Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
AIDAN
While staying at Dalmigavie, Aidan needed a place to work.
He had correspondence to keep up and legal briefs to prepare.
Searc suggested the small library upstairs from the Great Hall.
It had once been the domain of the laird’s sister, who’d been companion to Queen Caroline.
Though it was situated next to a drawing room often used by others, the room was quiet, hardly used, and it had a small fireplace to take the autumn chill out of the air.
After dinner, he took his satchel and went up.
His destination was easy enough to find. Passing by the empty drawing room, he was surprised to find the door to the library open and light spilling out into the corridor. He stopped in the doorway.
Bookcases lined one entire wall, and a writing desk stood by one of two heavily curtained windows.
Two upholstered chairs flanked a small fireplace that hadn’t been lit, and a table was stacked up with four or five books and a lamp.
None of that interested him as much as the figure of the woman standing on a short library ladder against the bookshelves.
She had her back to him as she reached for a volume, but he recognized her immediately.
“Miss Drummond.” He hadn’t seen her since yesterday.
She almost fell off the ladder but caught herself. Her dark eyes flashed in the lamplight as she turned.
“I’m very sorry.” He dropped his satchel by the door and crossed the room to her. “I didn’t mean to give you a start.”
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t make a habit of sneaking up on people.” She reached up and took down the volume she was after.
“Searc said I’d be safe working up here.”
“If Searc only knew our history.”
The dark blue dress hugged her curves perfectly.
Her pretty face still sported bruises from their skirmish.
This explained why she wasn’t taking meals with everyone else at the Great Hall.
Aidan held up a hand to help her down. Morrigan shot him a look that told him she needed no assistance. He remained rooted on the spot.
“The ladder is unsteady. I’d hate to have you fall on whatever deadly weapon you’re concealing tonight.”
“Good point…and I don’t use that word lightly.
” With a quirk of her lips, she accepted his offer and descended.
Her hand was warm and strong and had none of the softness of most city lasses.
The skin had clearly been toughened by hours of work in the training yard.
And he knew from personal experience, the time had not been ill-spent.
He watched her. She ignored him. Studying the volume, she headed toward the table.
“I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll be happy to come back later.”
“Not at all. My work is done here. I have what I need. I’ll take the books back to my room.”
Aidan eyed the stack. Each of the volumes was heavy. Altogether, it would require more than one trip. “Allow me to carry them for you, then. That’s quite a collection.”
She separated two of the books from the others and added the one she’d just retrieved. “I don’t need any help. These three should suffice.”
“I’m a highly skilled beast of burden.”
“I’m perfectly capable of carrying them, thank you. But since you insist on being useful, you can help me put the others back on the shelves.”
“As you wish.” He studied the bookcases. Spaces between volumes made it obvious where the books had been pulled from. “You tell me where they go and—”
“If you’d like to help, then please hand them up to me.”
She was a woman who knew her mind. He was wise and would never remind her that he was taller and had a greater reach. But he also had no desire to curtail this unexpected encounter.
Morrigan climbed the ladder and stretched a hand down to him.
For a moment Aidan stared, admiring the loveliness of the woman before him. Her hair spread like a blanket of soft curls around her shoulders. Her eyes were magical. Her face, when healed, would be the kind poets wrote poems about.
“Do you intend to help or just strike a pose, Mr. Grant? I’m not planning to paint your portrait.”
Her wit was as attractive as the rest of her, but he’d be a fool to give her a compliment on it. She’d cut him to ribbons.
Aidan picked up the first book off the desk and read the title aloud. “Hungarian and Highland Broad Sword. I see you have a devoted interest in the martial arts.”
She took the volume out of his hand and slid it on a shelf.
“The Military Adventures of Johnny Newcome.” He read the second title. “What British fort do you plan to storm?”
“Any suggestions?”
“Fort George? It’s handy, a wee bit more than half-a-day’s ride.”
She found the spot for this book, as well.
“Or are you going right for the heart of the empire. Parliament itself.”
“I was thinking St. James Palace. I believe we should roust that fat little Hanoverian king.”
“Very ambitious,” he said as he picked up two volumes. “Reft Rob; Or, The Witch Of Scot-Muir, Commonly Called Madge The Snoover.”
She reached for it, but he held back for a moment. “A classic of modern literature, to be sure, but it won’t help you with your military ambitions.”
“You don’t know how useful snoovering is in a campaign.” She crooked a finger at him.
Aidan grinned and handed it up to her. “What does snoovering mean?”
“I have no idea.”
“But you pulled it off the shelf.”
“I didn’t. Or at least I don’t remember doing it. I really don’t know how that got mixed in with my books.”
“Perhaps this one is also not one of yours. A Modern Anecdote Of The Ancient Family Of The Kinkvervankotsdarsprakengotchderns.”
“Now you’re just making things up.”
“Me? Telling stories? Yesterday, you told me that I’m horrible at it.”
“I said no such thing. I said that you are not to be trusted.”
“Well, what do you say to this?” Aidan opened the book and showed her the title page.
She had to lean toward him to see. The ladder shook and Morrigan had to put a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. Her hair brushed against his face. The incredible softness, the fresh scent made him want to touch the silky ringlets.
The moment was fleeing. She took the book out of his hand and turned away.
“I’m just so curious about the range of your interests.”
“There are lots of things that would surprise you about me. But that volume must have been sitting on the desk before I arrived here, as I don’t—”
“These two must be yours. Love And Madness. A Story Too True.” Aidan tried to cock one eye at her, but it was too painful. “And Studies in the Nude.”
“They are not.”
“Then perhaps I’ll hold on to the second volume.”
“Suit yourself.”
“On second thought, perhaps when I have more time for leisure reading.”
Morrigan snatched the book from him. “That’s not the title at all. It’s Rowlandson’s Miseries of Human Life.”
“So it is. The light is not very good over here. I must have misread it.”
Morrigan shook her head at him. She turned to slide the volume into the bookcase, but he saw the smile.
Aidan considered pulling a few more books off the shelf so they could continue to play this game. But Morrigan was too quick for him. She was down the ladder and had the selected books in her arms in an instant.
“Thank you for the entertainment, Mr. Grant. Good night to you.”
He bowed, regretting it as she started toward the door.
“Have you decided what story we shall use to explain our bruises to the people of Dalmigavie?”
“After tonight, sir, you’ve gained my confidence. Go ahead. Tell them whatever you wish.”
And without another word, she went out.