Devil's Own

He startled, shoving the paper into his sporran. “You. How long have you been standing there?”



“I … I … just a moment.”



He touched a finger to his ear. “What? Girl, you’re as quiet as the grave.” He looked around the room as though there might be other spinsters hidden about. “What are you doing anyway, lurking around? Come in here.” He scanned the length of her. “I daresay, you’d make a tidy wee spy.”



His tone and his gaze had been suspicious, but secretly she rejoiced. Her. A spy. She could be one, she knew it.



But what did one say to such a statement? It wasn’t exactly a compliment. She walked to him, forcing one foot in front of the other, willing herself not to trip. She could be worldly. She could be mysterious. She formulated a sophisticated reply in her head.



And then she tripped.



Quickly, she set her skirts to rights, glaring hard at the ground as if it were to blame for her clumsiness. Maddening tears stung her eyes, and she blinked hard, refusing to let embarrassment get the better of her.



This was about her father’s debts, not mooning over Aidan MacAlpin.



Stiffening her mouth, she risked a glance at her so-called student. She’d borne men’s scorn before and expected she’d find no different with Aidan. But rather than a smothered laugh on his lips, or disdain, he studied her from beneath a furrowed brow.



“Come on, then,” he said, with unexpected gentleness. He scooted over on the bench, making room for her. “Sit just here.”



“Thank you,” she managed. Other men might have mocked her, but not him. Even if she never saw Aidan again, she knew she’d be forever grateful for that single, small kindness.



She settled next to him, pretending she didn’t feel the heat of his body like an open flame along her side. With a sharp inhale, she focused, shuffling her papers, setting up quill and inkpot for their first lesson. “I thought we’d begin with a simple reading.” Each word tripped over the other as she spoke.



There. That was simple enough. She could do this.



“As you say.” He shifted closer, reaching for the small bound book she’d brought to use as a primer. He riffled through the pages. “Is this what you’ll teach me to read?”



“Yes, it’s common for”—she paused, wanting to choose her words carefully so as not to offend. Students? Readers? Learners?—“p-people to begin by reading The Book of Common Prayer.”



“I didn’t sign on for sermons, luvvie.”



She girded herself to look at him, but his relaxed smile told her he wasn’t angry. “Nor I.” She managed a smile, which seemed to broaden his. “It’s the most … the best … it’s a good book for this sort of endeavor.”



She’d meant, it was easy. Simple, with repetitive words.



She’d actually fantasized about the other books she might bring, entertaining sinful thoughts of him reading aloud from her translation of Boccaccio’s Decameron. Or, better yet, to hear his rich voice pitched low, reciting from her collection of sonnets.



He swung his leg to straddle the bench. Hitching his hips closer, he cupped the side of her face. He leaned close and whispered, “ ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’ ”



Her skin shivered to gooseflesh.



“Do you need the fire?”



She clicked to. “The fire?”



“Aye, you seem cold.” He was giving her a quizzical look.



“Cold?”



Aidan inhaled deeply. “I don’t ken much about tutoring, luvvie, but I do have enough sense to know this would get on more easily if you didn’t repeat my every last word.”



“Of course.” She felt silly. Why could she not focus? She was the most focused person she knew.



He gave her an awkward pat on her shoulder. “Don’t worry yourself over it.”



He was trying to make her feel better. This piratical rogue of a man was trying to make her feel better, and it only made Elspeth feel more the fool.



Aidan took the prayer book from her hands. “I need letters and numbers enough to read, say, a simple ship’s manifest. And you say this will help?”



It sounded as though he had some very specific reading materials in mind. It piqued her curiosity. “Was that what you were looking at? A ship’s manifest?”



He considered her for a moment, then said, “Of sorts.”



“Might I see it?”



His face was like stone staring at her.



She mustered her courage, her curiosity now exceeding any uneasiness. “That’s the only way I can get an idea. Of what I need to teach you.”



Another few seconds passed before he finally gave a sharp nod. Reaching into his sporran, he retrieved a small sheaf of papers. He flipped through, hesitating over what to show her.



She craned her neck, trying to get a peek. Were these his papers? Maybe he really was a pirate, with a grand ship docked in a hidden cove.



He caught her snooping. and looking annoyed, he selected one sheet and folded the rest. “I think mayhap you really are a spy.”



She felt a blush spread to the roots of her hair.



“All right, then,” he said, tilting it toward her. The name of a ship was written at the top, followed by a list of



crewmen. It didn’t enlighten her one little bit.



“You want to read that?” she asked.



“Well … mayhap.” He sounded uncertain. “It’s just a list of names.”



She wasn’t sure if he’d spoken a question or a statement. Did he truly not read well enough to discern Christian names on a roster? She decided some early praise might go far. “Yes, very good. That’s precisely what that is. A list of crew members. Let’s begin today’s work on letters and sounds, and that will help you work out the exact names.”



Though she couldn’t imagine why he’d need such a thing. Was he in trouble? Running from somebody?



She reached for the list, but he gave a shake to his head and returned it to his sporran. “Not yet. We’ll start with all that.” He nodded to the materials she’d brought.



He seemed so serious. She thought he might indeed be in some sort of danger.



“I … Of course. First we’ll work on letters, and we can read later.” She extracted a fresh sheet of paper and slid it toward him.



He gave her a blank look in response.



“Do you know any letters?” She cringed at how the question had come out. His mouth was set in a tight line, and she cursed her thoughtlessness. “Never mind that,” she said quickly. “I think I should be the one to start.”



She gasped a nervous laugh, riffling her papers with shaking hands. What would she mess up next? “You must forgive me, Master Aidan. I’ve never done this before, and I’m afraid you’re the one forced to suffer my inexperience.”



“Not ‘Master Aidan.’ ” His voice was deep and commanding. A pirate’s voice.



She froze. Curse her heart, fluttering away like the wings of a bird, and for what reason? He’d said a simple phrase, and her body reacted as though girding herself for her theatrical debut. “I … I beg your pardon?”



“My name. It’s Aidan. I’ve had a master in my life, and believe me, luvvie, I’ll die before I’m referred to as one. Call me simply Aidan.”



She looked blindly at her papers, unable to meet his eye. “Aidan, then.”



Her voice was quiet, her pale cheeks flushed red, and Aidan marveled at what a peculiar bird she was. He’d never met her like.



He watched her quivering hands as she withdrew a blank sheet from her stack. Her discomfort was beginning to unsettle him, and he wondered if the tightness he felt in his chest was annoyance or concern. He fought the urge to capture that hand, pinning it till she stilled.



She began a neat row of letters, saying the name of each as she wrote, and even her voice seemed to quaver. Her every aspect was like a lone flower in the midst of a windstorm.



Why was she so nervous? He inspected her profile as though he could read the truth if only he searched hard enough.



Perhaps she was cold, but too shy to ask for a fire. He let his eyes roam her figure. She was certainly a willowy wisp of a creature, her trembling only making her seem all the more insubstantial. She hadn’t an ounce of flesh to spare, and he wouldn’t be surprised if she spent half her life chilled to the bone.



She remained focused on her work, and so he let his eyes linger. She raised an arm to her ink jar, and with a shock to his loins, he realized that perhaps this Elspeth did indeed have an ounce or two of flesh to spare. Her breasts were modest, but lovely and well formed, a pair of treasures hidden beneath her layers. He had to shift in his seat to adjust himself, spying that, yes indeed, the woman was cold. Her pert nipples formed two faint shadows along the front of her bodice.



Just who was she? She seemed so nervous, reciting her letters. What might she be hiding that he wasn’t seeing, and more importantly, what would he have to do to find out? Because, oddly, he found he wanted to know. There’d been many women in his life, and never had one held any mystery for him.



Most importantly, he needed to discern if she could be trusted as much as his sister had promised. He decided he needed to test matters. See if he could get a rise out of her. If she had deceitful intentions, he’d uncover them.



“There’s no need to whisper on my account,” he said, pitching his voice and curling his mouth in a way that’d gotten a perfect rise out of dozens of women before her. “You have a fine voice.”



Her hand hung in midair. Slowly she raised her head to him, her eyes gaping wide as a fish’s. He bit his cheek not to laugh at the sight.



The girl was innocent as an angel, or he wasn’t the devil’s own. She clearly hadn’t an ounce of deceit in her. It was as Anya had said—Elspeth would be discreet about their meetings and his identity. So what, then, was the source of her discomfort? And who was she to be so book-learned?



At first sight, he’d assumed she was just another of the mindless, entitled lassies as plentiful in Aberdeen as cured fish. But now he suspected she wasn’t so easily pegged. She’d been reduced to tutoring for pay, after all. And that was in addition to work she did for her father. He’d gathered she didn’t have siblings either. The girl seemed to have even less support than she did prospects.