“When shall I model for you again?” she asked.
“Not quite yet,” he replied. “Though I might need Aedan and Christina for one or two more sessions, if we can arrange it.”
“Of course,” Aedan said, glad for any reason for her to stay, wanting a chance to talk to her in private about what he had said. He had meant it, but it had been cut short, and she did not seem impressed. He had to talk to her. He had to clarify his thinking. He had blurted out that he loved her, but he meant it. For now, he had to appear cautious, reserved, polite, as long as Neaves was around.
“When might the mural be done?” Aedan asked, with another glance for Christina, who looked away.
“Several months at least,” John answered. “Such things take time. But I will have the color washes done for the royal visit. The finished project will take longer.”
“Take as long as you need,” Aedan said. “It promises to be extraordinary.”
“I appreciate it,” John said.
“How lovely to have you both stay here as long as you like.” Amy smiled, her gaze only for John. Aedan watched with interest, aware of Amy’s interest in John over him, which left Aedan feeling as if a burden had lifted.
“Thank you, Miss Stewart,” John said. “I believe my sister plans to return home to Edinburgh soon.”
“Sir Edgar would send me back now that he is here,” Christina said. “He feels there is little reason for me to stay.”
Aedan frowned. He could think of endless reasons for her to stay. “What about the translation? You wanted to finish it.”
“I do, but I am almost done.” She looked at him then, and he was sure there was spark and need in her eyes. Not anger now,thank heavens. His heart opened and he smiled faintly, just for her. She looked away again.
“We will be sorry to see you go, Christina,” Amy said.
“Indeed,” Aedan said, as Amy deposited another card over his. He resolved to talk to Christina soon, tonight. He hungered for her, but it was not the most important urge now.
She looked beautiful, enticing, in a brown plaid skirt and a matching bodice, her shining auburn hair pulled back in graceful wings, her slender neck framed in lace, her skin like cream over peaches. He knew the taste of her, the feel of her, beneath it all, and he pulled in a breath.
Then she caught his gaze, held it. A slow burn filled her cheeks and her eyes glimmered. Aedan held the look as long as he dared with others watching. Tonight he intended to sort through this with her. He glanced at the clock. It moved too slowly to please him.
Christina laid a card on the table. “Knave of hearts.”
“Aha! Christina, you win ‘intrigue’ this time,” Amy said. “So you get more game counters.” Dipping her fingers into the tray, Amy rained mother-of-pearl pieces into Christina’s hand.
Aedan turned his own card over. “Queen of hearts.”
“And that is ‘marriage’ in Pope Joan,” Amy said. “Christina owes you some pieces.”
He held out his hand as Christina dribbled a few polished mother-of-pearl stones into his palm. His closing fingers brushed hers.
“But no laird of Dundrennan ever wants marriage,” Amy teased.
“So they say,” he drawled, and rearranged his cards.
*
“We need somethingvibrant and full of passion tonight. Whatever is the matter with you two?” John peered around his easel to frown at Aedan and Christina where they had gathered in the long gallery.
“Tired, I suppose,” Christina said. “It is late.”
Aedan nodded silent agreement. Christina stood rather woodenly in his arms, wearing the simple tunic, this time with a green tartan shawl tossed around her shoulders. Aedan wore a chain mail hauberk over his red woolen tunic and a sheathed sword belted and slung at his back. The armor and sword were both from Dundrennan’s collection of items, though Christina had pointed out that the additions were not historically accurate to the Pictish era, but John did not seem to mind and insisted they use them.
“I want to show the moment when the prince finds his beloved in the briars,” John said. “It will be the most emotional and dramatic scene in the mural. Christina once posed for the sleeping princess in the briar,” he said, referring to Stephen Blackburn’s painting, “and it was beautifully rendered, but a passive pose. We need a more dynamic feeling.”
“If she was in the briar, it is still passive. Should I pretend to sleep?” she asked.
“I want him to discover her.” John frowned, looking through a sheaf of drawings.
