Waking the Princess (8 page)

Mrs. Blackburn's cheeks were bright pink now, Aedan noticed. He reminded himself why she had come to Dundrennan. She had the power to ruin his career and lose him this house. He could not afford to forget that, despite her appeal.

"My sister is modest about her expertise," John went on. "But I am happy to show it off."

"Please do, Mr. Blackburn," Aedan said, curious.

"She reads and speaks Latin, French, Greek, and Gaelic, and she is familiar with Old Irish. She can make sense of any old text, I think. She taught English in a Ladies' School in the Highlands, and she has published some articles of her scholarly work. And she is kind, sensitive, and humble." He smiled at his sister.

"John, really," Christina said, pinkening.

"She is a paragon," Amy said coolly.

"Yet a green young lass for all that," Lady Balmossie said bluntly. "I thought a lady antiquarian would be a crabbit auld thing, like me." She chuckled.

"Mrs. Blackburn is young, and a married lady," Amy said.

"A widow," Christina Blackburn corrected softly. Aedan frowned, remembering her discomfort with the topic last night. "After my husband's death, I devoted myself to assisting my uncle with his work."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Meg murmured.

"Thank you. Might I say, since my brother was so kind," Christina said, "that John is a brilliant painter."

"I've heard of the Blackburn family of artists," Meg said. "I own a beautiful seascape by the elder Blackburn, who is a very celebrated artist. Would he perhaps be your father?"

Christian nodded. "Yes, perhaps it is one of his. I'm glad to hear that you enjoy his work," she murmured.

"We have three paintings by Blackburn artists here in our own collection," Aedan said.

Christina blinked at him. "Three?" Her cheeks colored.

Damn.
He had spoken without thinking. She seemed uncomfortable with the topic. "A rather dramatic image of Queen Mary Stuart at her devotions, done by your father, and another historic scene of Robert the Bruce in the front drawing room signed 'Blackburn.' The third is... in my study." He avoided mention of its subject.

"That
one is quite improper," Amy said.

Mrs. Blackburn cast her brother a frantic look.

"The one in the drawing room shows Bruce crowned by Isabella of Buchan," Amy said. "
That
one is very nice."

"Robert the Bruce and Isabella?" John said. "I painted that one."

"You, sir?" Aedan smiled. "What a marvelous coincidence to have you here. It's an excellent piece."

"Thank you, Sir Aedan. I did not realize it was here."

"John does not keep careful records," Christina said.

"Aedan, you must ask Mr. Blackburn to paint the walls!" Amy smiled.

"With bucket and brush?" John gulped.

Aedan smiled. "There is an unfinished mural in the dining room, started two years ago by a fellow who unfortunately died. Perhaps you would look at it. I wonder if you would be interested in finishing it at some point in time."

"Mr. Blackburn is a fine artist," Lady Balmossie said, nodding. "He could do a better job than what's there."

John smiled. "I would be happy to look at it."

"What wonderful luck!" Amy said. "Would you like to see it now, Mr. Blackburn? I can take you there while Lady Strathlin shows Mrs. Blackburn the library. Aedan, will you come too?"

"I have a prior engagement with Miss Thistle," he drawled. Hearing her name, the monkey chittered and skimmed down the curtain to leap onto Aedan's shoulder. He rubbed her head.

"You rogue," Amy teased. "The lairds of Dundrennan must never allow themselves to be smitten, even by a lady monkey. There's a nasty old curse," she explained to the Blackburns.

"Curse?" Christina Blackburn asked.

Lady Balmossie leaned toward her. "They say that the lairds o' Dundrennan must never wed for love. 'Tis all nonsense, do ye ask me, but the men in this family like to believe it."

"Oh!" Christina blinked, clearly uncertain how to answer.

"It is nonsense, I'm sure," Aedan said, standing, "but it is convenient to leave true love to sentimentalists." He bowed, making light of it, and turned to deposit the monkey on a tall stand, fixing her ankle with a small chain and feeding her an apple slice from a bowl. He turned. "Please excuse me. I have some correspondence that needs attention." With a polite nod, he went to the door.

"Do meet us in the dining room or the library," Amy said.

He looked over his shoulder. Seated amid the other ladies, Christina Blackburn seemed to bloom like a pale rose. Fascinated by her, he feared he could not easily stay away.

"Perhaps," he said, as he opened the door.

Chapter 5

The rainbow luster of the books made Christina gasp in awe as she followed Lady Strathlin into the library. High windows admitted silvery, rainy daylight gleaming on polished tables and leather chairs. Soaring bookshelves with brass mesh shutters spanned the walls from floor to ceiling.

She turned. A gallery walk skimmed the upper walls, accessed by iron staircases, and bookshelves were even boxed into pillars that divided the huge room into private reading bays beneath the gallery level.

Above the fireplace hung her father's oil painting of Mary, Queen of Scots, for which her mother had posed. Christina smiled with delight, turning again. Despite its size, the library was cozy, warmed by wood, leather, bright carpets, plenty of light, and the enticing smell of a wealth of books.

"It's wonderful," Christina breathed. She loved books and libraries, and in the years since Stephen's death, reading and studying had provided a much-needed haven of safety.

"This was once the great hall of the old medieval keep," Lady Strathlin said. "Sir Hugh renovated it for his library. His study is through that alcove." She pointed to a corner with an open door. Christina saw a mahogany desk, leather chair, and more bookshelves.

"How many books are in the collection?" she asked.

"Over eight thousand." Aedan MacBride stepped out from behind a pillar in his shirtsleeves and vest, his thick hair slightly mussed, as if he had combed his fingers through it. Behind him she saw a larger table scattered with papers, pencils, a slide rule, and a few maps. She had not realized he was there, and felt herself blush. "This library was one of my father's chief passions, besides his poetry, and of course Dundrennan itself."

"Aedan!" Lady Strathlin said. "Is Dougal with you?"

"Here, love." Another man rounded the same pillar, his tall, powerful build and lighter coloring complementing Aedan MacBride's lean, dark Celtic grace. He came forward to kiss Lady Strathlin's tilted cheek and turned to take Christina's hand.

"I'm Dougal Stewart, Lady Strathlin's husband." His smile was kind, his handshake warm and firm. She liked him instantly.

"Christina Blackburn, from the National Museum. I'm so glad to meet you," she answered.

"Dougal is a lighthouse engineer," Aedan explained. "Perhaps you've heard of the Caran Lighthouse in the Western Isles."

"Yes, of course! It was completed recently," Christina said. "Quite an admirable feat, from what I understand."

Dougal shrugged, smiling. "My real fame is as the husband of the admirable Lady Strathlin—and of course as Amy's brother and Aedan's cousin."

Aedan MacBride huffed in amusement. "I hope you've come to claim your husband, madam," he told Lady Strathlin. "He is driving me mad with facts about the ratio of wave force to solid mass." He glanced at Christina. "If Dougal does not have some project to challenge him, he will harangue anyone who will listen with numbers and ratios and tales of nature."

She laughed, glad to be included so naturally in their camaraderie.

"There is plenty to distract me these days," Dougal replied. "My wife and our children—they are safely tucked up at Balmossie, Mrs. Blackburn—challenge me constantly." He tucked Lady Strathlin's hand discreetly and tenderly in his. Her fair skin suffused in a pretty flush as she looked up at him.

The warm glow of the couple's love and respect for each other seemed tangible, Christina thought, and she nearly sighed with longing. Her chance for an intimate, joyful relationship had been cast already with Stephen—she had gambled and lost.

Noticing Aedan MacBride frowning, she remembered Lady Balmossie's remark that the lairds of Dundrennan never married for love. Perhaps he did not approve of the happy display between Dougal and his wife.

Yet MacBride did not seem like a man opposed to love. He rather reminded her of a lost boy standing out in the cold, peering inside at a cozy family scene. His frown masked a poignant hunger—she was sure of it. Christina recognized that in his gaze because she felt the same way.

"Mrs. Blackburn wanted to explore the library," Lady Strathlin said. "Sir Aedan can show you better than I can."

"I would be happy to do that," he murmured.

Smiling, Lady Strathlin took her husband's arm. "I promised Mr. Blackburn that I would show him the marvelous books of art engravings kept here. He's with Amy and Lady Balmossie in the dining room. Come with me, Dougal. I want to introduce you. He's an artist, and you know I've been thinking about having our portraits done," she said as they left the library.

Aedan turned toward Christina. "What interests you most here, Mrs. Blackburn? History, art, literature, antique manuscripts? We have all those here and more."

You interest me most,
she thought suddenly, gazing into his eyes, blue and guarded. He displayed politeness, patience, humor, but she sensed a sadness, even a bitterness in him too.

"All of it interests me. I've read all of Sir Hugh's poetry, so it's wonderful to see his collection of books. And my uncle and Sir Hugh corresponded on matters of history."

"My father spoke highly of him. Well, come this way, Mrs. Blackburn." She strolled with him around the library while he pointed out sections devoted to different subjects.

"Oh," she said as they walked along, reading the spines of some of the books. "Scott, Shakespeare, Milton, Dante, Tennyson, Burns, Hogg, Carlyle, Chambers... wonderful. Books can be like such old friends, do you agree?"

"My dominie made me read them," Aedan commented, "though I was not a willing scholar. I built bridges and towers with the books more often than read them." He smiled, and she could easily imagine, for a moment, that little boy.

"My brothers were like that," she said. "My sister Marianna and I were always readers."

"You will be in heaven here," he answered. "The books are organized in categories. This bay, for example, holds folklore and mythology, that one has sciences. There are a great many books on the gallery level, too. You may want to call a groom, or myself when I am at home, to fetch books from the higher shelves."

"I'm not afraid to climb ladders or walk the gallery, sir."

"Not nervous at heights, then?"

"Not particularly."

"Good." She heard a grudging approval in his voice. "You will need that to climb Cairn Drishan. It's moderately high and a rough walk in places."

"I am eager to see it. May we go soon?"

"When the weather improves. Tomorrow, I imagine."

They paused, and she pulled a volume from the shelf to leaf through it. "How marvelous to grow up in this place... even if you did use books for building blocks," she added, chuckling.

"Oh, I am not a complete boor." His mouth twitched in a smile. "We were raised on bards and poets instead of Mother Goose. We recited Sir Walter Scott and Robert Burns in our cradles, and we sang ballads about Border thieves before we could walk. And of course we learned Father's poems by heart."

She heard his teasing tone, but she sensed truth too. "Do you write poetry yourself, Sir Aedan?"

"Not a whit. I have a good memory for the stuff, but lack an artist's soul. Our dominie despaired of me in the schoolroom when it came to writing. My father said I was made from numbers and steel—he meant it as a compliment, I hope. I took it as one." He looked down at her. "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Blackburn. Generally I do not go on about myself."

"I am enjoying it," Christina said. Standing so close, she was keenly aware that they were alone together in the little alcove. The flexible bell of her skirts brushed his legs, enveloped him, letting him to breach her outermost perimeter.