back, Dougal. A good trip?”

“Aye, sir.” Always polite, Captain Anderson tipped his cap to Ailie and Emily.

While Will spoke briefly with the captain, Emily greeted the countess and the tall dark-haired man and his beautiful wife, bestowing a huge grin upon the three of them. “Welcome to Scotland.” Then she brushed the countess’ cheek with a kiss. “Muriel, it is so good to see you.”

“Too long is what it is,” admonished Lady Claremont. “Took my venturing to this land of snow and ice to see this place where you live.”

“Well, it’s time you came,” said Emily, hugging Lady Ormond and offering her hand to Lord Ormond, who bowed over it. All quite proper, Ailie noted. Rusty from disuse, she wondered how she would cope with all the bowing and formal address.

Not wishing them to think ill of her, she smiled at the attractive couple and the countess.

“Allow me to introduce my sister-in-law,” said Emily, “Miss Aileen Stephen.”

The countess reached for a small round glass hanging from a chain around her neck and peered through it at Ailie, examining her as if inspecting a bolt of new silk. Trying not to be put off by the odd gesture, Ailie returned the countess a small curtsey. “’Tis good to meet you, Lady Claremont. I have heard much about you from Emily.”

“Humph,” muttered the countess. “Don’t believe half of it.” She let her glass drop. “I can see you bear watching, pretty thing that you are. Unwed, Emily wrote me.”

“Oh my,” said Emily. “Muriel has you in her sights!”