Page 32 of A Secret Scottish Christmas

Chapter 8

20 December

Nash slipped out of bed, immediately noticing the warmth of the bedchamber. His eyes darted toward the crackling fire. Some worthy servant had stirred the fire banked the night before, bless him.

In the bed next to his, Robbie slept on.

Crossing the room to the window facing the back of the house, he wiped the steam from the glass and gazed out at the snow-covered landscape. Shafts of light from the rising sun glistened in the branches of the snow-laden evergreen trees. He stared contentedly at the magical scene, so far from the hurried pace of London, and felt his soul take a deep breath.

Suddenly, across his vision streaked the two black setters, leaping to stay above the snow. Laughter sounded as a snowball flew toward the dogs that barked loudly when the snowball found its target. Nash turned his head to glimpse their intrepid mistress in a man’s breeches, boots and jacket, a blue tartan scarf around her neck.

She stood on a rock rising above the snow, her bright red hair hanging to her shoulders. Had he not seen Tara wearing breeches on Nick’s ship, he might have been surprised, but the bold decision to wear a man’s clothing seemed consistent with Ailie’s character. She wore them very well, her long shapely legs catching his eye.

The dogs barked as they dashed toward her, creating furrows in the snow with their bodies. When they reached Ailie, they tried to jump onto the rock but only sank deeper, their muzzles coated with snowflakes.

She laughed all the harder, bending over, hands on her knees.

Nash could not recall the last time he’d engaged in such lighthearted frivolity. He envied Ailie’s playmates the fun they were having with their mistress.

The sight of her copper hair and her beautiful laughing face brought an excitement to the day as he anticipated seeing her again. Perhaps he would ask her to go with him in search of greenery this morning. He could put off the trip to Arbroath’s taverns till the afternoon, or possibly postpone the Crown’s business until tomorrow. Surely he and Robbie had time.

Last night, Nash had learned of Robbie’s trip to the town and the altercation in one of the taverns. Robbie had an excellent memory, which made him especially good at cards. From his one visit to Arbroath, he’d drawn a detailed plan of the town, including the harbor, the main streets, the taverns and the ships tied up at the quay. The detail of the streets and tavern names had been very fine, requiring them to don their spectacles to capture it all.

From his brother’s drawing, it became clear there were more taverns to investigate than they had time. “We’ll have to get lucky if we’re to find Kinloch,” he had told Robbie. “And we’ve a ship’s passenger list to confirm.” If Kinloch were in Arbroath, as they believed he was, he would inevitably come to town to while away the hours with his fellow rebels as he waited for the ship to sail. What else had he to occupy his time?

It made sense the man from Dundee would have booked cabins on the Panmure if his destination, like Captain Gower’s, was France. After all, there Kinloch would find his views welcomed.

All the pieces fit.

Nash watched Ailie frolicking in the snow with her dogs, thinking of how his own views had changed since Manchester. After the poverty and despair he had witnessed, he had begun to question whether those advocating reform were the radicals the government claimed them to be.

Sidmouth feared a revolution like the one that had forever changed France: the loss of the monarchy, the murder of nobility and radicals taking over the government. That he was prepared—with the support of the prince regent—to do violence to prevent such an outcome had been well demonstrated.

Two years before, their brother Martin had been in Derbyshire to witness the violent end of the uprising there. And Nash had not forgotten the madness in Manchester that had almost claimed his life.

A gentleman Scot who could draw ten thousand to his cause had to be dealt with or so Sidmouth had told them when he ordered them north. Nash had hesitated, but Robbie did not. In the end, Nash had decided to go to Scotland, for he would not let his brother undertake such a task alone. Robbie relied upon him as a designer of plans.

Ailie and her dogs suddenly disappeared from his view. Not wishing to delay, he turned to face Robbie, still abed. “The day is upon us, Brother.”

Robbie stirred, groaned and rolled over, turning his back to Nash.

“Very well. I shall see you whenever you manage to rise.”

Eager to see Ailie, Nash slipped on his coat and left the chamber.

He reached the top of the stairs just as she was ascending, her head down, her man’s clothing covered with snow. Anticipating the inevitable collision, he reached out and held her arms to steady her lest she lose her footing.

“Oh!” She started, lifting her eyes to him.

He gave her a grin that would have done Robbie proud. “Is this what the stylish young Scottish miss is wearing this winter?”

Hand over her heart, she said, “Really, Robbie, you scared me to death.”

“It’s Nash you have nearly sent flying in your haste, but I shall forgive you the error. Have you had breakfast yet?”

She paused to study his face for a moment. “Oh, sorry, Nash. No, I’ve not eaten. I was hoping to change before anyone saw me. The snow’s too thick for me to exercise the dogs wearing skirts.”

“Personally, I like you clothed in this manner.” He dropped his hands from her arms to look down at her close-fitting breeches. “Tara would call you a kindred spirit.”