“Not just yet. My correspondence needs attention. Please excuse me.” With a farewell nod, he went to the door—then paused to glance back at Christina Blackburn. It seemed to him that she bloomed like a rose among the other ladies.
“I’ll come to the library later, Mrs. Blackburn,” he said, his gaze meeting hers, “to show you where Carriston’s books are kept.”
Chapter Five
Christina gasped inawe as she followed Lady Strathlin into the library. Walls wrapped in bookcases were crammed with the leather-and-gilt luster of thousands of books. Rainy light streamed silver through tall windows, gleaming over polished tables and leather-covered chairs. An ironwork spiral stair led to a gallery walk that skimmed the upper walls, where more bookshelves filled the space between the ceiling and the walkway.
“What a beautiful room,” Christina breathed. Despite its size, the library was cozy, warmed by wood, leather, bright carpets, leaded windows, and the enticing dusky vanilla smell of a wealth of books. A marble fireplace crackled with the heat of a fragrant peat fire.
“It is rather wonderful,” Lady Strathlin agreed. “Sir Aedan’s father designed it.”
Entranced, Christina went toward the fireplace to gaze at the painting above the mantel, a scene of Mary, Queen of Scots with her courtiers. Christina’s father had painted it and her mother had modeled for the queen. Her wealth of auburn hair was smoothed under a gabled headdress and her elegant, lovely face was perfect for the tragic, beloved queen. Christina felt a sense of comfort to see her late mother’s serene smile again.
“The library was once the great hall of Dundrennan’s original medieval keep,” Lady Strathlin said. “Sir Hugh renovated it intoa library. His study is through that alcove.” She pointed to an open door, where Christina saw a mahogany desk, chairs, and more shelves.
“How many books are in the collection?” she asked.
“Over eight thousand.” Aedan MacBride stepped through the study door, his thick hair somewhat mussed, looking like he had combed his fingers through it, as if he worried over something. Behind him she saw that the desk was scattered with papers and maps.
“Aedan!” Lady Strathlin said, turning as he came toward them.
“You finished your correspondence quickly,” Christina said, then caught her breath, realizing she had spoken to him naturally, almost intimately.
He smiled. “Almost. I heard you come in. The library was one of my father’s great passions, along with his poetry and Dundrennan House itself.”
“Beautiful place. Have you seen Dougal?” Lady Strathlin asked.
“I am here, love.” Another man came through from the study. His tall, powerful build and brown-gilt hair complemented Aedan MacBride’s lean, dark Celtic grace. He came forward to kiss Lady Strathlin’s tilted cheek and turned to take Christina’s hand.
“Mrs. Blackburn? How nice to meet you. I am Dougal Stewart, Lady Strathlin’s husband.” His hand was warm and gentle, his smile kind.
Christina liked him instantly. “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Stewart. I am Christina Blackburn, sent here by the National Museum.”
“So I understand. We look forward to your opinion of the stones.”
“Mr. Stewart is also an engineer,” Aedan explained. “Lighthouses are his specialty. You might have heard of the Caran Lighthouse out in the Western Isles.”
“I have! It was completed recently, I understand, and was an admirable feat, working against the power of the sea.”
“That was a challenge, I admit—but it brought me a bride.” Dougal grinned. “My real fame is as the husband of the remarkable Lady Strathlin—and of course as Amy’s brother and Aedan’s cousin.”
“Ah,” Christina said. “I did not realize you were all related.”
“More or less.” Aedan MacBride huffed in amusement. “Lady Meg, I hope you’ve come to claim your husband. He is driving me mad with facts about the ratio of wave force to solid mass. Though I do enjoy his tales of nature’s temper.”
“Otherwise, Aedan just wants to talk about dirt roads,” Dougal Stewart chuckled.
His wife smiled. “I will take him off your hands if you will show Mrs. Blackburn the library and whatever books you mentioned.”
“Beware, lest he harangue you with tales of drystone walls,” Stewart drawled.
Christina laughed. It was lovely to be included in their camaraderie.
“We will leave you to your books,” Lady Strathlin said, as her husband took her hand tenderly in his. She glanced up at him, her fair skin suffused in a pretty flush.
The warm glow of their love and respect for each other was tangible, Christina thought, giving a tiny sigh. Her chance for an intimate, joyful relationship had been gambled and lost with Stephen. She may as well devote herself to books and matters of antiquity.
Glancing at Aedan MacBride then, she saw his slight, introspective frown, and wondered if he felt the same. Sheremembered Amy’s remark that the lairds of Dundrennan could not marry for love. Perhaps he also felt a twinge of envy to see the ease and happiness shared by his cousin and his bride.
