“Dinnae treat me like a bairn, lass.”
“I’m sorry.” Aila dropped her hands. Her face fell much in the manner it had when he’d dismissed her earlier. Etteridge’s arrival had brought with it none of the pleasure for which he’d long hoped. He’d done nothing but bungle every minute since.
“And stop apologizing,” he added, spoon-feeding his remorse.
“I’m—” She bit back the words and glowered at him, nose wrinkled. “I’ve apologized more in the last ten minutes than I have in years. I’m no’ in the habit of doing things I’ll be sorry for later. This I did in a moment of panic and without consideration for yer feelings. And for that Iamsorry. If ye want to go over there near the side of the castle, I will take us back.”
Something unexpected rebelled in him at the thought. By rights, he should want to leave this place as promptly as he’d arrived. He needed to return to his children. And to the ugly revelations that had been left behind.
Finn rubbed his temples, wishing he could drive one particular surprise from his mind. This astonishing journey Aila had taken him on and the mind-boggling actuality before him were easier to accept and far more palatable than the discovery that Marta was alive and well. He needed time to ponder the information. Accept it. And decide what steps to take. Whatever time that may be.
Including this one.
At least he no longer need dwell upon taking his vengeance on Etteridge or consider that he might by chance die in the duel he’d meant to challenge the earl to and leave his children orphaned. As his mind cleared, so did the certainty that his wife had been complicit in her disappearance.
Aila hovered at his side. Several sizes too large, her billowing shirt nearly fell from her shoulders. Untied, the deep open vee bared her collarbones and exposed an unseemly wealth of cleavage of which she appeared unaware. Her voluminous breeches were gathered into one fist to hold them up. That was what had delayed her pursuit, nothing more. Her calves and feet were bare, toes curling in the grass. Her plait had frayed allowing long strands to frame her face and straggle down her neck. She should have looked ridiculous.
All he saw was the uncertainty in her bonny blue eyes. She might prevaricate and omit glaring truths, aye. She might argue with him, berate him for his moments of shortsightedness, and try to put him in his place. Never would she betray such a solemn vow, he knew it. She would stand by his side, prepared to catch him should he fall, as she did now.
And he would trust her to do it.
What would become of them?
“I’d like to see inside.”
“Really? Sure. I’ll have to get tickets so I’ll need to get my phone from the car….” She waved a hand between them as if to erase everything she’d said. “Simple answer, aye. I’ll need to do a few things. Would ye prefer to wait here or come with me?”
She gestured to a gravel field on the far side of the castle dotted with small containers encased by windows on all sides. They varied in size and color. Each had thick wheels. Vehicles. Carriages? He didn’t want to know. Finn studied the castle as Aila went to one of them. His gaze strayed when she opened a door and disappeared within.
Nay, he did not want to know.
Eyes forced back to the castle, he tried to focus on the changes made from those applied to paper. He couldn’t keep his eyes or his mind from wandering. The land to the immediate left of the castle, where according to his plans the main entrance to the building should be, was concealed by a thicket of trees, weeping willows and hedges. Finn rotated in a slow circle, taking in the loch to his right, the rugged hills, then the twin stone arches of Inveraray Bridge partially obscured by a wealth of trees. With the exception of the glaring absence of the medieval fortress he’d lived in for the past year and the humble village that stood outside its walls, the landscape within sight was much the same as his.
With slow measured paces, he followed the route Aila had taken, and with a stab of satisfaction, discovered the main entrance where he’d believed it should have been to begin with. If one stood at the door, the splendor of the vista across Loch Fyne to the mountains of Dun na Cuaiche beyond was just as splendid. Unchanged. Except it was springtime.
Finn wiped his hands over his face, trying to contain the racing of his heart. A less disciplined man would panic. Nay, any man would be well justified.
Would that this and all he’d seen and learned in the past ten minutes were only a dream. Better the blow to his head had knocked him senseless.
* * *
Aila declined the offer of the audio tour for herself and Finn as they entered the castle. For his part, he ignored the tour guides just as he’d studiously looked away while they scanned their tickets off her smart phone at the door. As he diligently avoided looking at her since she’d changed into the long plaid flannel shirt, leggings, and booties she’d had on earlier that morning before she’d donned her manly disguise.
In turn, the tour guides and a few visitors ogled him. What a sight he was. Even with his shirt open at the front to his chest, Finn cut a dashing, Darcy-esque figure in his long coat and tall boots. She wasn’t the only one who thought him swoon-worthy by the look of it.
The sword at his side was an impressive addition. Good thing the attendant at the door hadn’t noticed it. She doubted if Finn would be taking this so well if he were unarmed given the way he gripped the hilt.
Once inside, he drew in a deep breath and exhaled it with audible relief. He was once again among the familiar and visibly glad for it. Eyes darting around the modest space, they landed on a portrait to one side.
He tapped the frame with the back of his knuckles. “The second duke.”
“Ye knew him?”
“We’ve met.”
“Sir, please do not touch the artifacts.”
Finn flinched at the tour guide’s reprimand. “Artifacts. Bollocks, that’s difficult to assimilate.”
