“What key?”
They explained how they’d found a key hidden in the medallion, and Finn frowned, recalling the way Aila in costume had tried to open the storeroom door in the hall hours before.
And then, how Rab had sniffed at every blasted door he’d come across. Aggravating to Finn at the time, he now realized that the dog had been following her progress all along. Stopping at every lock she tried. Why hadn’t she said anything?
Och, she’d tried.
He’d been too dumbfounded by her costume to pay any attention at the time. If she were to return this instant, he’d happily listen to anything she had to say, for as long as she wanted. Even if he didn’t understand a word of it.
“Nay,” Finn answered then shook his head. “Mayhap. She said something when we were at the castle.”
“We’re in the castle now,” Ian pointed out. “Ye’re talking rather strangely. The lot of ye.”
“The other castle.” Finn cast a pointed look between Aila’s friends.
Brontë’s brows shot up once his meaning was clear. “Oh! Oh, really?”
Tris, too, seemed surprised. “That is unexpected.”
“’Tis a long story. One better left to another time.” He cocked his head toward Ian. “As Aila said, ’tis been a day. Simple yet concise enough to encompass the many surprises it has dealt.”
“Ye have my sympathies.” Tris lifted his glass in salute. “That first time…aye, it can be a blow. I hope ye handled it better than I.”
As his meaning sunk in, Finn gaped at the man. “Ye have a long story of yer own, then? I’d be interested in hearing it.”
“Aye, wehistoriansneed to band together.”
Finn was happy to drink to that.
“Ye’re all at it,” Ian grouched. “Finn dinnae ken a thing about history. Cease yer havering.”
Ignoring Ian — there was no way to explain everything to him when Finn had hardly wrapped his head around it himself — his eyes strayed back toward the kitchen doors. What could be keeping Aila?
“I’m so glad you two are working things out.” Clearly Aila’s friend was nosing about for information regarding the state of his affections for Aila. Aila must not have been detailed in her description of his character if Brontë thought she could pry personal information from him. His stony silence was met with a sigh from Brontë and a knowing look from Tris.
“Where could she be?” Finn looked at the door and back again. It had been a long while now since he joined the others. Odd she hadn’t returned yet. “How long have ye been here?”
Tris pulled out a pocket watch and consulted it. “An hour or more. Why?”
That long? It had been a mere three quarters of an hour since he’d gone down to the solar. Concern spurred him into motion. Pushing back his chair, he stood. “And Aila never passed by this way?”
“Nay, we would have seen her,” Tris assured him.
“Is there another way out?” Bronte asked. “Another route she could have taken?”
Ian straightened in his chair and shared a look with Finn. “Nae other way she’d take. The lass avoids the main towers and she would never go down the far hallway. ’Tis even more poorly lit than the one to the servants’ hall, and she’s afraid of the dark.”
“Are we talking about the same Aila Marshall?” Brontë asked with a doubtful look. “As far as I know, she isn’t afraid of anything.”
An uneasy feeling crept over him. Something was amiss. Aye, she exuded confidence and assurance. She’d told him it was nothing more than a façade to hide the insecurities beneath. Those insecurities had prompted her to leave him once before. Her remorse over doing so had been obvious. Finn knew she wouldn’t take flight in the same fashion again. Moreover, she wouldn’t have confessed what she had if she meant to leave.
She loved him.
The admission had come as something of a shock. So staggering he hadn’t even been able to respond properly. Another surprise on top of so many others. Not because he didn’t believe her. Rather because up until that moment he’d had only the vaguest inkling that she shared his feelings. Finn’s heart slowed to a hard thump against his chest. His blood pulsing hot in his veins.
Hisfeelings.
She was perfect for him. Headstrong enough to match him. Intelligent enough to challenge him. Humorous enough to bring light and laughter into his life. Caring enough to be the mother his children needed. Aila would be more than a wife — she would be a partner. Even if he wanted to, she wouldn’t tolerate being coddled or sheltered. She would demand to be his equal. He loved that about her.
