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“You’ll see.”
His grin was so infectious she couldn’t help but smile herself. “More mystery.”
She liked it. It reminded her of the playfulness their relationship had once had. Maybe there was something left of that friendship.
Maybe they could find something deeper.
Gavin led her down a trodden turf path, her lantern lighting the way just a few feet in front of them. Despite the moonlight, she was glad of it, because there were little hills and dips all over the island.
They rounded a bend in the path, and suddenly a huge stone structure rose up out of the dark in front of them.
“Oh my,” she murmured.
He swept a hand out before them as though offering the building to her in all its medieval glory. “Welcome to Daldour Abbey.”
The partially ruined abbey was large, with squared-off walls and arched windows that once probably had wooden shutters but now were left open to the elements. A tower rose high above them with windows looking out over the firth in all directions. It was part monastery, part fortress, and entirely intriguing.
“How have I lived in Edinburgh all my life and not known about this?” she asked in wonder.
“It does require some advance planning,” he said.
She stole a glance at him. “Can we explore it?”
“I should hope we would. Who knows what we might find?”
She tugged on his arm and laughingly led him up the grass to one of the open doorways.
“Do you know how long it’s been abandoned?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Hundreds of years, I’d guess, but architecture isn’t my specialty.”
“How do you even know about it?” she asked.
“You can see the island from the shoreline. I’m quite fond of Queensferry, especially in the summer. The shops are all open, and there are children running around in their boater hats with their mothers in tow. It reminds me of the days my nurse would take me to the shore in Ashington when I was very young.”
“And Mr. McDonald?” she asked as they climbed a flight of stairs rubbed smooth by thousands of sandaled feet trotting up and down them for centuries.
“His brother is the proprietor of one of Queensferry’s finest pubs. We’d spoken one afternoon, and he told me that for a good bottle of whisky McDonald could be persuaded to entertain a pair of explorers and make some special arrangements.”
“ ‘Special arrangements?’ ”
“Something along the lines of this,” said Gavin as they rounded the corner.
A wall of heat hit her from a fire that roared in a hearth tall enough for her to stand up in. Heavy cloth hung over the windows to block out the worst of the wind, and scattered candles made the stone room improbably cozy. At the center of the space stood a table and two chairs.
“Mr. McDonald has over-delivered on his promise,” Gavin said as he set down the oilskin bags and began opening them up.
Out of the first bag came a tablecloth, plates, glasses, napkins, and silverware from their own household. He set them all out, and suddenly the room was transformed into an intimate dining room fit for two.
This wasn’t the outing Gavin had promised her. It was more. It was thoughtful and caring and . . . romantic.
Just as a honeymoon should be.
She smoothed her hands over the front of her dress and fiddled with the edge of her traveling cloak. The evening had hardly started, and already it had knocked her back on her heels.
“Can I help you?” she asked. She needed to be useful to keep herself from twitching out of her skin.
He cast a glance over his shoulder and hesitated a moment. “If you like. Just don’t tell Mrs. Hart that you assisted.” He opened the next bag and pulled out a wrapped parcel that smelled like freshly baked bread.
