Waking the Princess (4 page)

Was he mad? She looked like the girl in the painting—and the visitor's name was Blackburn, he remembered. The artist had been a Blackburn too, the model his wife—a widow now, he recalled, as the fellow had died a few years ago.

Heart pounding, he tried to quell his astonishment. The girl peered up through her spectacles, and Aedan felt a sudden, unmistakable tug.

Dear God,
he thought. Despite the eyeglasses, the plain bonnet and dress, he knew her. He would know her anywhere.

"Oh, my," Mrs. Gunn said. "The lass looks... och, me, she looks like the one in that painting!" She clapped her hand on her broad bosom. "Is it so? A Blackburn, too! Och, me!"

"We do not know that it is her," Aedan murmured.

"Are ye blind? 'Tis her! What a kerfuffle! The ladies will be heart-roasted to have an...
artist's model
in this house, sir!
Heart-roasted!"

He shook his head at her flourishing drama. "We won't decide hastily what this Mrs. Blackburn is about."

"If she's an artist's model, I can tell ye what she's aboot," Mrs. Gunn said ominously.

"Do be nice, Gunnie," Aedan drawled.

* * *

None of the pictures 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.

Mrs. Gunn showed John to his room first, then bustled onward, Christina in her wake. The walls were painted a warm pinkish color above dark polished wainscoting, Oriental rugs covered planked floors, and oil lamps gleamed on gilt-framed paintings—portraits, landscapes, and historical scenes, Christina realized, though she had no time to study them.

"Yer room is along here, Mrs. Blackburn," the housekeeper said. "The oldest section of the house, verra quiet here. I thought ye would like to be near the library, being antiquated and all."

"Antiquarian," Christina said. "It's a wonderful house."

"Aye." The housekeeper stood back to allow Christina to enter first, then followed. "Andrew brought up yer baggage—aye, 'tis there on that bench. I'll send one of the Jeanies to help ye unpack."

"What a lovely room." Christina turned. Snug and inviting, the bedchamber glowed with firelight. Floral draperies, bed hangings, and wallpaper complemented the faded patterned carpets, and an ivory counterpane swathed a four-poster bed. The stone fireplace crackled with the sweetish, musty odor of peat. The window overlooked Dundrennan's policies, and through it Christina saw a far ridge of hills fading into the deepening twilight. "Thank you."

Mrs. Gunn smiled. "We call this the Irish room for the wallpaper, which was hand-stamped in Ireland, afore so many souls went starving," she said. "Miss Amy—she's Sir Aedan's cousin—wants to take doon all the paper and oot wi' the rugs, and cover tartan over everything. Sir Aedan says there's enough Scotchness in this bonny house, and so the Irish stuff stays."

"I like it very much just this way," Christina said.

"Tis a bonny house indeed. Sir Hugh MacBride had grand plans for the place, but... well, he died afore the work was finished, and Sir Aedan is doing the best he can."

"It must be a great deal of work to keep this grand house."

"Aye, work and expense, but we love it. The fire is lit in yer sitting room." Mrs. Gunn pointed toward a tiny adjoining chamber that held two stuffed armchairs upholstered in worn red damask set upon a threadbare Oriental rug. The little fireplace was cheerful, and a small window revealed the purple sky.

"This was a treasure room, long ago, where the lairds o' Dundrennan counted their gold," Mrs. Gunn explained. "There's a wee door behind the chair, see? It goes to the auld stair, which is dusty and dark, but ye can use it to go doon to the library anytime ye please, madam."

"I'd like that." Christina smiled.

"Do be careful in the dark. The laird and his brother shared this room when they were bairns, and they would take that stair to the great hall—the library, it is now—and off to the kitchens to steal a snap o' food at night from the stave-off cupboard. D'ye stay up late at night, that stave-off cupboard is a fine thing."

"Thank you. Sir Aedan has a brother? This would be such a nice home for a large family."

Mrs. Gunn sighed. "Only Sir Aedan now. Years ago, Sir Neil MacBride was the bonny heir o' Dundrennan, and Sir Aedan the youngest, with a sister atween them. But Sir Neil went wi' a Highland regiment to that war overseas...." Mrs. Gunn frowned.

"The Crimean?" Christina asked.

"That's the one. Sir Aedan stayed at home, and his brother... ne'er came home." She shook her head. "The grief put Sir Hugh on the road to his death and took something fine from Sir Aedan too. He's nae the same man as he was then."

Christina felt a surge of compassion. "So much tragedy came out of that war. My brother John was wounded there."

"The cane? I wondered. Well, one of the Jeanies will be here soon with yer supper and will fetch whatsoever ye'd like."

"Thank you, Mrs. Gunn."

"There's a bath and a water closet, too, across the hall. Sir Hugh had lavatories added years back. A shower bath is in the bathroom, with hot and cold spigots," she said proudly.

"I'll enjoy that," Christina said. "Who are the Jeanies?"

"There's Bonnie Jean, the upper maid, and Sonsie Jean, wha does a bit o' everything, and Wee Jeanie in the kitchens. We've always called the housemaids Jeanie, and the grooms and gillies are all called Andrew at Dundrennan. It's our way here."

"What a curious custom!"

"Aye. Sir Aedan uses their own names now, but old habits die hard here, I say. We had a grand staff when Sir Hugh wrote his poems. Now 'tis Sir Aedan alone, though the ladies o' Balmossie often visit. Ye'll meet them tomorrow. I'll send Sonsie Jean to help ye dress, since ye didna bring yer own lass." Mrs. Gunn drew a long breath.

"I have no lady's maid," Christina admitted. "I live with my uncle and aunt in a small house, with only two servants, so I do for myself in most things. If I need something, I'll ring the bell for... Sonsie Jean, is it?"

"Och, dinna ring the bell! I'd startle so! We dinna ring the bell here! Sir Aedan and Sir Neil did once when they were lads, and then they hid in a cupboard, those rascals. But I found 'em and chased 'em, and that were the end o' the bell-ringing!"

Christina laughed. "I promise never to pull the bell."

"Just come oot the room and call," Mrs. Gunn said. "We'll hear ye. Lady Balmossie shouts like a fishwife."

Christina tried not to smile. "I'll do my best."

"Tonight ye'll sup here, but other nights we'll have a fine dinner party, especially if the ladies o' Balmossie are here too. Though ye may have supper in yer room whenever ye like."

"Thank you. I expect that my brother and I will be here only a few days, but your wonderful hospitality is much appreciated."

The housekeeper narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "That one's yer brother and ye live quiet-like wi' yer uncle, ye say?"

"Yes, a kirk minister. My brother lives with our father in Edinburgh, but I assist my uncle with his studies."

"But ye're a married lady by your name."

"I am widowed of my second cousin, also a Blackburn."

"Och, so young! I was widowed young, too.
Tch,
puir lass." She tilted her head. "D'ye have a sister, or... mebbe a twin?"

"A twin?" Christina frowned at the odd question. "I have a sister and two brothers, all painters."

"Ah, the sister is an artist! That must be it. Good night, mistress." Nodding, the housekeeper left the room.

Removing her bonnet, Christina went to the window to gaze at the gardens. Soon Sonsie Jean, an elfin, red-haired serving girl with a shy smile, brought her a supper tray with a simple, good meal of hot broth, cold meats, and fresh bread.

Afterward, she sat down with a book in the little sitting room but soon dozed. She dreamed that she climbed a steep, heathered hill at night, toward a high tower that seemed made of bronze and silver. A man approached through translucent moonbeams, and took her into his arms—

Christina awoke, startled, curiously longing. Rising, she unpacked her things and sat again to read her own well-thumbed copy of Sir Hugh MacBride's early poems until nearly midnight, judging by the little clock on the mantel.

She was eager to explore the hillside and the stones discovered there, but had hoped to have time to research the local history before arriving. Now she remembered that Mrs. Gunn had invited her to use the library downstairs.

Aware of the extensive collection of books that Sir Hugh had acquired, she felt tempted. Mrs. Gunn had said that the medieval stairway leading from her little sitting room would go directly to the library.

Dare she go there tonight? The household was asleep, and she was restless. She could slip down there without disturbing anyone, find a book on local Dundrennan history, and return to her room unnoticed.

She had changed from her traveling dress into a dark skirt and flannel petticoats, and now grabbed a simple dark shawl and slid her feet into black dancing slippers, which would be comfortable and quiet for moving about the house.

Taking up a candle in a brass dish, she opened the narrow door, its hinges creaking, and looked into a dark abyss that smelled of must, stone, and disuse.

The pool of candlelight revealed stone steps curving around a central pillar—a very old staircase indeed. She drew up her skirts with one hand, balanced the candle dish in the other, and descended.

The narrow, wedge-shaped steps fanned steeply downward. She moved carefully in the darkness. Her room was on the third level, so the library would be on the second or even the first level, but she saw no door. Moments later, she heard a squeak, and felt, over her foot, the light passage of what must be a mouse.

Gasping, startled, her thin sole skidded on the smooth, worn stone, and she reached for the wall, dropping the candle dish. Recovering her footing, she heard the brass dish clatter away, the flame extinguishing. Blackness engulfed her.

Muttering under her breath, she inched back up the steps. Hampered by her skirts, the darkness, the steep wedged steps, she tripped again and fell to one knee. Gathering her skirts, she went up again, but her foot hit the narrow part of the step and she slipped, tumbling into the inky darkness.

Half sliding down the steps, she felt her shoulder and head knock against the stone wall, and her hip struck the edge of a step. She slowed and stopped, collapsing on a stone platform that felt large and squarish in shape.

Groaning, she sat up, then winced. Her shoulder ached, her head spun wickedly. She leaned against the wall and touched her head with a shaking hand.

A latch clicked, a light bloomed golden, and a man emerged from a doorway just above her. Exclaiming softly, he came down, crouching toward her, his hands strong and gentle on her shoulders.

"My dear girl," he murmured. "Are you hurt?"

Chapter 3

Woozy, uncertain, Christina wondered if she had been knocked cold and now was dreaming—for a warrior angel had his arms around her.

But the various small aches and pains attested that she was awake. Another glance showed that he was just a man—but handsome enough to startle, with a touch of thunder in his snapping blue eyes. His straight, black brows drew together in a frown beneath a thick wave of raven black hair.

"Are you hurt?" he asked again.

"I'm fine." She winced and tried to sit up.

"Stay still," he ordered. "What the devil were you doing in this old stairwell? Don't move. Take a breath."

"I'm fine." She shifted awkwardly, feeling pain in her shoulder. "I'll just go back to my room—oh," she said, as she moved and her head swam. "Oh, my. Perhaps I'll sit here for a moment." She leaned against the warm, hard curve of his arm.

"Take all the time you need," he said.

* * *

Without a doubt, Aedan thought, this was the girl in the painting. The resemblance was identical, though she seemed smaller and more fragile than he would have expected. Fascinated, he tilted his head. If she had not modeled for that image, then she had a sensual, beautiful twin.

Behind steel-framed spectacles, her eyes were wide and beautiful, hazel ringed in black lashes. She seemed demure and modest, not the tantalizing, earthy goddess of the picture. But her graceful features, her lush lips, the long curve of her neck, all matched the girl in the painting.