Rogue of the Borders (16 page)

“Oh, aye. Please, please, please,” Caylin pleaded.

Shane frowned at both of them. “Nae. Ye canna.”

“We never get to go anywhere,” Caitlin complained.

“We want to see Abigail’s office,” Caylin added.

“Nae. What part of the word do ye nae understand? Besides,” Shane answered and laid down his napkin, “Abigail doona have an office. She will be working at the counter.” He looked at Abigail as the twins broodily resumed eating. “
Standing
behind the counter all day.”

Abigail smiled sweetly at him. Shauna had warned her he’d be out of sorts about this and she had advised to ignore his sulking. “It really is very generous of you to allow Albert to help his wife with the chores until we find a butler. Janet is most appreciative.”

Shane grunted and stood. “If ye are going to work, ye should nae be late. I will meet ye in the hall in ten minutes.”

Her husband was still disgruntled when they reached the office a half hour later, but Abigail was not going to allow his mood to intrude on hers. Not only would she be learning something, putting her brain to use, but she’d be in Shane’s company. She would show him how much help she could be.

But it was Albert who took over acquainting her with the office. After Shane had delivered her safely to the building, he’d disappeared in the direction of his ship with strict orders for her not to be seen on the quay.

She would do as he instructed—for now anyway.

The procedures for preparing invoices and bills of lading seemed easy enough as did the filing. Albert had everything organized to perfection. “What about the ledgers and the bookkeeping?” she asked.

“I am doing those,” Richard answered. “I keep the books in my desk.”

“I would like to help with them,” Abigial said.

Richard raised an eyebrow. “I do not mean to insult you, madam, but what do women know about numbers and keeping books?”

Abigail didn’t like his condescending tone, but she was used to such questions and attitudes. Most men didn’t think women should concern themselves beyond food and preparations for the next party, but she didn’t need to antagonize Richard. Shane would truly make her stay home if she created problems. “It is unusual,” she agreed in her most amiable voice, “but my father has no male heirs, so he provided me with an excellent education that included economics and mathematics.”

“Excellent,” Albert exclaimed, putting an end to the situation. “Once ye get the routine down, ye can assist with the entries—especially if I am nae back soon.” He turned to Richard. “Having Mrs. MacLeod here is a boon to us.”

Richard’s eyes turned to glacier ice, but he grudgingly nodded. “Of course.”

Not wanting to create an uncomfortable environment by outranking Richard—he was fairly new to the company as well—she smiled at him. “Please call me Abigail. If you are still staying at the hotel, I would be happy to share a hack in the evenings.” Not wanting him to think she meant he couldn’t afford it, she added quickly, “Shane would not have to take a footman from his duties if you were to escort me.”

His eyes brightened somewhat and he gave her a thoughtful look.

“’Tis very good of ye to offer,” Albert said, “but Richard has quarters above the office. The rooms have been empty a while, since Janet and I have our own place and David lives with his mother. Never ye fear, though. If one of the footmen canna fetch ye when Shane is gone, I will come myself.”

“That is very kind,” Abigial answered, “although I think too much fuss is being made over my getting to and from the office. A short walk less than half a kilometer is good exercise.”

“Aye, but the old bridge over the Waters of Leith is a bit rickety and the path overgrown in spots. Ruffians have been known to lurk about. Shane would have my head on a platter if something were to happen to ye while he is gone.”

Abigail forced a big smile on her face, although she silently wondered how much Shane would really care. Her own road to his heart was certainly full of obstacles and rocky bumps. Since their passionate kiss—which she had orchestrated—her husband had been even more aloof. Her smile became more genuine at the memory. Even Shane could not deny his response had been intense. She had felt his desire literally.

And she definitely wanted to experience it again. She wanted
all
of him. How much time would it take? Time was running out.

Chapter Fourteen

The past two days had been busy, learning the procedures of the shipping office before Albert left and Abigail had concentrated on absorbing as much information as she could without seeming to take over from Richard. Although he had been civil, she’d caught him watching her with those cold, blue eyes on more than one occasion.

What she needed was a good book. Abigail opened the door to the library and then quickly stepped back as Shane looked up from the desk. “I am sorry. I did not know you were here.” Since she’d already invaded his business world, Abigail didn’t want him to think she was hounding him.

“’Tis all right to come in.” Shane laid aside a nautical map he’d been holding. “Are ye looking for a wee bit of respite from the twins?”

“Actually, Shauna took the girls and Fiona shopping. I just wanted to get a book to read,” she said as she approached the desk. “If you are busy, I can come back.”

“I was just charting a course to Le Havre. ’Tis nae a port I sail to usually.”

“When will you be leaving?”

“It will take at least a week for the harvested kelp to dry,” Shane replied and stood. “What kind of a book are ye looking for? Perhaps I can help ye find it.”

“I am not sure.” Abigail looked at one of the battle scenes on the wall. It closely resembled the one in Ian’s chapel, although this one didn’t have a faerie flag. “Do you have anything about your Viking ancestors?”

Shane raised an eyebrow. “Ye want to read our genealogy?”

“It would be a good way to get to know you better.”

“There are two whole shelves upstairs devoted to us.”

Abigail widened her eyes. “Why so many? Are you famous or something?”

“Nae me, but my Sinclair ancestors are.”

“Tell me.”

“’Tis complicated. The Sinclairs—or St. Claires—were involved with the Stuart dynasty.” Shane gestured toward the sofa across the room. “Would ye like a sherry?”

“Yes, thank you.” Abigail sat quickly lest Shane change his mind. To her delight, he joined her on the sofa, although there was definitely space between them. “I want to hear everything.”

“
Everything
would take too long. ’Tis why there are books upstairs. Ye already ken a bit about the MacLeods. Besides what I just told ye, do ye ken anything else about the Sinclairs?”

She furrowed her brow. “There is an Earl of Rosslyn—the second, I think—who is a member of Parliament.”

“Aye. That would be Sir James Sinclair Erskine.” Shane smiled. “Do ye ken who all the members of Parliament are?”

Abigail smiled back. “Of course not. Papa mentioned him once in regard to something about Masons.”

Shane tilted his head, eyeing her intently. “What do ye ken of Masons?”

“Not much, only that they probably descended from the Knights Templar. Are the Masons connected to the Sinclairs?”

Shane pointed to one of the pictures of Rosslyn Chapel. “The whole concept of Free Masonry came about with building the chapel, but that is another story.”

She followed his gesture with her eyes. “That building is fascinating. I would like to hear its story sometime. So how far back do your ancestors go?”

“A wee bit ye might say.” Shane grinned. “Two centuries before Olaf’s son, Leod, invaded Scotland, another Viking ancestor, Rolf, was outlawed by the king of Norway and started marauding southward to Britanny and Normandy.”

“Outlawed? For what?”

Shane shrugged. “’Tis hard to say. Kings held absolute power back then. Eventually though, a truce was made when Rolf married the daughter of King Charles of Gaul back in 911. Rolf took the name St. Claire from a holy well called Sanctus Clarus sur Epte near there. The king made him the first duke of Normandy.”

“An ancestor to William the Conqueror?” Abigail asked.

“Aye. After the Battle of Hastings, the St. Claires who’d fought with the duke were awarded lands in Britain and Scotland.”

“And one of them got Rosslyn?”

Shane shook his head. “Ownership of Rosslyn came about thirty years later when Queen Margaret bestowed knighthood to the William St. Claire who had served as her protector while she was in exile.”

“Margaret?” Abigail squinted, thinking. “Do you mean the wife of King Malcolm Canmore? From Macbeth’s time?”

“Aye.”

Abigail stared at him in fascination. “I had no idea.”

“Dunfermline was the capitol of Scotland while Malcolm reigned. It lies just across the Firth. Perhaps ye would like to see it?”

“Oh, yes.” Thrilling as it was to experience a real part of history, Abigail had a suspicion the sudden, fast fluttering of her heart had to do more with the fact that Shane was actually acting like he wanted to spend time with her. Hope soared anew. If she could just keep him talking—

“We are home,” one of the twins shrieked as the entrance door slammed and Abigail heard Shauna chiding whichever one it was.

“Abby! Abby! Where are you?” the other twin shouted as Shauna admonished that one as well.

Shane grinned. “They are back.”

Reluctantly, Abigail nodded and rose. So ended their history lesson. For now.

Shane finished the dram of whisky he’d taken when he poured Abigail’s sherry and settled back on the sofa. Based on what had been an enlightening conversation, his wife was becoming more and more of an enigma. Not that his speaking of his Sinclair heritage was particularly enlightening—there were books on that—but the fact that Abigail knew anything about the Masons—or more precisely, their descension from Templars—was very interesting.

He almost wished he could confide in her, but implicating Abigail in a Priory mission could prove dangerous. For two hundred years, the Templars had openly held power. King Philippe had indebted all of France to them. When he was unable to repay his debt, he’d turned to his puppet pope, Clement, to declare them heretics. Those who had escaped to Scotland, to the Sinclair lands in particular, eventually immersed themselves—albeit it as an elite, secret sect—into the new order of Freemasonry.

But their mission had not changed. The vow to overthrow monarchs who cared nothing for the common people still remained. For now, Shane and his comrades worked behind the scenes, silently funneling money and supplies to those leaders who believed in equality and watching for signs of unrest in those who didn’t. It was a path to be tread carefully, lest anyone be accused of treason.

Shane would not put Abigail in danger.

Still, it was pleasant to discuss history with a woman who was intelligent and well-read. She’d not only made the quick connection between a Saxon princess marrying a Scottish king, but she’d also immediately linked them to MacBeth. He needed to tell Abigail about Margaret’s chapel at the castle. It would be a good experience for the twins as well.

Shane set his glass down and walked to the door to check on his sisters. Maybe before his marriage to Abigail was annulled, he could find time to take her north to Glamis Castle. She would probably like that.

True to his word, several days later, Shane bundled the twins and Abigail onto a ferry that took them across the Firth to Dunfermline.

He took them to the ruins of the palace high atop a hill overlooking the gardens of Pittencrieff Park. Although it was still early in the season, some of the flowers were in bloom. “I can imagine how beautiful this is in the summer,” Abigail exclaimed.

“I would suppose so. I have nae come here then.”

“Maybe we could?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound too pathetic. If Shane would just give her some indication that he was reconsidering the marriage…

“Summer is my busiest shipping time,” Shane said. “The seas are less stormy so ’tis when I sail to the Mediterranean as well.”

“So far?” Abigail asked, trying not to let her disappointment show at his answer. “Where do you trade there?”

“Italy and Greece, exchanging Scots whisky for wine. The near east for some of the best olive oils that can be had, as well as exotic spices.” He changed the subject abruptly, gesturing to their surroundings. “’Tis nae as big as Edinburgh, but it has been here since the eleventh century.”

“It’s
old
,” Caitlin remarked, rolling her eyes and making Caylin giggle.

 
“And when ye are a little
older
, ye will learn to appreciate such things,” Shane said disapprovingly.

“That is right,” Abigail added. “Did you know the Prince Malcolm once had his men disguise themselves with tree branches so his enemy, Macbeth, would think they were a forest and not see them coming?”

“A forest?” Caylin giggled again.

“A great forest, all moving at once,” Abigail answered. “Macbeth was warned by witches, but he would not listen.”

“Witches?” Caitlin’s eyes grew big.