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“’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.”