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“You had reason enough. I don’t suppose you have forgiven your young man yet?”
“He is not my young man, Muriel, and no,” she said, biting her lip and gazing toward the blue waters of the harbor, “I have not.”
Perhaps, thought Muriel, she could accomplish more if she reminded Aileen of her humanity. “Have you never deceived someone for the sake of what you believed was a good purpose?”
The girl looked down at her feet. After a moment, she said, “… I deceived my parents into thinking I’d given up my desire to design ships, while I never did.”
“And did they forgive you?”
Aileen looked up, her eyes smiling now. “Aye, they did, and today my father is glad for my persistence if not my deceit. But Nash’s deception was not the same. I believed we had confided our hearts to each other, yet not once did he mention his spying. Worse, what he and Robbie did could have led to someone’s death, including their own!”
“Indeed, it was despicable!” Muriel carefully observed the girl’s face for any sign of agreement. When she didn’t see it, she went on, hoping to get Aileen to defend the young man. “Not telling your brother and Emily was terribly wrong, but not to speak a word of it to you was outside of enough.”
The girl chewed her bottom lip, fingering a long strand of her hair. “Maybe he couldn’t say anything. Might they have been sworn to secrecy?”
“Very possibly.” Muriel inwardly smiled, happy her plan to turn Aileen into Nash’s defender was working. “Have you asked him about that?”
Aileen looked up with a guilty expression. “No…”
“I have discovered that it is best to settle disagreements early while there is still a chance to do so. Perhaps it would be best to put behind you the mischief Nash and his brother undertook for that rascal Sidmouth. You don’t have to marry the man just because you allow him back into your good graces.”
Aileen gave her a sharp glance. “He has said nothing to me of marriage.”
“Perhaps not, but an old matchmaker like me can see from the way he looks at you, the subject is on his mind.”
They arrived at the front door of the inn behind the rest of their company. William turned to face them. “The Ship Inn is entirely ours through New Year’s, so make yourselves at home. I will introduce to you to Mr. Cruickshank, the proprietor, and he will see you are escorted to your chambers. There are no plans for today except for dinner but, tomorrow, the adventurers among us assail the castle!”
As she stepped through the door of the inn, the first thing Muriel noticed was the warm air on her chilled face. She inhaled the pleasant smell of wood burning in the large fireplace she glimpsed through the doorway on her right, which appeared to lead to a common room.
Two servants accepted their coats, cloaks, gloves and hats and one ushered them into the well-appointed room where the rest of their party had gathered before the fire. Muriel could see it was not a place to dine but almost a parlor with upholstered chairs, a sofa and small tables perfectly sized for a cup of tea. “How very nice this is,” she remarked to her companion.
“I did tell you the inn would be comfortable,” Aileen reminded her.
“So you did.” Muriel glanced out the large windows that provided a splendid view of the cerulean blue bay where the Albatross floated, its sails neatly furled.
A tall pleasant-looking man of middle years with brown hair and spectacles entered the room. At his side the auburn-haired William Stephen. “Allow me to present Mr. Cruickshank, the inn’s proprietor and our host for the time we are here.”
Mr. Cruickshank inclined his head. “’Tis an honor to have you as our guests. I assure you the employees of the inn and I will do all we can to make your stay with us an enjoyable one.”
An attractive young woman came to his side. The proprietor put his arm around her shoulder. “This is my daughter, Fiona. As a widower, I have come to rely upon her as hostess in all things concerning our guests. You will find her competent and willing to assist with your needs.”
The girl, who could not have been over twenty, smiled at their company, but quickly diverted her gaze to the two Powell twins, the only unaccompanied men among them. Fiona had the same brown hair as her father but her eyes were blue and her lovely face featured a dimple in each cheek that showed themselves when she smiled.
Muriel instantly sensed Aileen had competition.
“We’ve some hot tea, brandy and mulled claret to warm you,” Fiona offered. Her voice was the soothing, seductive kind men favored with just a hint of a Scottish accent.
Oh, my yes, definitely competition.
At Fiona’s words and, to the great happiness of the assembled guests, two male servants glided into the room carrying trays bearing cups, fragrant steam rising from them.
Muriel accepted a cup of the mulled claret, which, upon tasting, she found to be quite good. “I begin to thaw,” she muttered.
Aileen took a cup from the tray, but did not raise it to her lips. Instead, she held the cup between her hands, her attention fixed on the proprietor’s daughter talking to the Powell twins. “I should have remembered sweet Fiona,” Aileen said.
Muriel took another sip of the spicy wine. “My dear, it would appear you have a rival.”
Later that day, having changed her gown and allowed Rhona, who had accompanied them north with a few of the other maids, to comb the tangles from her hair, Ailie ventured downstairs. The dining room was empty save for Will and Emily.
