Once Upon a Christmas Past

by Regan Walker

  “Aye,” William replied. “Should be beautiful, if chilly.”

  “Ye’ll be staying for Hogmanay, sir?”

  William nodded. “Through New Year’s Day, I imagine. Will you remain in the harbor on the ship?”

  “Aye, sir, I will. We’ve a full stock of provisions and a few of the crew will stay on board as the watch. The others are looking forward to the celebration in Stonehaven, but I’ve no doubt we’ll be able see the Hogmanay fires from the ship.”

  Nash tipped his hat to the captain and climbed aboard, Robbie behind him. The sky above them was the color of a robin’s egg with nary a cloud and the North Sea a dark blue beneath it. The sailing to Stonehaven, he’d been told, would be short as the town lay only twenty-one nautical miles to the north.

  The wind blowing across the deck was biting, causing Nash to pull his scarf up to his ears. His fellow passengers had elected to stay on deck and now stood at the rail, bundled up in their woolens.

  Once they were out of the harbor, Nash joined William and Emily at the rail where they watched the craggy terrain and cliffs go by off the port beam.

  A large flock of seabirds flew overhead, catching his eye.

  “That’s Fowlsheugh,” said Captain Anderson from amidships. “In the spring, thousands of kittiwakes, guillemots and razorbills will be nesting on those cliffs. When they take to the wing, ’tis quite a sight.”

  Nash tried to imagine what so many shorebirds would look like covering the jagged cliffs and was reminded of exotic ports to which he had sailed. After his time in Scotland, he planned to return to the family business. There would be more ship travel to distant ports, only this time, he wanted to sail with Ailie.

  He shifted his gaze to where she stood at the rail next to Muriel. He hoped the looks Ailie gave him meant that while she was not ready to forgive him, he was not forgotten.

  The countess appeared to be enjoying herself, her sea legs keeping her as steady as the rest of them.

  On Nash’s left side, Kit stood with Martin. “I must try and remember those cliffs. They are starkly beautiful covered in snow.”

  “You’ve some amazing sketches already, Kitten,” said Martin.

  “’Tis a good thing I brought several sketchbooks. I’ll be needing them if we’re to see more of such scenery.”

  After they had been sailing for a while, Nash pointed to what looked like a ruined medieval castle perched atop a headland, its foundations blanketed in snow. “What is that?”

  “That is Dunnottar,” said William on Nash’s right. “If this weather holds, we intend to visit the castle tomorrow. It’s only a few miles from the harbor where we’ll be staying.”

  “Dunnottar has one of the bloodiest histories of any castle in Scotland,” Ailie commented from the other side of William and Emily.

  “’Tis ancient history,” William gently scolded. He patted Emily’s arm. Nash supposed William took pains not to disturb his pregnant wife with tales of blood and gore.

  “Well, if we are going to see the castle, our guests might want to be aware of the history,” Ailie replied. “And you know Grandfather will be expounding at dinner tonight on the ghosts that walk the castle grounds.”

  William laughed. “Oh, aye, he will, and I’ll be joining him.”

  Beneath her plumed hat, Muriel’s silver brows rose. “Ghosts? How delicious!”

  Robbie gave her a long, studying look. “Why, Muriel, I had no idea you were enamored of ghosts.”

  “Their presence adds a certain mystical element to a place, don’t you agree? I shall have to ask Angus Ramsay what he knows of them.”

  “You won’t have to ask,” said Ailie. “When Grandfather learns we are to travel there on the morrow, he will insist on giving you a tour, that is, if you are up for tramping about in the snow.”

  The countess smiled. “I shall dress appropriately and take my flask of Madeira. A sledge ride in the snow to explore a haunted castle sounds like great fun.”

  “Countess, you continue to surprise me,” Robbie said with a grin, his bandage of white just showing beneath his beaver hat. No one had forgotten what took place on Boxing Day in Arbroath, but Nash and Robbie were nevertheless accepted back into the fold, Ailie being the one exception.

  Nash was determined to be patient with the rebellious Scottish lass. And perhaps a ruined castle complete with wailing ghosts would gain him both her forgiveness and her affection.

  “I wonder how one sketches a ghost,” said Kit thoughtfully as she stared at the castle ruins.

  “If I see any,” said Nash, “I’ll be sure and let you know… as I’m running away.”

  She swatted his arm. “You would never run away from anything, Nash.”

  Nash shot a look at Ailie, who met his gaze. “No, perhaps not.”

  “Looks like the harbor up ahead,” shouted Nick.

  “Aye,” said Captain Anderson, “prettiest harbor in Kincardineshire.”

  Muriel slipped her arm through Aileen’s as they followed the others from where the Albatross docked toward The Ship Inn in the distance. The three-story, whitewashed building overlooked the tranquil harbor.

  Her gaze swept over the well-constructed buildings set around the crescent harbor, the fishing boats rocking with the waves slapping against the quay and the two ships tied up. Behind the buildings at the harbor’s edge, the rest of the town and a church with a tall steeple sat nestled against the hills. “A very picturesque little seaport.”

  “I have always thought so,” said Aileen, who was sensibly dressed today in a simple but becoming gown of mazarine blue and a darker blue cloak. Her tartan scarf, draped over her head on the ship, now rested on her shoulders. “I think you will like the inn. ’Tis quite comfortable.”

  “And the food?” Muriel was curious to know what they might serve, given the possibilities.

  “Since this is a fishing town, there will be salmon and cod, some of it smoked. As I recall, the inn serves a tolerably good mutton stew and doubtless they’ll have roast chicken. Breakfast will be oatmeal, girdle scones and eggs. Oh, and I believe they have a kaleyard and will have stored some greens for winter use.”

  Muriel fought the urge to frown.

  Aileen chuckled. “There is always the inn’s shortbread to look forward to. Their cook bakes some of the best in all of Kincardineshire.” Leaning in to whisper, she added, “I say that because our cook in Arbroath claims her shortbread is the best in Forfarshire.”

  The girl laughed and her cheeks, red from the cold, made her lovely eyes appear bright.

  “It is good to see you laugh again, Aileen. I feared your somber countenance of the past several days would become permanent.”

  “I must apologize for being so sullen.”

  “You had reason enough. I don’t suppose you have forgiven your young man yet?”

  “He is not my young man, Muriel, and no,” she said, biting her lip and gazing toward the blue waters of the harbor, “I have not.”

  Perhaps, thought Muriel, she could accomplish more if she reminded Aileen of her humanity. “Have you never deceived someone for the sake of what you believed was a good purpose?”

  The girl looked down at her feet. After a moment, she said, “… I deceived my parents into thinking I’d given up my desire to design ships, while I never did.”

  “And did they forgive you?”

  Aileen looked up, her eyes smiling now. “Aye, they did, and today my father is glad for my persistence if not my deceit. But Nash’s deception was not the same. I believed we had confided our hearts to each other, yet not once did he mention his spying. Worse, what he and Robbie did could have led to someone’s death, including their own!”

  “Indeed, it was despicable!” Muriel carefully observed the girl’s face for any sign of agreement. When she didn’t see it, she went on, hoping to get Aileen to defend the young man. “Not telling your brother and Emily was terribly wrong, but not to speak a word of it to you was outside of enough.”

  Th
e girl chewed her bottom lip, fingering a long strand of her hair. “Maybe he couldn’t say anything. Might they have been sworn to secrecy?”

  “Very possibly.” Muriel inwardly smiled, happy her plan to turn Aileen into Nash’s defender was working. “Have you asked him about that?”

  Aileen looked up with a guilty expression. “No…”

  “I have discovered that it is best to settle disagreements early while there is still a chance to do so. Perhaps it would be best to put behind you the mischief Nash and his brother undertook for that rascal Sidmouth. You don’t have to marry the man just because you allow him back into your good graces.”

  Aileen gave her a sharp glance. “He has said nothing to me of marriage.”

  “Perhaps not, but an old matchmaker like me can see from the way he looks at you, the subject is on his mind.”

  They arrived at the front door of the inn behind the rest of their company. William turned to face them. “The Ship Inn is entirely ours through New Year’s, so make yourselves at home. I will introduce to you to Mr. Cruickshank, the proprietor, and he will see you are escorted to your chambers. There are no plans for today except for dinner but, tomorrow, the adventurers among us assail the castle!”

  As she stepped through the door of the inn, the first thing Muriel noticed was the warm air on her chilled face. She inhaled the pleasant smell of wood burning in the large fireplace she glimpsed through the doorway on her right, which appeared to lead to a common room.

  Two servants accepted their coats, cloaks, gloves and hats and one ushered them into the well-appointed room where the rest of their party had gathered before the fire. Muriel could see it was not a place to dine but almost a parlor with upholstered chairs, a sofa and small tables perfectly sized for a cup of tea. “How very nice this is,” she remarked to her companion.

  “I did tell you the inn would be comfortable,” Aileen reminded her.

  “So you did.” Muriel glanced out the large windows that provided a splendid view of the cerulean blue bay where the Albatross floated, its sails neatly furled.

  A tall pleasant-looking man of middle years with brown hair and spectacles entered the room. At his side the auburn-haired William Stephen. “Allow me to present Mr. Cruickshank, the inn’s proprietor and our host for the time we are here.”

  Mr. Cruickshank inclined his head. “’Tis an honor to have you as our guests. I assure you the employees of the inn and I will do all we can to make your stay with us an enjoyable one.”

  An attractive young woman came to his side. The proprietor put his arm around her shoulder. “This is my daughter, Fiona. As a widower, I have come to rely upon her as hostess in all things concerning our guests. You will find her competent and willing to assist with your needs.”

  The girl, who could not have been over twenty, smiled at their company, but quickly diverted her gaze to the two Powell twins, the only unaccompanied men among them. Fiona had the same brown hair as her father but her eyes were blue and her lovely face featured a dimple in each cheek that showed themselves when she smiled.

  Muriel instantly sensed Aileen had competition.

  “We’ve some hot tea, brandy and mulled claret to warm you,” Fiona offered. Her voice was the soothing, seductive kind men favored with just a hint of a Scottish accent.

  Oh, my yes, definitely competition.

  At Fiona’s words and, to the great happiness of the assembled guests, two male servants glided into the room carrying trays bearing cups, fragrant steam rising from them.

  Muriel accepted a cup of the mulled claret, which, upon tasting, she found to be quite good. “I begin to thaw,” she muttered.

  Aileen took a cup from the tray, but did not raise it to her lips. Instead, she held the cup between her hands, her attention fixed on the proprietor’s daughter talking to the Powell twins. “I should have remembered sweet Fiona,” Aileen said.

  Muriel took another sip of the spicy wine. “My dear, it would appear you have a rival.”

  * * *

  Later that day, having changed her gown and allowed Rhona, who had accompanied them north with a few of the other maids, to comb the tangles from her hair, Ailie ventured downstairs. The dining room was empty save for Will and Emily.

  Will looked up from the sideboard where he was pouring a drink. The inn had set out bottles of sherry, wine and brandy with an array of glasses for them. “Come join us,” he urged. “Can I pour you a glass of sherry?”

  “Good eve to you both. Aye, that would be most welcome. I’ll just warm myself by the fire.” She stepped nearer to the blazing fire and stretched her hands toward the flames. Even with the fireplaces well tended, the rooms of the inn could be chilly.

  She had always liked this room, a testimony to life at sea, decorated as it was with flags and pennants from various ships, a fancy carved transom with a unicorn, the heraldic symbol of Scotland, and various cutlasses and weapons of the past. Over the fireplace between two sconces was a painting of a seventeenth century sixty-gun warship, its sails billowing with wind and its stern flying a Scottish red ensign.

  Like the inn’s common room, this one looked out on the harbor. She turned from the fire to gaze beyond the windows to the waters of the small bay turned lavender blue by the setting sun. The sky above them glowed a pale salmon color, making the harbor altogether magical in appearance.

  Emily carried two glasses of sherry to Ailie and handed one to her. “Wasn’t it thoughtful of the proprietor to combine the tables into one long one for us?”

  “Aye, it was. That way all of our guests can hear Grandfather’s tales of the castle ghosts.”

  Muriel swept into the dining room just then, a white feather rising above the jeweled band around her head.

  “You look refreshed, Muriel,” remarked Emily.

  Muriel accepted a glass of Madeira from Will. “Thank you. I had a bit of a lie down, which has left me feeling wonderful. All that sea air, I expect.”

  The others began filtering into the dining room. When Nash and Robbie appeared on the threshold, Ailie’s gaze immediately darted to Nash. His eyes met hers in a questioning look. Her heart ached for want of him. She decided being at odds with the man you love is dreadful.

  He headed straight for her. “Ailie—”

  “Would you like something to drink?” Fiona purred, as she rushed to his side, her dimples on display.

  “Thank you, brandy would be fine,” he said, never taking his eyes off Ailie. When Fiona had gone, he began again. “Ailie, I need to speak to you, but not here.”

  Her heart was in her throat, afraid of what he might say. “If you must.”

  The conversations around them grew boisterous as Nash’s green and gold eyes stared into hers. A longing to rush into his arms came over her but, reminded of his deception, she resisted.

  Before he could reply, Fiona returned with Nash’s brandy. “Is there anything else you might like, sir?”

  Thankfully, Ailie’s grandfather strode into the room at that moment to welcome everyone to Stonehaven. His appearance took her aback. For the fancy attire he wore, he might have just stepped into her father’s drawing room in Aberdeen. His blue velvet coat paired with Ramsay blue tartan trews made his blue eyes shine and gave him a distinguished bearing. Even his white cravat appeared expertly tied. Ailie felt certain he had dressed for Muriel and the thought made her smile.

  Her grandfather bowed before Muriel. “Guid eve’nin’ tae ye, Countess.”

  “Mr. Ramsey, how gallant you look,” replied Muriel. “You must sit near me at dinner. I am anxious to hear your stories of the ghosts at the castle we’re to see tomorrow.”

  “I can tell ye some tales.” Her grandfather surveyed the table, appearing to count chairs. “Och! There be thirteen places. ’Tis nae lucky.”

  “Good sir,” came Muriel’s reply. “I would much prefer an odd number at dinner, even if it be thirteen, else I feel like I’m entering the ark.”

  Ailie’s grandfather laughed. “Ye’
re a one, Muriel. Verra weel, I shall brave the bad fairies tae please ye.”

  Ailie glanced toward the windows to see the sky had darkened to a deep violet. With all the people gathered in the dining room, the air was warm enough to cause steam to appear on the windows, leaving little to see except for the few lights onboard the two ships in the harbor.

  “Let’s warm ourselves by the fire,” Nash suggested. She followed him to the fire steadily burning above glowing coals. He drank his brandy and she sipped her sherry, more conscious of him than anyone else in the room.

  “You may not have forgiven me, Ailie,” Nash said in a low voice, “but I’ll be keeping you close till you do.”

  “You’ll have a long wait,” she blurted. But even as she said the words, she could feel her resolve to stay angry with him ebbing away.

  When the others began to take their seats, Nash motioned to two chairs across the table from where Muriel and Ailie’s grandfather had just taken a seat. “Sit with me, Ailie.”

  She nodded and followed him.

  Once everyone was seated, beneath the table, Nash took her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles, causing an enticing shiver to ripple through her. She recognized his gesture as an invitation to reconcile and, though she was tempted to decline, she did not withdraw her hand.

  The dinner the inn served was a fine baked cod with mustard sauce and chicken roasted with sage and thyme. Even knowing it would all be splendidly cooked, Ailie had little appetite. Her disagreement with Nash had robbed her of an appetite. Still, she managed to appear as if she would eat, adroitly moving the chicken about her plate.

  Nash hadn’t eaten either. She inclined her head toward him. “You aren’t hungry?”

  “Not very. I’ve much on my mind.”

  Did he, too, hate the distance between them?

  Toward the end of the meal, which Ailie only picked at, Fiona and two male servants entered carrying plates of warm shortbread. “We’ve tea and port for you if you like,” said the pretty girl, as she set a plate of shortbread before Nash.