by Regan Walker
William and Emily descended the gangplank first with Muriel just behind them on the arm of Robbie Powell. The setters rose and whimpered until their mistress, just behind Muriel, affectionately greeted them.
As the others filed off the ship, Muriel turned to Aileen. “Will you take the dogs to London?”
Aileen exchanged a glance with her husband before answering. “Aye. Nash has agreed Goodness and Mercy may come as long as Captain Anderson doesn’t mind their presence on the Albatross.”
Nash glanced at his bride and then faced Muriel. “Can’t you picture us walking the setters in Hyde Park?”
Muriel could well imagine the sight. “A fine-looking young couple and their dashing black setters? Why, I expect all of London will speak of it.”
“And every man will envy my brother,” said Robbie, “including me.”
Nash’s face bore a victor’s smug smile.
Muriel looked at Robbie askance. “Just remember, Robbie Powell, you are next.”
Nash made a noise that Muriel could only describe as a snort, but Aileen smiled. “I look forward to seeing the rogue fall. Already I like my future sister-in-law.”
“I wonder who she’ll be,” said Nash, turning to his brother. “Perhaps Muriel will find you some quiet, biddable girl for you to charm.”
“I shall be looking, you can be certain of it,” said Muriel, “but I do not promise biddable.” She glanced again at the brooch Nash had given his bride, pinned to Aileen’s cloak. “I do love that brooch, Aileen. Your new husband has excellent taste.”
“Aye, he does, doesn’t he?” Aileen gave her husband of one day a look that spoke of their wedding night. “I would expect you to admire it, Muriel. Nash told me the stone is a Madeira citrine.”
“No wonder it caught my eye,” Though many years past her own wedding, Muriel felt a blush coming on as she remembered her first night with the Earl of Claremont, the first time she had glimpsed the pearls he gave her.
They strolled up to the estate and William invited them into the parlor where drinks awaited them. “Since you sail tomorrow, we’ll have an early dinner tonight.”
Muriel was glad for the Madeira that fortified her for the sad parting she knew was coming. While she would be glad to see her friends in London, she would miss her dear friend Emily and the new friends she had made in Scotland. But what wonderful new memories she had.
William came to her side. “Have you quite enjoyed yourself these past weeks, Muriel?”
“Indeed, I have.” She sipped her Madeira. “Can’t recall a holiday I have enjoyed so much in years. You and Emily have been wonderful hosts.”
“And, of course, there was Angus,” said Robbie, tossing her a smirk.
“Shameless rogue,” said Muriel.
Once she had rested and Rhona helped her pack for the sail to London, Muriel went downstairs early, hoping to see Emily before dinner. In the parlor, she found Kit sitting on one of the sofas setting her sketchbooks on the table in front of her, Muriel’s charges gathered around the artist.
Her dark red hair neatly tied back at her nape, a pencil resting over one ear, Kit looked up when Muriel entered. “Oh good, you’re here. Come sit next to me.”
Muriel took the seat next to Kit and everyone pulled up a chair around the table. Emily claimed the other end of the sofa, William sitting on the arm above her.
Glancing from her sketchbook to William and Emily, Kit said, “I did these for you as a reminder of our time together and everyone cooperated.”
“I knew you were making sketches,” replied Emily, “but I had no idea they were for us. How thoughtful!” She looked up at her husband. “Won’t these make wonderful keepsakes?”
“Aye, they will, Leannan. We thank you, Kit.”
Kit directed her attention to her sketches, opening the first of the two large books. “I want to show you the couples first, beginning with the one of Martin and me.”
Martin laughed when he saw it. The picture showed Kit sketching and Martin sitting in a chair watching her, affection in his eyes. “You have the right of it, sweetheart. And I expect our hosts appreciate all those hours I gazed with longing at my beautiful wife with other things in mind.”
Kit regarded her husband with mild disapproval. “And didn’t I make up for it?”
“You did.”
Flipping the page, Kit said, “Here are Mary and Hugh as we might all think of them.”
Muriel inclined her head to see the drawing of Hugh and Mary riding two of William’s fine horses.
“Hasn’t she captured us well, Hugh?” asked Mary.
“Indeed, she has.”
“The next one,” Kit went on, “is of Nick and Tara, together on the Albatross. It’s how I remember them as we sailed from London to Arbroath.”
“A good likeness,” remarked Muriel. “The shipmaster and his lady aboard a ship.” Kit had captured the essence of Nick’s love of the sea and his wife. “A great talent.”
Nick and Tara studied the sketch, nodding their approval.
Turning the page, Kit revealed a sketch of Aileen, Nash staring at her with adoring eyes.
“You sketched us together?” asked Ailie. “We have been so busy since the wedding, when did you find the time?”
“I didn’t do this one after the wedding, but long before. It was the day we went deer stalking. I had begun one of Nash in the library one morning and finished it the night we all talked about the avalanche, adding you, Ailie. Not until that day did I know how things might turn out between you.”
Nash, whose arm was around his bride, kissed her. “Told you.”
Robbie raised a brow. It occurred to Muriel that he must not know of his twin’s valiant act saving Ailie from the avalanche.
“And this one is of Robbie,” said Kit, “though he’s in others as well.” Muriel thought the sketch a good likeness of him before he’d been shot. Now he had a scar that would forever distinguish him from his twin brother. In the bottom corners were drawings of an otter and a lion as they had discussed that afternoon in the parlor.
Robbie gave Kit a surprised look. “You added the animals you envisioned when you were drawing my face?”
“Of course. Those are the two sides of you,” said Kit. “The playful rogue and the dangerous spy, though at the time, I did not know of your work for the Crown.”
Muriel recognized her own image in the next drawing. It depicted that day in the library when she had puzzled over her cards while fiddling with her pearls. The sketch even captured the feather rising from her head into the air. “Our card game, I presume.”
Emily laughed. “Yes, I believe that was the moment when I fetched you the Madeira, giving you time to consider your next move.”
Muriel lifted her chin. She would not apologize for her small deception. “I did not even win that round. As I recall, that one went to Robbie.”
Kit turned another page. “The last one of the couples is of William and Emily under the kissing bough.”
“Oh my,” said Emily, bringing her hand over her heart. “You caught us kissing.”
William put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Just as I would want to remember us this holiday. The first kissing bough at our home in Arbroath being christened. Something to tell the bairn about.”
“This next one,” explained Kit, turning the page, “is twice as large as the others, taking up two pages. It’s my sketch of our time when you skated on the frozen pond. You’re all in it, save Muriel and myself. We were sitting on the bench. And there are smaller drawings of some whose actions caught my eye.”
“That would be me taking a fall,” put in Robbie. “Nash is the one gliding around the ice with Ailie.”
Muriel recalled the afternoon with great fondness. The others did as well, speaking of their time on the ice as a day they would long remember. As for Muriel, she would always think of the memory the day had brought to her mind when she and the earl had skated on another pond.
Turning the page,
Kit said, “Here is Angus Ramsay dining with us. I am so glad I got to know him. Isn’t he a distinguished-looking fellow?”
“That he is,” said Ailie, “and a wonderful man.”
Muriel studied the weathered face Kit had captured with her pencil. In the many lines and hearty smile, she saw a friend she hoped to see again. “A fine gentleman.”
“Those of you who went deer stalking will remember this scene,” offered Kit.
Muriel leaned over to see a glen between two hills and the hunters with their guns over their shoulders, waiting it seemed. Ailie stood to one side with Nash and the setters.
“What were you waiting for?” asked Emily.
“The hinds to appear,” said William. “More particularly, the right kind of hind for the culling.”
Muriel pointed to a small sketch in the bottom corner. “What’s this?”
“That is the aftermath of the avalanche,” replied Kit. “You can see the snow piled up and one deer’s legs sticking out of the snow.”
“Oh my,” said Muriel. She had heard them describe it at dinner that night but to see it, even in miniature, was quite another matter.
Kit flipped to the next drawing. “This is the happy day we brought in the Yule log.”
“Happy for those of you who did not have to drag the beast inside,” said Nick.
“We did it together,” William corrected.
“So we did,” agreed Nick.
Turning the page, Kit announced, “The day everyone decorated the house for Christmas. I thought to capture the kitchen, a room you never see. Here are Emily and Muriel adding green boughs to the shelves with the help of Mrs. Platt and Martha.”
“How thoughtful of you to draw this,” said Emily. “Martha will be ever so pleased to see she was remembered as a part of your holiday.”
“Mrs. Platt must see this as well,” Muriel chimed in.
Kit turned the page to reveal a sketch of all the ladies, even Muriel. “Christmas Eve. You all looked so pretty, I just had to try and record it. I do hope I got the gowns right.”
“You managed to get mine just right,” said Muriel. “What a memory you have, Kit.”
“Well, I did ask to see some of the gowns later to get a bit of our frippery correctly drawn.”
Standing behind his wife, Martin leaned down and kissed the side of her head. “You did very well, Kitten.”
“Since we were always eating it seems, I thought one of the sketches had to be a meal. This is Christmas dinner, roast goose and all the trimmings.”
Many oohs and aahs resounded. Muriel remembered the dishes, especially the desserts. “Won’t Mrs. Platt be pleased to see this?”
“You’re making me hungry,” said Hugh.
“And now for Dunnottar,” announced Kit, who was well into the second sketchbook. “The brooding ruins, but without the ghosts. I really wouldn’t know how to draw one.”
Muriel scrutinized the drawing, seeing the massive dark rock and the ruins resting upon it, reminders of troublesome days in Scotland’s past. In the corners of the drawing were smaller vignettes, the craggy coast as seen from the sea, a storm petrel in flight, and a few of the buildings. One was the chapel.
“I remember well the chapel,” said Nash. “It was there Ailie accepted my proposal of marriage.”
Ailie remembered it well, too, judging by the look she bestowed on Nash.
“And the final three sketches,” said Kit, “are from Stonehaven: The Ship Inn, Nash and Ailie in the church being married and the Hogmanay feast after.”
The others pored over the drawings, some asking to examine the first sketchbook. Muriel herself was more than a little impressed.
Emily kissed the artist on her cheek. “You have given us a wonderful gift, Kit. One we will treasure always. Now that you will all be returning to London, even taking our dear Ailie for a while, this will remind William and me of our time together.”
“Thank you, Kit,” said William. Rising, he added, “When everyone is finished here, dinner awaits.”
The next morning, Ailie woke in the same chamber she had slept in for the last five years, only it was not the same. Now, a naked man lay beside her, a very attractive man, whose lovemaking brought heat to her cheeks just to think of it. He had taught her to love their bodies and the marriage bed.
She stared up at the ceiling as dawn crept into their chamber. “Nash, I’ve been thinking…”
He rolled toward her, brushing her breasts with his fingers, causing her nipples to draw into tight buds, sending a twinge of anticipation to her woman’s center. “Yes, my love?”
“Where will we live when we are in London?”
He captured her hands in his and pressed them into the pillow above her head, as he trailed kisses down her neck. Her thoughts scattered. In between kisses, he said, “With my parents until we find our own house. I’ve had my eye on another one at Adelphi Terrace coming up for sale.” He nibbled on her breasts. “Now I have a reason to buy it, that is, if you like it. We won’t need a very large house, not at first anyway.” He raised his head to give her a wicked smile. “And if we are close to my parents, they can keep an eye on our house while we’re away in Arbroath. Would that suit?”
She gazed into his hazel eyes, glistening with desire. “Aye, it suits me fine. And since Rhona has agreed to come along, I feel better facing the gentry in London. She’ll see that I am properly attired.”
“You have nothing to worry about on that score. Muriel has agreed to help and she is an expert in the ton.” He resumed kissing her neck, dropping his mouth to her breasts. “I can smell bread baking, my love, but we might have a bit of time for us if we don’t dawdle.”
But she and Nash did dawdle, as he put it. When they finally made their appearance downstairs, no one seemed surprised. Honeymooning couples, they were told, were not expected to watch the clock.
Ailie had taken the setters for a good long walk before stowing them belowdecks where special arrangements had been made for them.
From the deck of the Albatross, the passengers waved goodbye to Will and Emily. Ailie knew they were all sad to be leaving, but the parents among them were also eager to return to their children and their homes.
A lump formed in Ailie’s throat and her eyes filled with tears as she waved goodbye to her brother and sister-in-law.
His arm around her, Nash shouted from the rail, “I’ll bring her back in the spring to see the babe!”
The ship’s sails billowed with wind as the Albatross left the coast heading south.
“Wherever you are is my home now, Nash.”
“’Tis the same for me, Ailie.”
“I don’t suppose anyone knows if Captain Anderson carries Madeira on this ship,” said Muriel as she turned toward the aft hatch.
Robbie offered Muriel his arm. “As to that, I’ve no intelligence, but he stocks a damn fine brandy.”
Ailie laughed, grateful the two of them had lightened her mood.
Nash took her hand. “Come, my love. Since we failed to appear at breakfast, I’ve a hunger for some of that haddie stew.”
“Cullen Skink,” she said, returning his smile, secure in the knowledge she had found the right man and none too soon.
See the Pinterest Board for A Secret Scottish Christmas
Author’s Note
It may surprise you to know that Christmas was not celebrated as a festival in Scotland for about four hundred years. This dates back to the Protestant Reformation when the Scottish Kirk proclaimed Christmas a Catholic feast. While the actual prohibition, passed by Scotland’s Parliament in 1640, didn’t last long, the Church of Scotland, which is Presbyterian, discouraged Yule celebrations beginning as early as 1583 and this continued into the 1950s. Many Scots worked over Christmas and celebrated the Winter Solstice at the New Year, which celebration came to be known as Hogmanay.
It was not until 1958 that Christmas Day became a public holiday in Scotland; Boxing Day followed in 1974.
Willia
m Stephen. Should you be wondering, William Stephen’s character is based on a real person, as is his family in Aberdeen and their business, Alexander Stephen & Sons. Alexander Stephen founded his shipbuilding enterprise on the Moray Firth in 1750. In 1793, William Stephen, a descendent of his, established a firm of shipbuilders in Aberdeen. In 1813, another member of the family, again named William, began another shipbuilding enterprise in Arbroath.
The real William Stephen did, indeed, fight in France where he was taken prisoner and, upon his release, opened a shipyard in Arbroath in 1814. You first met him and Emily in The Holly & The Thistle. His sister Aileen, however, is entirely fictional.
As of 1817, Arbroath was Scotland’s biggest sailcloth producer. At the time of my story, it was a thriving harbor town with at least three shipbuilders.
Ailie’s Setters. Yes, Goodness and Mercy were Gordon Setters. Alexander, the Duke of Gordon (1743-1827), established his famous kennel of working setters at Gordon Castle in Scotland, but at the time of my story, he was just perfecting the breed and they had not yet come to be known by his title. Nor were they just black with tan markings. In the early days, they also had white markings. You can see them on the Pinterest storyboard for the book.
The Ships. All the ships in the story were real and built in Arbroath. The Albatross was a ship built by William Stephen. The Panmure, a fully rigged schooner, was built by Alex Fernie. It was named after the Earl of Panmure, who lost his title after the Rising of 1715. The Ossian was a schooner built in Arbroath in 1820, though I doubt it was of the advanced design Ailie envisioned in my story. Those ships came a bit later.
The Peterloo Massacre. The Peterloo massacre that took place at St Peter’s Field in Manchester in August 1819 happened as I have presented it, relying upon journals of individuals who were there that fateful day. The slaughter sparked protests in both England and Scotland. There was rioting in both Glasgow and Paisley. Unlike many workers in England, the weavers in Scotland were a skilled and literate group that traditionally worked on commission, choosing their own hours. They were proud, independent and, not surprisingly, more radical in their outlook than the English.