Page 93 of A Secret Scottish Christmas

Chapter 21

30 December, Stonehaven

After a sleepless night, Nash had come to the dining room early, grateful for the hot coffee Fiona handed him. He did not feel up to returning her smile. Instead, he idly pushed his eggs about his plate, all desire for food having deserted him as he considered how to handle his stubborn Scottish lass.

Ailie was his or would be when he sorted all this out. She could not deny the passion between them. The fire was there, smoldering beneath all that had happened. He had only to rekindle it.

She might have decided to go to London but, if he were successful, she would greet the ton on his arm.

Robbie and the rest of their company filed in a short while later, complaining of dreams haunted by Dunnottar’s ghosts. Angus had come for breakfast and claimed the chair next to Muriel.

Ailie had yet to appear.

Nash knew he had taken a risk when he reached for her hand the evening before, but she had not pulled away. It had taken all his resolve to keep from dragging her outside and reminding her of the passion and the love that lay between them.

“Says here tensions are running high in Glasgow,” said William, poring over the Stonehaven Journal, the newspaper Angus had brought with him. “The weavers are none too happy.”

Angus paused in the act of his lathing butter on a scone. “’Tis nae over yet.”

Muriel looked up from her chocolate. “I do hope they do nothing foolish.”

“If they do, they’ll be in for it,” predicted William. “The yeomanry is still camped around the city.”

“Can I see that?” Robbie asked. William handed him the paper and returned to his omelet.

Nash glance at his brother as Robbie pulled his spectacles from his pocket and, careful not to scrape his healing wound, put them on. He still wore the small bandage. Nash had the impression he did so not because it was necessary but to hide the ugly scar forming on his temple.

Robbie bent his head to the paper. “Good Lord, according to this, it’s getting worse. Won’t be pretty if Sidmouth decides to make an example of Glasgow’s weavers.”

Hugh shook his head. “Parliament doesn’t see the need for reform.”

Nash agreed, doubting reform would come anytime soon. The Six Acts, robbing men of freedoms they had long held, discouraged him beyond hope.

Angus finished his haddies, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “A nod’s as guid as a wink tae a blind horse.”

Eyebrows rose around the table, including Nash’s, but it was Muriel who spoke. “Whatever does that mean?”

“It means,” said Ailie, entering the dining room, “if a horse is blind, it matters little if you nod your head or wink your eye, he still cannot see, just as the government is blind to what is happening in Scotland.”

“Oh,” said Muriel. “Yes, I quite understand.”

Ailie turned to the sideboard, adding small bits of food to her plate. Nash remembered she had not eaten much at dinner, so perhaps she was hungry. Since they’d been at odds, neither of them had much of an appetite.

She took a seat across from Nash. Her expression disclosed nothing until she glance up at Robbie and a look of surprise crossed her face. “You wear spectacles?”

Robbie peered over his spectacles to look at her. “I do. Nash and I are the only ones in our family unlucky enough to require them to read.”

Why did she ask? Then he remembered the day he had gone to town and Robbie took his place in the library. Had Robbie been wearing spectacles when she found him? He wondered again what kind of a kiss his twin had given her.

“Do you read horticulture books like Nash?” she asked.

Robbie paused, flicking a glance at Nash before returning to Ailie. Nash was certain each read the other’s thoughts. Finally, Robbie said, “Rarely.”

Ailie looked up from her plate and shook her head. “Robbie Powell, you are a rogue. Worse than I’d imagined.”

“Likely so,” Robbie admitted.

Nash believed the only one at the table who understood something had been left unsaid was Muriel, whose eyes bore into him and then moved to stare at Robbie.