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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.
