Balmossie's remark that the lairds of Dundrennan never married for love. Perhaps he did not approve of the happy display between Dougal and his wife.
Yet MacBride did not seem like a man opposed to love. He rather reminded her of a lost boy standing out in the cold, peering inside at a cozy family scene. His frown masked a poignant hunger—she was sure of it. Christina recognized that in his gaze because she felt the same way.
"Mrs. Blackburn wanted to explore the library," Lady Strathlin said. "Sir Aedan can show you better than I can."
"I would be happy to do that," he murmured.
Smiling, Lady Strathlin took her husband's arm. "I promised Mr. Blackburn that I would show him the marvelous books of art engravings kept here. He's with Amy and Lady Balmossie in the dining room. Come with me, Dougal. I want to introduce you. He's an artist, and you know I've been thinking about having our portraits done," she said as they left the library.
Aedan turned toward Christina. "What interests you most here, Mrs. Blackburn? History, art, literature, antique manuscripts? We have all those here and more."
You interest me most, she thought suddenly, gazing into his eyes, blue and guarded. He displayed politeness, patience, humor, but she sensed a sadness, even a bitterness in him too.
"All of it interests me. I've read all of Sir Hugh's poetry, so it's wonderful to see his collection of books. And my uncle and Sir Hugh corresponded on matters of history."
"My father spoke highly of him. Well, come this way, Mrs. Blackburn." She strolled with him around the library while he pointed out sections devoted to different subjects.
"Oh," she said as they walked along, reading the spines of some of the books. "Scott, Shakespeare, Milton, Dante, Tennyson, Burns, Hogg, Carlyle, Chambers... wonderful. Books can be like such old friends, do you agree?"
"My dominie made me read them," Aedan commented, "though I was not a willing scholar. I built bridges and towers with the books more often than read them." He smiled, and she could easily imagine, for a moment, that little boy.
"My brothers were like that," she said. "My sister Marianna and I were always readers."
"You will be in heaven here," he answered. "The books are organized in categories. This bay, for example, holds folklore and mythology, that one has sciences. There are a great many books on the gallery level, too. You may want to call a groom, or myself when I am at home, to fetch books from the higher shelves."
"I'm not afraid to climb ladders or walk the gallery, sir."
"Not nervous at heights, then?"
"Not particularly."
"Good." She heard a grudging approval in his voice. "You will need that to climb Cairn Drishan. It's moderately high and a rough walk in places."
"I am eager to see it. May we go soon?"
"When the weather improves. Tomorrow, I imagine."
They paused, and she pulled a volume from the shelf to leaf through it. "How marvelous to grow up in this place... even if you did use books for building blocks," she added, chuckling.
"Oh, I am not a complete boor." His mouth twitched in a smile. "We were raised on bards and poets instead of Mother Goose. We recited Sir Walter Scott and Robert Burns in our cradles, and we sang ballads about Border thieves before we could walk. And of course we learned Father's poems by heart."
She heard his teasing tone, but she sensed truth too. "Do you write poetry yourself, Sir Aedan?"
"Not a whit. I have a good memory for the stuff, but lack an artist's soul. Our dominie despaired of me in the schoolroom when it came to writing. My father said I was made from numbers and steel—he meant it as a compliment, I hope. I took it as one." He looked down at her. "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Blackburn. Generally I do not go on about myself."
"I am enjoying it," Christina said. Standing so close, she was keenly aware that they were alone together in the little alcove. The flexible bell of her skirts brushed his legs, enveloped him, letting him to
Yet MacBride did not seem like a man opposed to love. He rather reminded her of a lost boy standing out in the cold, peering inside at a cozy family scene. His frown masked a poignant hunger—she was sure of it. Christina recognized that in his gaze because she felt the same way.
"Mrs. Blackburn wanted to explore the library," Lady Strathlin said. "Sir Aedan can show you better than I can."
"I would be happy to do that," he murmured.
Smiling, Lady Strathlin took her husband's arm. "I promised Mr. Blackburn that I would show him the marvelous books of art engravings kept here. He's with Amy and Lady Balmossie in the dining room. Come with me, Dougal. I want to introduce you. He's an artist, and you know I've been thinking about having our portraits done," she said as they left the library.
Aedan turned toward Christina. "What interests you most here, Mrs. Blackburn? History, art, literature, antique manuscripts? We have all those here and more."
You interest me most, she thought suddenly, gazing into his eyes, blue and guarded. He displayed politeness, patience, humor, but she sensed a sadness, even a bitterness in him too.
"All of it interests me. I've read all of Sir Hugh's poetry, so it's wonderful to see his collection of books. And my uncle and Sir Hugh corresponded on matters of history."
"My father spoke highly of him. Well, come this way, Mrs. Blackburn." She strolled with him around the library while he pointed out sections devoted to different subjects.
"Oh," she said as they walked along, reading the spines of some of the books. "Scott, Shakespeare, Milton, Dante, Tennyson, Burns, Hogg, Carlyle, Chambers... wonderful. Books can be like such old friends, do you agree?"
"My dominie made me read them," Aedan commented, "though I was not a willing scholar. I built bridges and towers with the books more often than read them." He smiled, and she could easily imagine, for a moment, that little boy.
"My brothers were like that," she said. "My sister Marianna and I were always readers."
"You will be in heaven here," he answered. "The books are organized in categories. This bay, for example, holds folklore and mythology, that one has sciences. There are a great many books on the gallery level, too. You may want to call a groom, or myself when I am at home, to fetch books from the higher shelves."
"I'm not afraid to climb ladders or walk the gallery, sir."
"Not nervous at heights, then?"
"Not particularly."
"Good." She heard a grudging approval in his voice. "You will need that to climb Cairn Drishan. It's moderately high and a rough walk in places."
"I am eager to see it. May we go soon?"
"When the weather improves. Tomorrow, I imagine."
They paused, and she pulled a volume from the shelf to leaf through it. "How marvelous to grow up in this place... even if you did use books for building blocks," she added, chuckling.
"Oh, I am not a complete boor." His mouth twitched in a smile. "We were raised on bards and poets instead of Mother Goose. We recited Sir Walter Scott and Robert Burns in our cradles, and we sang ballads about Border thieves before we could walk. And of course we learned Father's poems by heart."
She heard his teasing tone, but she sensed truth too. "Do you write poetry yourself, Sir Aedan?"
"Not a whit. I have a good memory for the stuff, but lack an artist's soul. Our dominie despaired of me in the schoolroom when it came to writing. My father said I was made from numbers and steel—he meant it as a compliment, I hope. I took it as one." He looked down at her. "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Blackburn. Generally I do not go on about myself."
"I am enjoying it," Christina said. Standing so close, she was keenly aware that they were alone together in the little alcove. The flexible bell of her skirts brushed his legs, enveloped him, letting him to
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