Page 92 of A Secret Scottish Christmas

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.

Muriel took a bite of the shortbread. “Oh my. This is quite wonderful.”

Ailie glanced at Nash, wanting desperately to be close to him again. “Here’s something we can agree upon,” she said, picking up a piece of shortbread with her free hand. “It melts in the mouth.”

In a low voice, discernable only to her, he said, “I’m happy to eat it with one hand.”

In truth, Ailie would gladly forego dessert for the comfort of his touch. It wasn’t like any other man’s touch. And it wasn’t just the powerful attraction she felt for him. Holding Nash’s hand made her feel like a ship moored in home port.

Ailie’s grandfather pushed aside his empty plate, took up his wine and, with Muriel’s encouragement, began to speak of Dunnottar.

The conversations around them died as he recited the words of the poem by Mrs. Carnegie:

“High on a rock, half sea-girt, half on land,

The castle stood, and still its ruins stand

Wide o’er the German main the prospect bent,

Steep is the path and rugged the ascent:

There hung the huge portcullis—there the bar

Drawn on the iron gate defied the war.”

Her grandfather took a swallow of his wine. “Many wars have come and gone an’ still Dunnottar stands, a broodin’ fortress, aye, but nae alone. Her ghosts are many and they dinna sleep. ’Tis guid ye willna be visitin’ her at night when the witches burned at Dunnottar cry from the cliffs.”

Kit looked up with a fearful glance at Ailie’s grandfather. “Witches?”

Will nodded. “In the sixteenth century, several were seized in Aberdeen and burned at Dunnottar. Lord only knows the torture they endured before their deaths.”

In a voice Ailie was certain was designed to add to the mood of the evening, her grandfather intoned, “The anshent ruins speik wi’ a loud voice. Every turret ha’ a tongue. Ye may nae see a spectre, still, ye’ll hear their screams. ’Tis as if the verra walls remember.”

Will leaned in, the flickering candle casting shadows on his face and his auburn hair. “A woman is said to wander about in a green tartan dress. No one knows who she is.”

Emily, who Ailie knew had never visited the castle, drew close to her husband, a frightened expression on her lovely face. “So many ghosts?”

Will wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Aye, Leannan, and there’s more of the wee ghosties. The spectre of a young deerhound runs about the castle grounds, looking, they say, for his master. A Norseman frequents the guardroom at the main entrance yet if you were to follow him, he would vanish. And near the cave entrance leading from the sea, a soldier, dressed in military regalia from some past era, stares out to sea as if watching for a ship.”

Grandfather Ramsay turned to Muriel. “Ye still be wantin’ tae see it, Countess?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “You’ll not frighten me away so easily!”

Ailie’s grandfather laughed. “Then I shall take ye meself an’ we’ll see if we can find a ghostie or two.”

Ailie glanced out the large windows. Outside, night had descended and inside, the fire had burned to smoldering remnants, the candles now mere stubs. Shadows lurked around the room, calling up images of the ghosts they had spoken of. It was not difficult to believe that not far away stood an ancient castle where those same ghosts still roamed. In her mind, she could imagine them; she could hear their wails.

Nash must have sensed her disquiet, for he squeezed her hand. Her heart, which had been beating rapidly as Angus and William had spoken of ghosts, calmed as Nash’s warmth and strength flowed into her. He was her anchor to all that was real. But could she forgive his deception?

Into the eerie silence, Robbie uttered the words that made everyone laugh. “Well, ain’t it fortunate they’re all dead?”