Chapter Twenty-One
Opening the door to the breakfast room the next morning, Christina brushed her dark-green skirt, touched her hair, wound in a neat knot—then stood for a moment, catching her breath, hoping to see Aedan.
She felt a pleasant little shudder to remember last night’s luscious intimacies, secret and wonderful and to be cherished.
When she had finally drifted to sleep, she dreamed Aedan was the ancient prince and she was Liadan—surely that stemmed from the posing sessions.
In the dream, everything felt so authentic, from woolen tunics to golden armbands to the dark, smoky interior of a round house of turf and stone, more like a memory than a dream.
What a silly romantic notion, she thought; she had awoken beneath the quilts reaching for him, only to realize she had slept alone in her room.
Blushing, hoping enough time had passed that they could find time together that day, she stepped into morning sunlight beaming through tall windows, the room made even more cheerful by flowered chintz and golden oak.
But Aedan was not there, and the room seemed suddenly less bright. However, she saw Mrs. Gunn, checking the hot foods in the chafing dishes. “Mrs. Blackburn, good morning! Will you have some coffee?”
“Please,” she replied, and took a plate to serve herself from the warming pans and salvers on the large mahogany buffet. Her morning appetite was usually light, and she helped herself to fruit and took some toast from a rack.
“Looks like sun all day, with none o’ them thunner-plumps we’ve seen lately,” Mrs. Gunn said, setting a full coffee cup on the table with a small pitcher of cream.
“Will ye go to the hill again? Tam took Sir Aedan out in the carriage, but if ye’d like the gig, MacGregor can send for a groom to take ye. ”
“Oh, no, thank you. I would enjoy walking on such a fine day. Has—has Sir Aedan gone to the work site so early?
Mrs. Gunn placed a small basket of raisin muffins and a bowl of fresh berries near Christina’s plate.
“Oh, no, he’s gone to Glasgow and then Edinburgh today, traveling with Miss MacDonald and her grandmother. They have business in the city,” she explained.
“He’s gone?” She felt a plummeting disappointment. “I did not know.”
“Aye, he’s gone for a few days perhaps. With Effie and Dora MacDonald. They are great friends, what wi’ him being engaged to t’other Miss MacDonald and all.”
Her stomach flipped. “The other Miss MacDonald?”
“Effie’s other granddaughter, Dora’s cousin Elspeth. What a bonny lass she was.”
“Oh,” Christina said, a bit startled. Then she remembered. “I did hear—that he had lost his fiancée. Is that the one?”
“Aye. We thought the lad would die o’ grief when she passed so quicklike. ’Twas a shock for all, coming so soon after Sir Neil was lost in the war. Though I never thought Miss MacDonald was a suitable wife for a laird and baronet, but she was a sonsie lass, and we loved her well.”
“I see.” Christina sat very still, fingers resting on the coffee cup, the heat searing through the fine china.
“Sir Aedan wasna the heir then, see, so he could marry as he liked. It were so sad.” Mrs. Gunn sighed. “Some hope he will wed Miss Amy someday,” she said in a loud whisper. “But I think that willna happen.”
“No?” Christina said carefully.
“Well, Miss Stewart says Sir Aedan is a braw man but a dullie, and she likes him best as a cousin. She has cut him free, I hear, to set her sights elsewhere.”
Christina blinked as she sipped coffee. “Oh?”
“Well, she’s a sonsie lass too, and too much the hoppity lark for his broody hawk, if ye ask me. She is considering another, I think. And our laird may never marry.” Mrs. Gunn shook her head. “Have ye heard about that naughty curse?”
“I have.”
Mrs. Gunn cleared her throat. “Aye well, it can cause a kerfuffle now and again, and we dinna want that again, do we!” The woman smiled.
“So, Sir Aedan says ye’ll be done soon on the old hill, and be back to Edinburgh quick like and be gone soon.
And ye’ve been such lovely guests, ye and yer brother too. ”
The housekeeper chatted on, oblivious to the blow Christina felt from her words.
So Aedan hoped she would finish quickly and be gone from Dundrennan, and last night, he had not even mentioned that he would in Edinburgh for a few days.
Dear God, she had been wrong, foolish, naive.
He had dallied, satisfied hunger and curiosity, and was done with her.
Hurt turned to temper. Fine, she thought; she would leave as soon as could be, and John could stay to paint. Her work on Cairn Drishan was nearly done, and soon Sir Edgar would take it over. Very well.
“Mrs. Blackburn, will ye return for luncheon, or shall I have Cook pack a basket?”
Despite wild, wonderful passion, it had been lust for him after all.
She had wondered about that, but dreams and hopes created a greater wish.
Now the apparent truth cut deeply. Mortified, cheeks burning, she had behaved indiscreetly again, just as with Stephen Blackburn, naively imagining love within reach.
When would she learn to trust her head over her heart?
If she saw him again, she must summon a dignified face.
“Mrs. Blackburn?” Mrs. Gunn waited.
“Lunch? I will come back to the house, thank you. I need to work in the library.”
“As ye like, dear.” Mrs. Gunn turned then. “Good morning, Miss Stewart!”
Amy flounced into the breakfast room, her gown a fetching swirl of ruffles in a pastel floral that suited her blonde coloring. Christina smiled a greeting, feeling plain and unwanted by comparison. Amy seemed to glow with verve and confidence.
“Good morning! I thought to catch Cousin Aedan this morning. Have I missed him?”
“Och, he’s left.” Mrs. Gunn served Amy some coffee.
“I rather hoped to go to Edinburgh to visit with some friends.” Amy put some fruit and a bit of bacon on a plate and took a seat.
So Amy knew his plans. Christina looked in dismay at her plate, then picked up her fork and tucked into breakfast with her appetite gone. She must not feel so badly about the choices she had made, she told herself. She had believed something that did not exist.
“How are you, Christina? Since Aedan has left, I’ll be modeling for your brother today.” Amy smiled across the table. “He is so charming and interesting. We have the most delightful conversations. He tells such fascinating stories. And he said I am the perfect model.” She grinned.
“I am sure of that! John does not compliment often. Feel flattered.”
“I am! Though he did not want me for the princess. He says you are her entirely.”
“He has a certain type in mind, and he imagines her as dark haired, I suppose.”
“Oh, I nearly forgot, Mrs. Blackburn. There’s a couple of letters here for ye,” Mrs. Gunn said, pulling some mail from a large pocket in her apron and handing her two creamy envelopes. “The one has a verra fancy seal.”
“It’s from the National Museum of Antiquities,” Christina said, opening it. She had seen that the other, plainer, envelope was from her uncle, Reverend Carriston. “This one is from Sir Edgar.” She read it quickly. “He will arrive here in a day or two.”
So her work would truly be done. Her hopes were crashing to an end quickly.
“Och, Sir Aedan willna like that, but what can we do?” Mrs. Gunn shook her head. “The laird isna here, and Sir Edgar is coming. Where will we put him?”
“We’ll be nice to him, of course,” Amy said, “and give him a guest room, and show him that old hill. He might even come and go before Aedan returns.”
Christina frowned. “I am sure Sir Edgar would wait for him.”
Amy shrugged. “Well, if Edgar Neaves is here and Aedan is displeased, we will just smile sweetly and be forgiven.” She lifted her pale brows to feign innocence. “Though Aedan is less susceptible to that than other men,” she added with a little pout.
Christina nodded and sipped her coffee, scarcely noticing it had gone cold and she had not added sugar. But nothing would seem sweet to her again after last night’s flood of joy, for it seemed over this morning.
Opening the second letter, she scanned it rapidly and tucked it back in its envelope. “Where is my brother this morning, do you know?” she asked Amy. “I’ve had a letter from our uncle.”
“I saw him in the library, looking through some books. I would have offered to help,” Amy said, “but I was very hungry this morning and came ahead to breakfast.”
“I will go find him,” Christina said, and hurried out of the room.
“A letter from Uncle Walter? Very nice,” John said when she showed him the envelope, having filled him in on Walter’s letter, Edgar’s too, and Aedan’s trip to the city.
“Aunt Emmie wrote it for him. She said he was too weak to hold the pen that day.” She handed it to him and he read it, nodding.
“He’s not doing well, John. She says in her postscript that he shows little interest in reading history now.
It is so unlike him. Though she also said he has very good days, she wonders if he will see the winter. ”
“I saw her postscript. She does exaggerate, but—it is concerning.” He gave her the letter, his expression grim.
“If you are done with your work on the hillside, you should go to Walter and Emmie. Their home has always been like your second home, and our house in Edinburgh is a bit far for daily travel to see him. Uncle Walter will want to hear all about your Pictish house, with its curious cellar and pots and all. That will bring back the spark in him. He will be very excited about it.”
“I hope so. He will want to hear all about your mural painting of the legend, too. You are right, I should go to him. Except for you and your work here, there will be nothing further for me here once Sir Edgar takes over. You know how he likes to be in charge. And this time—I would rather not act as his assistant.”
“Ah.” John nodded, watching her for a moment. “Nothing here for you, truly?” he asked gently. “When does Sir Aedan return from Edinburgh?”