Chapter Two #2
“Mrs. Blackburn,” he said, inclining his head. “Mr. Blackburn. Tomorrow, then.”
They nodded, murmured farewells, and he all but fled through the front entrance.
His thoughts whirled as he hurried toward the stable. Somehow the dream had come to him, to his very door—but what was he to do now? Show her a row of dug-up stones and then wave goodbye the next day as she went back to Edinburgh, never to return to Dundrennan?
He shook his head, bewildered by a confused tangle of need and desire.
*
None of the pictures in the hallway showed a half-naked princess on a flowery bed, Christina noted with relief as she and John followed Mrs. Gunn through a warren of upstairs corridors.
Her thoughts kept returning to Aedan MacBride. She had never expected to meet such a virile and beautiful man, tall and fit, dark haired with eyes of a striking indigo blue. His very presence was quietly powerful and very distracting, and she had openly stared.
“This way,” Mrs. Gunn was saying. She paused to show John into his room first, a large and simply furnished room with flowery wallpaper and an Aubusson carpet in blue and cream; the large old-fashioned four-poster bed was piled high with pillows and a white embroidered coverlet.
The bed looked very inviting, and peering inside, Christina realized how tired she was after a long day’s travel.
John looked tired too, and pleased as he thanked the housekeeper and closed the door.
The housekeeper bustled onward, Christina in her wake.
The hallway was painted a salmon pink above dark polished wainscoting, long, narrow, colorful carpets marched along planked floors, and oil lamps gleamed on tables.
The walls were hung with gilt-framed paintings of all sizes—small and large portraits, tiny landscapes, a few historical scenes.
Christina wished she had time to study them.
“Yer room is along here, Mrs. Blackburn,” the housekeeper said.
“The oldest section of the house, verra quiet it is. I did not know yer brother would be here, but we have a dozen or more bedrooms, so it is no trouble. In planning for yer arrival, I thought ye might like to be near the library, being antiquated and all.”
“Antiquarian,” Christina said. “This is a wonderful house.”
“Aye.” Pausing at a door, the housekeeper opened it, then stood back for Christina to enter first. “Andrew brought up yer baggage—there ’tis on the bench. I will send one of the Jeanies to help ye unpack.”
“No need. It is just a few things for an overnight stay. I so appreciate the hospitality. What a lovely room!” Christina turned.
Snug and inviting, the bedchamber glowed with firelight.
Floral draperies, bed hangings, and wallpaper complemented the faded patterned carpets, and an ivory counterpane swathed a four-poster bed.
The stone fireplace crackled with the sweetish, musty odor of peat.
The window overlooked Dundrennan’s policies, and through it, Christina saw a far ridge of hills fading into the deepening twilight. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Gunn smiled. “We call this the Irish room for the wallpaper, which was hand-stamped in Ireland, afore so many souls went starving there and could care less aboot stamping wallpaper, puir souls. And now Miss Amy—Sir Aedan’s cousin—wants to take doon all the paper and oot wi’ the rugs too.
She wants everything covered in tartan. Walls, floors, windows, beds, the lot!
I canna—but it is not my place, is it. Sir Aedan says there’s more than enough Scotchness in this bonny house, and so the Irish kit stays up, says he. ”
“I like it very much just as it is,” Christina said. “A bonny house indeed.”
“Sir Hugh MacBride, that’s Sir Aedan’s da, y’see, what died a few years back—had a grand plan for the house. But he passed on afore he could see it all done. And now Sir Aedan does the best he can,” she finished breathlessly.
“The house must be a great deal of work, changes or none.”
“Och, aye, but no matter. The fire is lit in yer sitting room, just there.” Mrs. Gunn pointed toward an adjoining chamber that held two stuffed armchairs upholstered in worn red damask set upon a threadbare Oriental rug. The little fireplace was cheerful, and a small window revealed the purple sky.
“This here was a treasure room, long ago, they say. Here the lairds o’ Dundrennan counted their gold,” Mrs. Gunn explained.
“There’s a wee door behind the chair, see?
It goes to the auld stairway, which is dusty and dark, but ye can use it to get doon to the library below.
Anytime ye please, madam, for antiquators need libraries, I think. ”
“Antiquarian. And I’d like that, thank you.” Christina smiled.
“Do be careful in the dark. The laird and his brother shared this room when they were bairns, and they would take that auld stair doon to the kitchens to steal a snap o’ food at night from the stave-off cupboard.
D’ye stay up late at night, that stave-off cupboard is a fine thing for a hungry hour. ”
Christina nearly laughed. Mrs. Gunn was simply a delight, open and generous and full of tidbits in her chatter. “Thank you. Sir Aedan has a brother? What a wonderful house for a family this would be.”
Mrs. Gunn sighed. “He did, but it is only Sir Aedan now. Years ago, Sir Neil was the bonny heir o’ Dundrennan, and Aedan the youngest, with a sister between them. But Sir Neil went wi’ a Highland regiment to that war overseas.” Mrs. Gunn frowned.
“The Crimean?”
“Aye, the very one. Sir Aedan went too, and returned safe. But his brother ne’er came home.” She shook her head. “The grief put Sir Hugh on the road to his death and took something fine from Sir Aedan’s spirit, I vow. He’s nae the same man as then.”
Christina felt a surge of compassion. “So much tragedy came out of that war. My brother John was wounded there.”
“The cane? I wondered. He manages well. Aye so, I must be off. One the Jeanies will be here soon with yer supper and will fetch whatsoever ye’d like.
Oh, there’s a water closet and a bath, too, across the hall.
Sir Hugh had lavatories added years back.
We even have a shower bath in that room, with hot and cold spigots,” she said proudly.
“The Jeanies can help if you want to use it.”
“Oh my. Who are the Jeanies?”
“There’s Bonnie Jean, the upper maid, and Sonsie Jean, wha’ does a bit o’ everything, and Wee Jeanie in the kitchens. We’ve long called the housemaids Jeanie, and we call all the grooms and gillies Andrew. It’s our way at Dundrennan.”
“What a curious custom!”
“Some do in the Highlands, and we do too. Sir Aedan tries to use their names, but old habits die hard. We had a great grand staff when Sir Hugh was writing all his poems. Now ’tis just Sir Aedan alone, though the ladies o’ Balmossie visit often.”
“Ladies of Balmossie?”
“Kinswomen o’ the laird. Ye’ll meet them tomorrow. Sonsie Jean will come up to help ye dress, since ye brought no lass to tend ye.” Mrs. Gunn drew a long breath.
“I have no lady’s maid,” Christina admitted. “I live with my uncle and aunt in a small house, with only two servants, so I do for myself in most things. If I need something, I’ll ring the bell for…Sonsie Jean, is it?”
“Och, dinna ring the bell! I’d startle so! We dinna ring the bell here! Sir Aedan and Sir Neil did when they were lads, and then they would hide in cupboards, the wee rascals. But we found ’em and chased ’em, and Sir Hugh said that were the end o’ the bell ringing!”
Christina laughed. “I promise never to pull the bell.”
“Just come oot the room and call,” Mrs. Gunn said. “We’ll hear ye. Lady Balmossie shouts like a fishwife.”
Christina pinched back a smile. “I will do my best.”
“Tonight ye’ll sup here, but other nights ye’ll have a fine dinner doon the stair, especially if the ladies o’ Balmossie are here. Though ye may have supper in yer room whenever ye like.”
“Thank you. I expect that my brother and I will be here only a couple of days, but this wonderful hospitality is much appreciated.”
The housekeeper narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “That one’s yer brother and ye live quiet-like wi’ yer uncle, ye say?”
“Yes. My brother lives with our father in Edinburgh, but I assist my uncle with his studies. He is a kirk minister and a scholar, and I act as his assistant.”
“But ye’re a married lady by your name. I thought—but that’s yer brother.”
Christina smiled. “I am a widow. My husband was a distant cousin, also Blackburn.”
“Och, so young! I was widowed young too.” She tilted her head. “D’ye have a sister, or mebbe a twin?”
“Twin?” She frowned at the odd question. “No, but I have a sister and two brothers.”
“Ah, perhaps it is the sister. Surely it could not be you, could it. Fine lady, shy wee lass and widow. The sister is just as bonny, I suppose? Aye then,” Mrs. Gunn rushed on without waiting for a reply, heading for the door and stepping out. “Good night, madam. A Jeanie will bring ye some supper.”
Bemused, Christina removed her bonnet and went to the window.
Sister—was Mrs. Gunn thinking of the painting?
Had Christina been recognized so quickly?
And Sir Aedan, down in the foyer, had looked at her with such a piercing gaze, questions and thoughts filling those remarkably blue eyes.
She had very nearly leaned toward him rather than away, drawn there rather than wary.
Goodness. Enough of that. She could only hope the painting was covered in a dustcloth and stored somewhere. With luck, she and John would leave before anyone even thought about a half-nude briar maiden in a painting they had seen.
Soon Sonsie Jean, an elfin, red-haired serving girl with a shy smile, brought her a supper tray with a simple, good meal of hot broth, cold meats, and fresh bread.
Afterward, she chose a book in the little sitting room but soon dozed over it.
She dreamed that she climbed a steep, heathered hill in the darkness.
Above, a high tower seemed made of bronze and silver in the moonlight.
Then a man came toward her through the cool glow of moonbeams, and took her into his arms.
Christina awoke, startled. Rising, she shook off the dream and the strange longing that came with it, and went to the bedroom to unpack her things.
She sat again to read a well-thumbed copy of Sir Hugh MacBride’s poems, and dozed a little over those.
Waking, seeing that the little clock on the mantel read nearly midnight, she knew she should go to bed, but was curiously awake, no doubt due to the little naps that had revived her.
Thinking ahead to tomorrow’s exploration of the hillside and old stone wall discovered there, she wished she had found time to research the local history before coming to Dundrennan. Then she remembered the library downstairs, and Mrs. Gunn’s invitation to use it.
Mrs. Gunn had also said that an old medieval stairway led from her little sitting room directly to Sir Hugh’s excellent library. She sat up, tempted.
Dare she go there tonight? The household was asleep, and she was restless.
Sleep would not come easily in that state, she knew.
If she could take the old steps down and back again unnoticed, she could slip down to the library without disturbing the household to look for something on local Dundrennan history.
Still in her traveling dress, she grabbed a simple dark shawl and slipped her feet into small black slippers, which would be quiet on the old stairs. Taking up a candle in a brass dish, she went to the narrow door in the sitting room and opened it, hinges creaking. She peered down.
Thin candlelight spilled into an abyss that smelled of must, stone, and disuse. Stone steps curved in deep shadows around a central pillar. It was a very old staircase indeed. Drawing up her skirts with one hand, balancing the candle dish in the other, she descended.
The steep wedge-shaped steps fanned downward and she moved carefully, relieved to find a fat rope banister slung along the wall.
Her room was on the third level, and the library was likely on the first level, but she saw no door as she went down.
Then she heard a scurry and a tiny squeak, and felt the light tickle as a mouse passed over her foot.
Startled, she felt her thin sole skid over the edge of a smooth, worn stone step. Reaching for the wall, she fumbled the brass candle dish, which clattered away, the light extinguishing. As she recovered her footing, blackness engulfed her.
Halfway down an unfamiliar staircase in utter darkness, she began to inch her way back up the steps to her room.
But her skirts and the darkness hampered her on the wedged steps, and she nearly tripped again, falling to one knee.
Then she headed up again, but when she put her foot down on the narrow edge of the next step, she grabbed for the rope banister, missed it, and slipped backward into inky darkness.
Half sliding down the steps, her shoulder and then her head knocked against the wall.
As she came to a stop on the hard cornered edge of a stone step, her ankle twisted beneath her and her hip hit hard against stone.
Groping about in the dark, she realized that she had fallen on a large platform rather than narrow steps.
With a soft groan, she turned to sit, wincing.
Her head spun wickedly as she propped it in her hands.
Shifting, she felt pain in her shoulder, ankle, hip, head too. The dizziness was still with her, and she was shaking a bit. She was not ready to climb those wicked steps in utter blackness. Instead, she would just sit until she felt better and less disoriented.
Then the click of a latch, and a golden strip of light bloomed like a sunbeam as a door opened just above her. A man emerged, a tall silhouette. With a wordless exclamation, he crouched on the stone platform and touched her shoulder.
“Mrs. Blackburn! Are you hurt?”
She turned her head, woozy in the darkness, and for a moment thought she must be dreaming. The beautiful laird of Dundrennan stood haloed in the light.
She blinked. In shadow and lamplight, he was startlingly handsome, raven-black hair tousled, straight dark brows tugged in a frown, and thunder in his snapping blue eyes.
Sir Aedan MacBride knelt beside her to rest a hand on her shoulder. “Mrs. Blackburn, what the devil are you doing in this old stairwell?”