by Regan Walker
“Exactly.”
Muriel returned her gaze to the distraught young woman. “Come now, is there no room in your heart to forgive the young man and his brother? When I last saw Nash, he appeared most miserable.”
Aileen pursed her lips and fiddled with her hands, clearly uncomfortable with the stand she had taken.
Muriel fixed her gaze on Aileen. “I doubt Ormond and the elder Powell brothers confided all they were doing to the women who became their wives. As I recall, only Kit was married when her husband was acting the spy in Pentridge and he never told her. ’Tis worse in your case, of course, because Nash and his brother spied on one of your countrymen, a man you admire, with the intent to put him in prison. But didn’t Nash come to dislike the task he was given?”
“Aye. I suppose he did, though he still went to town with Robbie to search out Kinloch.” Aileen suddenly jumped up from her chair. “Is there more of the Madeira?”
Muriel smiled to herself. “Why, yes. Just there on the sideboard.”
Aileen returned with a glass of the wine. “I will consider forgiving him, but whether I do or not, I have decided to accept your invitation to come to London. That is, if you will still have me.”
“Oh yes, my dear. I would welcome your company in London. I dare say you would be quite the hit.”
From where he reclined on his bed, Robbie looked out the window, watching tree branches whip about in the wind. The deep rumble of thunder and a crack of lightning shook the house, unmistakable signs a storm was battering the Forfarshire coast.
Nash left his book and went to the window. “No one’s going anywhere in this.”
“A good afternoon to stay inside,” Robbie agreed. “Now that our secret’s out, perhaps we should go down to dinner together. They aren’t likely to scourge us.” Unlike Nash, Ailie’s earlier visit had not discouraged Robbie. He was not even feeling badly for having lost his prey. Nash might well have been correct in his thinking; Kinloch was not a bad sort and putting him in prison would serve no purpose except to rile the Scots.
Nash turned from the window. “We might be in for a verbal scourging. You would think so if you’d seen the scowl Ailie gave me when she arrived at luncheon.”
“Worry not. I will speak our apology and the lass will forgive you. In my experience, they always do. Look at our brothers’ wives and all they have forgiven them. Love makes even the veriest harridan most amenable.”
“You say that like one who has taken advantage.”
Robbie slung his legs over the edge of his bed, preparing to rise. He paused as the room spun. “Many times, Brother. Many times.”
“Shameless, that’s what you are.”
“I’ll not deny it.” Robbie chuckled, or tried to, but his head pounded and the wound in his temple ached. He had refused more laudanum, hating the effect of the opiate, and sent Mr. Wilson away with his thanks when the physician had graciously braved the storm to check on his patient. “By the bye, did you know of Ormond’s exploits in France?”
“Not until William revealed them. Just think, our new friend Hugh, the Marquess of Ormond, is an infamous hero of our time. I suppose he would have been knighted for his service in France, like our brother, Martin, if he weren’t already heir to a dukedom.”
Thankful the room had stopped spinning, Robbie checked his bandage to make sure it would not fall into his eyes as he descended the stairs. “A baronet is far beneath a duke. Moreover, Ormond has the courtesy title of marquess to toss about. I like him all the more that he does not.”
“I agree. William has no title at all, yet Hugh calls him his chum.”
“Come on, Nash. Help me up. I want to go down to dinner, but I’ll need you to steady me else I’ll arrive at the bottom of the stairs face first.”
With Nash beside him, Robbie entered the dining room to looks of concern from the ladies and shakes of the head from the men. He subsided into a chair across from Nick and Tara and took up his napkin.
“You look like a soldier off the battlefield,” said Tara.
Robbie intended to make light of his injury, not wishing to curry either condemnation or sympathy. After all, he had only himself to blame. “I rather think the bandage adds to my appeal, don’t you?”
From Muriel, two seats away, came a muffled, “Humph.”
“Oh, very well, yes,” Robbie admitted, “I grant you it’s a pathetic attempt to justify my altered appearance.” He picked up his spoon as the soup was served, a rich broth replete with carrots, turnips, peas and other vegetables, one of which was decidedly dark green, to which had been added barley and lamb. “A hearty soup for a stormy day and most welcome.”
“’Tis a Scottish dish called hotch potch,” offered Ailie, who appeared too reserved to be her usual self. He assumed her dour countenance and her failure to greet Nash or him with her usual smile meant she had not yet forgiven them the morning’s revelations.
“I like the soup,” he replied, “as I have all the Scottish dishes to which you have introduced us.” Then, addressing himself to William and Hugh, sitting at one end of the table, he changed the subject. “I know Nash and I have presumed upon your good graces in failing to tell you of our assignment from Lord Sidmouth, which,” he said, glancing at the others, “I assume you are all now aware of. We ask your humble pardon.”
Nash nodded. “We do.”
“If it matters,” added Robbie, “we failed in our mission. George Kinloch has safely sailed to France, just ahead of the storm.”
Emily’s eyes darted to Robbie and Nash. “On behalf of my husband and our other guests, we accept your apology. Hugh has explained that you are not alone in being drafted by the Crown for special assignments, and that Lord Ormond and your brothers have also served in such a capacity.”
“Even I spied for the Crown in France,” put in Mary.
“Not with my blessing,” scolded Hugh.
“We were not wed then, my love,” replied the fair-haired marchioness with a mischievous grin.
Robbie knew his brothers’ wives were hoydens and apparently Lady Ormond followed in their footsteps.
William took that moment to raise his wine glass. “We are glad Mr. Kinloch escaped our shores. There are enough so-called enemies of the Crown rotting in prison. There need not be another from Scotland joining them. So, with that in mind, I propose a toast to a new day and the celebration of the New Year that awaits us in Stonehaven, that is if the weather allows.”
Everyone, save Ailie, raised their glass. “To a new day!”
At the end of William’s toast, Muriel said, “Emily, per chance is the dark green matter floating in the soup kale?”
To Robbie’s eternal gratitude, everyone laughed, bringing much-needed merriment to the otherwise somber session of confession and pardon. Alas, Nash would have much work ahead of him if he were to win forgiveness from the Mistress of the Setters.
Emily indulged her friend. “No, dear Muriel, ’tis spinach.”
“Ah,” breathed the countess, “I am much relieved.” With that, Muriel began to consume her soup.
Robbie breathed a sigh of relief. At least one storm had passed.
The storm beating against her window meant that Ailie would be denied her late night stroll to gaze at the stars. Instead, she retired to her chamber to sit by the fire and stare into the flames, contemplating her future. Her tartan shawl was draped over her nightclothes and Goodness and Mercy lay curled up at her feet, bringing her comfort after a disturbing day.
Before William had wed Emily and Ailie had come to love her sister-in-law, she would never have considered an Englishman as a prospective husband. But now, in accepting Muriel’s invitation to come to London, she had placed the possibility squarely in her path.
Despite her anger at Nash for failing to disclose his spying, she had not forgotten all she loved about him, his gentle touch, his humor, his passionate kisses, his approval of her ship design work that would forever be a part of her life, and his easy acceptance of
life in Arbroath. When she thought of a future husband, his face was the only one that appeared in her mind. But could that ever be after what he had done? The others, even William and Emily, had been quick to forgive. Why was it so hard for Ailie?
She reached down to scratch Goodness behind his ears. Content, he did not even stir. Getting to her feet, she went to her writing desk and took up her quill. Dipping it in the ink, she began to write.
27 December
How do I begin to speak of a day in which many secrets were revealed? Nash Powell is a government spy! Along with his brother, Robbie, he had planned to arrest George Kinloch, the laird from Dundee who spoke for all Scots in condemning the bloodbath at Manchester. Worse, Nash told me nothing of it. Yesterday, I saw the horror of it unfolding on the streets of Arbroath. I heard the pistols firing; I saw Robbie lying in a pool of blood; and I feared for his life.
My dreams now make perfect sense. They warned me of men in taverns, where, like as not, Nash and Robbie acted the spies, and told me one of the twins would be shot. I have to confess I was glad Nash was not the one wounded, but I am furious with him for sharing his kisses while hiding his deception. And now I learn that his older brothers and Lord Ormond have all been spies for the Crown. So many secrets…
I have told Muriel I will go to London with her. Perhaps I do need a diversion just now. Will I see Nash there? My heart breaks at the thought of losing him from my life, but forgiveness has not come easily. Yet the wise Countess of Claremont urges me to consider doing just that.
Chapter 20
29 December
Two days later, Nash woke from a restless night still wondering if Ailie would ever forgive him. She had remained polite but distant since discovering he was Sidmouth’s spy. Forgiveness, he knew, was an important part of marriage. He had seen its soothing effect in his parents’ marriage and knew how much it had been required in the marriages of his two eldest brothers.
If Ailie could not forgive him this deception which, to his mind, had been necessary and, to hers, a transgression, how could she forgive him in the future for others? After all, no man was perfect. Would she ever again be the woman he had held in his arms beneath the stars, the woman he wanted for his wife?
Last evening at dinner, she had announced she was accepting Muriel’s invitation to come to London. Everyone, save him, seemed pleased. Nash imagined the reception she would receive with the favor of the Countess of Claremont. Every bachelor in the ton would be nipping at her heels, asking for her hand.
Rising from his bed, he walked to the window, pleased to see the sun rising in a clear blue sky for the first time in days. Late yesterday, the storm had moved off to the west, but a sudden drop in temperature and a new snowfall had covered everything in white.
Today they were to sail to Stonehaven.
Adding a log to the fire, he turned to see Robbie, still asleep, his head no longer wrapped in linen. Now only a small white patch covered the ugly wound on his left temple. Robbie never complained but Nash had seen him wince when he changed the bandage, which Robbie now insisted on doing himself.
Nash thought about their return to London, less than a week away. He felt as if he were coming to the end of an era. He had expected that he and Robbie would one day part ways. And it seemed that day would be soon. He would miss his twin, having only holidays to look forward to when they would gather together with their other brothers. But, for now, he would enjoy the rest of the holiday with him.
“Time to rise, Brother. Today we are for Stonehaven.”
Robbie groaned and opened his eyes, squinting at the bright light spilling into their chamber. “The sun is shining?”
“Indeed, it is. Very pretty, too, on the new snow.”
Throwing off the cover, Robbie slowly sat up. “I’m glad we’re to sail. I miss being on a ship.”
“I as well.”
They joined the others for breakfast and, once their valises were loaded on the Albatross, Captain Anderson welcomed them aboard.
Nash followed William and Emily up the gangplank. At the top, the good captain saluted William and dipped his head to Emily. “Sir, Madam, ’tis a fine day to sail.”
“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 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 co
untess 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.
