It didn’t help that she looked so soft and inviting. Her hair hung loose in a long straight fall of copper today with only a few strands from the front pinned in the back. She’d replaced her tight bodice with a blouse of woven flax similar to the ones the maids wore, tucked into a brown skirt. The neckline gathered by a drawstring, though not drawn so tight that he couldn’t see the fine line of her collarbone when the woolen shawl around her shoulders slipped down. The shawl bore the brown, sky blue and grass green plaid of the Marshall clan. She was as lovely and desirable as he’d imagined her through the day. She couldn’t have been more distracting if she’d been at his side.
Tearing his eyes away from her, he focused on the medallion Ian dangled in front of him. “Let me see.” He took it and turned it over in his hands before he studied the relief. “Where did ye get this? I feel as if I’ve seen this shield before.”
“Right? Thank ye!” They all appeared puzzled by her comment, perhaps the modern phraseology. “I mean to say, I thought it looked familiar, too.”
“It fell out of Mr. Boyce’s chute, Da.” In her excitement, Effie danced a circle on her toes. “Hidden treasure!”
Finn turned back to Aila who shrugged. Her shawl dropped a bit farther down her arm, dragging her blouse over her shoulder. “A game. Bringing it back with us was a bit of an accident. I’ll return it to him tomorrow.” The children protested only to be subdued by a sharp look. Hers, not his. And with surprising effectiveness. “It is no’ ours to keep. But…” She looked back at him. “As none of us ken Latin, we thought ye might help read it before we return it.”
Turning his back to the fire to force himself to look away, he held it up to catch the light. “Veritas Vincit Hostes Nostros.Truth prevails against the enemy.”
“Or truth conquers the enemy amongst us,” Ian offered his own translation with a smug grin. “Ye always did get poor marks in Latin.”
“What does it mean, Da?”
As he looked over the depiction once more, Finn considered his son’s question. The inscription could have any number of meanings. As could the images. On a coat of arms, which the shield reminded him of, the lion often symbolized courage, nobilityor valor.There was one on the clan Keeley heraldry, as well as clans MacKintosh, Campbell, and many others for that matter. The stag or hart was an emblem of purity and fleetness. Also healing. It, too, was represented on the coat of arms of many a clan. Including that of Clan Marshall, if he remembered correctly.
He glanced up to find Aila’s wide curious gaze upon him, freckles dark in the dying light. She appeared anything but duplicitous, yet he had to remember that he knew little about her. How she’d come to be here.
Particularly since….
Och, his body pleaded with him to claim the body she so sweetly surrendered without a care for the rest. To indulge in this affair of the heart that could be considered both pure and fleeting in the right context. His mind, on the other hand, cautioned a hasty retreat. What compromise could there be to satisfy them both?
“The depictions could represent any number of things. The words, however…. Mistress Marshall, do ye ken the motto of yer clan?”
Her surprise seemed genuine. “Nay.”
Ian snorted, far more amused by the coincidence than Finn. “Veritas Vincit.That’s yer clan motto, lass. No’ the rest of it, however it is an amusing happenstance.”
Her brow furrowed. “Aye, isn’t it just?”
Chapter 17
It had to be a coincidence. Didn’t it? She had to admit, her interest in the centuries-old mystery of the treasure had been renewed by the improbable link to her surname. More so when Finn pointed out how the stag stood center on her clan’s coat-of-arms. Aila couldn’t help but be intrigued. She really did love a good mystery.
If it were truly a mystery at all. Surely Auld Donell didn’t possess such reach as to influence the inscription on the treasure he’d sent her to find. Pondering the odds, she idly fed the bulk of her supper to Rab who lay draped across her feet. It was possible that Donell planted said treasure in an attempt to trifle with her more than he already had. A smart woman would confront him straightaway and demand he finish with the bullshit once and for all. Too bad for her, because another woman was too deeply in lust to abandon her excuse to stay.
For the time being, at any rate.
Donell’s challenge may have been nothing but a ruse. As it turned out, it hadn’t been an utter waste of her time. In fact, she could imagine no better way to while away the hours than in Finn’s bed. Her ability to concentrate on anything else was hampered by the disheveled and utterly heart-stopping version of Finn who joined her at the dining table. He’d stopped by his room to wash and change into dry clothes. He’d forsaken his tightly tied cravat and waistcoat for the night, donning his jacket over a white linen shirt. His short, wet hair was combed back on top only to stand on end as it dried with a rather modern vibe. With the light scruff darkening his jaw as it tended to by the end of the day, and the open collar of his shirt revealing a hint of chest, he was beyond sexy.
And when Finn smiled….
She heaved a different sort of sigh. There were no smiles and sunshine tonight. In fact, the Furrow of Fury had returned with a vengeance. Something was eating at him, and she needed to figure it out before they retired for the evening if she were to get lucky. Because to her surprise, she hadn’t had near enough of him yet.
A warm weight rested on her lap and Aila looked down to find Rab’s head resting in the dip between her thighs. Ears erect, he stared up at her with dark pleading eyes. With a roll of her eyes, she reached down and scratched his ear. “Have ye no’ had enough?”
His ears fell back and his tongue lolled. Unable to resist, she caved to his adorableness and passed down the remainder of her meal one bit at a time while the men continued to converse. As the topic hadn’t veered from clan mottos, she figured it would be a safe guess that Finn remained engrossed by the fluke of the Marshall maxim being engraved on the medallion. She was more disconcerted by the saying itself.Truth ConquersorPrevails— the two men had argued that point to exhaustion without coming to an accord. Applied to her case — assuming it wasn’t a coincidence at all — the two interpretations had drastically different implications. Her truth could lead to triumph against someone or something.
Or the truth, i.e. something she knew, could help her overcome a problem either here or one of her own. Hard to say which. She was overflowing with problems, most of her own making.
There was no discreet way to propose as much to Finn or Ian when Finn, at least, was already suspicious of the link between her and the axiom. Best to turn the conversation to another topic. Thankfully, she had one handy — the primary one on her mind behind the implications of the treasure and the mindboggling appeal of Finn’s casual attire.
“How is it we never see Mr. Derne frequent the servants’ hall?” The man had been on her mind through the afternoon as had Mr. Boyce. She couldn’t help but wonder how he’d fared after his unexpected visitor’s departure. “A steward is a servant of sorts, isn’t he?”
“I’ve heard say he only comes about when the duke is in residence,” Ian offered as he swallowed down his whisky and poured himself another. His borderline alcoholism might be a subject to revisit if and when she got to know him better.
“Derne is a bloody lobcock.” Finn rotated his glass, much as he rolled his eyes. The whisky sloshed up the side before he raised it to his lips for a wee nip. “Sets himself up in one of the guest rooms and dines alone in the hall like he’s the duke himself.”
