“Oh, my!” Mrs. Gunn said. “That lass looks…och, me, she looks like the one in that painting you have!” She clapped her hand on her broad bosom. “Is it so? Och, me!”
It could not be, surely, he thought. “She looks a bit like her, perhaps,” he allowed.
“A bit? Are ye blind, man? Look at her! What a kerfuffle! The ladies will be heart-roasted to have anartist’s modelin this house, sir! Heart-roasted!”
Something swirled in him—hope, anticipation. But such a coincidence was unlikely. He had no idea who that model might have been. “Mrs. Gunn, do not be hasty. She is the antiquarian the museum sent. That is all she is about in coming here.”
“If she’s an artist’s model, I can tell ye what she’s aboot,” Mrs. Gunn muttered.
“Gunnie,” Aedan admonished. “Off you go. I will be down directly.”
Mrs. Gunn hastened down the staircase to greet the newcomers. Aedan waited a few thumping heartbeats and followed.
The newcomers stood in the foyer with Mrs. Gunn as Aedan came down the stairs, hand sliding along the polished walnut banister, his boots quiet on the carpeted steps.
She looked up. For a long moment, his eyes met hers. Light-blue eyes, a hint of gray or aqua, depending on the light. Seeing him, she tipped her head with a polite smile.
“Good evening, miss. And sir,” he told them. “I am Aedan MacBride of Dundrennan.”
“May I presume you are the lady sent by the museum? And your escort?” He smiled.
“Sir Aedan, how good to meet you. I am Mrs. Blackburn. Christina Blackburn,” she said. “This is my brother, John Blackburn. Sir Edgar Neaves sent us on behalf of the museum to examine a find on your property.”
“Indeed. The stone wall. Welcome.” He extended a hand, and as each one nodded, he took their hands, the gentleman’s firm and long, hers delicately shaped within the glove. “I must apologize, for I must leave. I have a meeting planned this evening with members of the road crew who found the wall. Have you any questions that I can convey?”
“Not as yet, sir,” John Blackburn answered with a quick smile.
Aedan hardly heard, his gaze devoted to the man’s sister. Oh, aye, he thought. She was very like the girl in the painting. And the name was Blackburn after all.
She was startling, a revelation. He wondered then if Edgar Neaves had sent her here on purpose. The man wanted that painting. Was he so conniving to think the girl’s presence might convince Aedan to give up the artwork?
On the contrary, it gave him more reason to keep it. Treasure it.
He had to know more about her and the painting, the circumstances, anything she could tell him. But he could not pounce on her for the information. And he simply had to leave. Members of his work crew waited in the tavern even now.
“You have met Dundrennan’s housekeeper, Mrs. Gunn. She will take very good care of you, and show you to your rooms where you can rest. Perhaps you would like a bit of supper? Mrs. Gunn will see to that as well. I do beg your pardon, but I must go. Tomorrow let us find time to discuss the stone wall, and you will have a chance to examine it. I trust there will be a report?”
“Sir Edgar is expecting it, aye.” Her gaze was as trained on his as his had been on her. That silent exchange of glances was strangely compelling, familiar, welcome, and exciting, as if he had always known her. He was certainly startled to see her, but he could not think why she would look so surprised to meet him.
“Mrs. Blackburn,” he said, inclining his head. “Mr. Blackburn. Tomorrow, then.”
They nodded, murmured farewells, and he all but fled through the front entrance.
His thoughts whirled as he hurried toward the stable. Somehow the dream had come to him, to his very door—but what was he to do now? Show her a row of dug-up stones and then wave goodbye the next day as she went back to Edinburgh, never to return to Dundrennan?
He shook his head, bewildered by a confused tangle of need and desire.
*
None of thepictures in the hallway showed a half-naked princess on a flowery bed, Christina noted with relief as she and John followed Mrs. Gunn through a warren of upstairs corridors.
Her thoughts kept returning to Aedan MacBride. She had never expected to meet such a virile and beautiful man, tall and fit, dark haired with eyes of a striking indigo blue. His very presence was quietly powerful and very distracting, and she had openly stared.
“This way,” Mrs. Gunn was saying. She paused to show John into his room first, a large and simply furnished room with flowery wallpaper and an Aubusson carpet in blue and cream; the large old-fashioned four-poster bed was piled high with pillows and a white embroidered coverlet. The bed looked very inviting, and peering inside, Christina realized how tired she was after a long day’s travel. John looked tired too, and pleased as he thanked the housekeeper and closed the door.
The housekeeper bustled onward, Christina in her wake. The hallway was painted a salmon pink above dark polished wainscoting, long, narrow, colorful carpets marched alongplanked floors, and oil lamps gleamed on tables. The walls were hung with gilt-framed paintings of all sizes—small and large portraits, tiny landscapes, a few historical scenes. Christina wished she had time to study them.
“Yer room is along here, Mrs. Blackburn,” the housekeeper said. “The oldest section of the house, verra quiet it is. I did not know yer brother would be here, but we have a dozen or more bedrooms, so it is no trouble. In planning for yer arrival, I thought ye might like to be near the library, being antiquated and all.”
