Chapter Four
A saucer hurtled past his shoulder, pale porcelain gleaming, to shatter against the wall. Aedan swept the toe of one black boot over the shards, recognizing a hand-painted view of the Great Exhibition of a few years earlier.
“Crystal Palace,” he said.
“Not the one with the queen’s face on it, I hope!” Cousin Amy turned, a length of flowered fabric draped over her arm.
“This one has Prince Albert.” Aedan glanced at the women in the room, Lady Balmossie seated, Amy Stewart standing beside her brother Dougal’s bride, the renowned beauty, Lady Strathlin—or Meg, as she preferred.
Like Amy, she too held yards of chintz. The cloth flowed over their belled skirts like streams of cabbage roses.
“Oh, dear, Aunt Lillias gave that tea set to your father,” Amy said. “A pity to lose a piece of it. Knick-knacks and memorabilia lend such charm and tradition to a home.”
“And images of the monarch are so cheering to the spirit!” Aedan’s aunt, his father’s sister Lillias, Lady Balmossie, peered at him from her place on the sofa. She picked up her embroidery in its hand frame and smiled, cheeks plump, lace cap bobbing, black taffeta gown rustling as she moved.
“Cousin Aedan will have no nice things left at Dundrennan if Miss Thistle is allowed to run about like this. Oh! Stop it!” Amy stepped quickly aside, her hooped skirt bounding, as a silver spoon sailed past her blonde head and dropped to the floor. Meg jumped back too.
“Miss Thistle! Stop tossing the whigmaleeries aboot!” Lady Balmossie snapped without looking up from her embroidery.
Perched on the arm of a chair, Miss Thistle chattered loudly in reply, showed her small teeth, then reached for another dish from the tea tray. Aedan took an abrupt warning step toward the little monkey. She retreated hastily, tail swirling beneath the frills of her peach satin gown.
“She misbehaves so,” Amy complained.
Aedan gathered the saucer shards in his handkerchief and set them on a table with the spoon. “Thistle, fling the pewter instead. It will only dent up a bit.”
Miss Thistle chattered at him and turned her tail. Aedan huffed.
“Aedan, you missed tea again yesterday,” Amy admonished. “We waited a little for you, but Aunt Lill was too famished.” She pouted prettily.
“Sorry. I was at the work site, dear,” he said mildly.
“You are laird of an ancient estate, and need not work like a laborer.”
“A day’s labor is honest means for many Highland men. I am happy to do it.”
“Hmph. We did not see your guests at breakfast,” Amy went on. “Mrs. Gunn said they arrived last night.”
“Some take their breakfast a bit earlier than you, Amy.” Aedan smiled. “I did not see them either, but I went early to the site. The rains proved too much today, so I went with Tam to fetch Dougal Stewart and his bride from the train station.”
“And we appreciated it. So happy to be invited,” Meg said, returning an enchanting smile. In the months since he had met her, Aedan could easily understand why his cousin and good friend had fallen in love with her.
“Mrs. Gunn will show our new guests down here to meet us,” Lady Balmossie said. “Mornings are for visiting, after all. Aedan, will you bring them to your wee hill later?”
“It may have to wait until tomorrow. The rain looks as if it will continue much of the day. Thistle,” he warned, as the little creature reached for Lady Balmossie’s teacup. The monkey chittered and folded her arms. Lady Balmossie laughed.
“Aunt Lill, why must we always bring Miss Thistle with us when we come to Dundrennan?” Amy asked. “We should leave her at Balmossie.”
“She likes it here! Dundrennan was her home when my brother Hugh was alive,” Lady Balmossie answered, as Thistle crossed the back of the sofa behind her, tail waving.
Aedan sighed, recalling his father’s fondness for the tiresome wee creature, whom he claimed inspired his creative thoughts.
“She only spoils things!” Amy went to the window to hold up fabric with Meg’s help.
“Look! This would make lovely drapes. And we should replace that rug with a tartan pattern carpet like the carpet we’re putting in the corridors.
The plaid would look so well with the flowers. What do you think, Aedan?”
He glanced at the blue draperies, worn brocaded sofa, faded but handsome Turkish carpet.
The furnishings in the sitting room were shabby and outdated, but they would do, and had belonged to his mother.
He cherished the childhood memories and comfort here, and did not think everything should change at Dundrennan.
“I think the room looks fine as it is.” He watched Thistle’s tail curl beneath a chair.
“Cousin Dougal said the same thing.” Amy sighed in exasperation.
“Then the lads agree, and the ladies agree.” Meg smiled. “Now what?”
Aedan wrinkled his nose. “Then it comes down to who holds the purse strings. I do.”
Meg laughed softly. He had felt immediately at ease with his cousin’s wife, despite her impressive status as Lady Strathlin, said to be one of the wealthiest women in Scotland.
A very pretty blonde, she was honest and without guile or conceit, and he quickly grew fond of her.
He was fond of his cousin Amy too, though keeping pace with her whims and moods could be exhausting.
“Where is Dougal?” Aedan asked, hoping for the bulwark of another male presence when the ladies of Balmossie were in a decorating humor.
“In the library, working on designs to present to the lighthouse commission for their approval,” Meg said. “He wants to get the drawings into the afternoon post.”
“Ah, hiding out, is he?” Aedan drawled.
“Thistle!” Lady Balmossie said as the monkey clambered up the hangings. “She never acts so shoogly at Balmossie.”
“That’s because she stays in the conservatory there, climbing rhododendrons and lemon trees instead of the curtains,” Amy answered.
Aedan walked over to pluck the monkey off the drape, letting her swarm over his shoulders while he looked out the window.
Through a screen of rain, he could see the jagged contour of Cairn Drishan in the distance.
His road crew had stopped their efforts there, not due to the rain, but on orders from the National Museum, which cited the treasure trove law. He sighed.
He realized he was listening for a knock on the door that would announce the Blackburns.
That sort of anticipation suited schoolboys, he told himself.
Yet he felt on fire to see Christina Blackburn again, albeit in the gray light of a rainy day.
He could not forget their nighttime encounter, nor the sudden tender kiss he had stolen.
In the daylight, he was chagrined to have been so bold with a young lady and guest in his house.
“Thistle quite loves you,” Amy said, startling Aedan out of his thoughts.
Realizing the monkey was grooming his hair, Aedan deftly removed her from his shoulder. She tumbled upside down, showing lacy pantaloons.
“Wench,” he drawled.
“Naughty Thistle!” Lady Balmossie offered her a treat.
“If you spoil her, she will never behave,” Amy pointed out.
“She was spoilt years ago, even before Hugh had her and left her to me in his will,” Lady Balmossie said. “He got her in India. She was ruined by Hottentots there. And ruined by Oaten-toads here. Hugh let his Highland servants take care of her.”
“Aunt Lill! That is hardly the case,” Aedan said, though he knew it was no use pointing out there were no Hottentots in India, nor Oaten-toads, her term for Highlanders, in Scotland.
She had married a viscount, but her upbringing was rustic Lowland, and she was inherently stubborn in her view of supposedly savage cultures.
“Aedan, when your antiquarian lady comes in, you must not scowl so,” Amy said. “You sometimes adopt a glower that would frighten anyone but us.”
“But he wants to frighten her,” Lady Balmossie remarked. “He isna keen on Edgar Neaves, who sent his wee expert here, and he fears the lady will stop his silly road.”
“I am only keen for her to see the stones and go back to Edinburgh,” he said.
That was not quite true. Remembering her exquisite face and delicious lips, he was very keen indeed. His heart beat as if he were a boy about to encounter his fervent crush.
“I am sure Aedan will be very polite to the lady,” Meg said.
“Of course I will,” he murmured.
*
The butler looked old enough to be someone’s great-grandfather, but Christina had to rush to keep up with him.
Knobby-kneed and gnarly, MacGregor wore a red plaid kilt and black coat, tartan socks, and creaky leather shoes, and led Christina and John, who followed more slowly, across the foyer, up the stairs, and down a corridor toward the upper parlor.
Christina lifted her skirts to hurry, petticoats rustling.
Behind her, she could hear the thumping rhythm of John’s cane.
Their footsteps were muffled on long Oriental carpets, and the walls, warm salmon pink above polished oak, glowed brightly.
As in the other corridors she had seen, paintings, antique furniture, and shining weapons were artfully displayed here, too.
The butler turned. “Are you having an umbrella, bonny sir?” His accent was the soft, precisely accented English of a native Gael, though he did not seem entirely fluent.
She blinked when he addressed her as “sir.” “I, ah—it’s raining, I know, but we are not going outside just yet.”
“You will be needing an umbrella, bonny sir. Or a targe,” he muttered, pointing to some round shields on the wall. “Miss Thistle is having tea today.”
“Miss Thistle?” Christina followed, wondering what on earth he meant.
She saw a man nailing some tartan carpet into place, which explained the thumping of a hammer she had heard. Down another hallway she saw a ladder, paint buckets, and brushes. She turned to wait for John, while MacGregor barreled onward.