Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

" C ome on, Murdoch, where are ye?" Ian grew restless, his knee bobbing up and down as he gazed at the checkered chessboard before him, the gleaming white and black marble shining in the flickering candlelight.

His thoughts lingered on matters he'd rather avoid. Aila's image replayed in his mind, retreating from him on that staircase when he tried to prevent her from falling. The flicker of anger in her eyes suggested she despised him.

Why should I care about that? I'm certain she's up tae something. I will uncover her intentions!

He moved the chess pieces, commencing a game without an opponent. Fleetingly, he imagined playing against Aila, strategizing to trap her queen and subdue her so she couldn't fight back. But another image swiftly took hold, one where she was literally pinned beneath him on the rug of this very library.

What's wrong with me? Ian ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the locks in an attempt to quell his unruly thoughts. His growing attraction to Aila certainly wasn't helping matters.

The library door swung open, accompanied by a second candle's entrance, its orange flame dancing with the movement. The light bounced off the bookshelves and the fireplace beside Ian before illuminating the face of the man holding the candle.

"Murdoch? Where have ye been?" Ian inquired. "I was starting to lose hope and had begun playing by myself." He nodded towards the board. "Care to give me a challenge for a change?"

"Ye always come out on top." Murdoch rolled his eyes and took a seat in the chair opposite Ian.

Instantly, Ian smiled and reset the board. He and Murdoch had met years ago while serving as soldiers in battle. Reliance on one another to survive had forged a strong bond despite their differences. Murdoch preferred silence to idle chatter, while Ian always sought reasons to smile and joke. They complemented each other despite their contrasting natures and enjoyed each other's company.

"Something's amiss," Ian remarked, pointing at Murdoch's face, "even more than usual."

"How can ye tell?" Murdoch tapped his knee, leaning back in the chair and gazing at the ceiling. "I thought I was skilled at concealing everything."

"From some, perhaps." Ian had witnessed time and again how Murdoch concealed the hardships he had endured. The battles he had fought, the crippling wounds that had left him marked, all remained within him. They haunted him, and Ian could discern it in Murdoch's countenance, even if others couldn't. "Come, what troubles ye now?" Ian pleaded, as he made his opening move on the chessboard. Murdoch made his move and then reached into his loose jacket, retrieving a letter that he handed over.

"I apologize for burdening ye with this, Ian, but ye ken my predicament." He winced as he passed the letter.

"What's this?" Ian accepted the letter, recognizing Murdoch's name inscribed in an elegant hand, convinced he had encountered it somewhere before. "It was slipped under my door this evening. I only just returned to my chamber and found it, but ye ken the matter." Murdoch winced once more. Ian nodded in understanding, for he had long known that Murdoch couldn't read. It wasn't uncommon for a soldier. Their training focused on battle, not literacy.

"Do ye believe it's necessary for a man of war to possess the ability to read? Aye, reading proves useful when a man comes at ye with a broadsword." Ian attempted to lighten the mood with his jesting. Murdoch managed a faint smile. "Shall I read it aloud for ye?" Ian asked, breaking the plain seal.

"If ye would." Murdoch gestured to him, encouraging him to proceed.

Ian opened the letter and leaned toward the nearest candle, allowing the light to cast a golden glow upon the page. His eyes quickly fell upon the name at the bottom, and his stomach tightened instantly.

It is from Aila.

His gaze darted across the words with curiosity, absorbing every sentiment she expressed. The more he read, the more he leaned forward, gradually comprehending the nature of this missive.

It's a declaration of affection. Dear God... it's a love letter!

"Well? What does it say?" Murdoch asked impatiently from across the chessboard. Ian cleared his throat, making a distracted move on the chessboard before Murdoch mirrored it on his side. He remained silent for a few more seconds, his blood running cold as he continued reading. This letter changed everything, particularly his perception of Aila.

I kent she had her secrets, but I wasnae expecting this.

I knew she had her secrets, but I wasn't expecting this. Ian's gaze lingered on Murdoch, fearing he knew how this was going to unfold. Murdoch had once claimed he was not a man interested in romance or love, especially not now. He was in too dark a place.

"Ian, ye are stalling," Murdoch remarked.

"Because I fear what ye are gaun tae say, but I will read it tae ye anyway." Ian took a deep breath and began, trying not to infuse emotion into his retelling of the letter, though it pained him as he read the words. "Dear Murdoch, I know this letter may come as a surprise, something unknown to you, but I cannot stay silent without taking this chance to tell you how I feel, to express my secret passion, the hope I have for you?—"

"Stop." Murdoch sat forward, raising his hands with his palms outward. Ian held his breath, his eyes flickering between the letter and his friend. Murdoch's expression had darkened, the muscles in his face becoming tense and prominent.

"It's a... a…" He struggled to utter the words.

"A love letter, aye. Don't you wish to know who it is from?" Ian looked down at Aila's name again and felt a surprising pang in his chest. There was something amiss about the idea of Aila and Murdoch together. They were both secretive, surely, but for different reasons. Murdoch could be a harsh man at times, and although Ian knew his heart was in the right place, not everyone saw it that way. A woman like Aila might not see it either, especially when she learned of what he had done in battle.

"Nay. Nay, I dinnae wish tae ken." Murdoch hurriedly shook his head and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I cannae deal with something like this."

"Nae at all?" Ian asked, his hand tightening around the letter.

"It's nae for me, nae love, nane o' it!" Murdoch said with sudden vigor, sitting tall again. "Ye ken me, Ian. Am I the sort tae enter a courtship?"

"I cannae imagine ye picking flowers for a lass," Ian teased him, "though daisies may suit yer dark complexion." Murdoch chuckled softly, then shook his head. "What do ye want tae do with this letter then?"

"Would ye deal with it?"

"Me?" Ian sat taller, accidentally crumpling the letter in his surprise. He hurried to flatten it on his knee, feeling an unexpected protectiveness toward a woman's declaration of affection, even a woman as mysterious as Aila.

"Aye. Ye ken how tae write, and ye are good with words, far better than I am," Murdoch said hurriedly, gesturing to his own chest. "Ye write tae her and explain it for me, that I... I just cannae handle something like that in my life at present."

"As ye wish. I'll dae it." Ian's eyes flitted over the words before he folded the letter and tucked it into his waistcoat pocket. "Ye fancy a game? We can take yer mind off things. I dinnae reckon any o' these chess pieces will sprout legs and start declaring their love for ye anytime soon."

Murdoch laughed again and motioned toward the game, agreeing to play.

As they played, Ian's mind wandered, and he found it hard to concentrate. Thoughts of Aila filled his head, wondering what else she might have written in the letter that he had not had a chance to read. Suddenly, some of her secrecy made sense, if not all of it. If she had a fondness for a man, it could explain her frequent blushes and her habit of lingering in the shadows of crowded rooms.

She is a timid lass. Aye, I'm a blind fool nae tae see that.

"Checkmate," Murdoch declared, looking up and releasing his chess piece.

Startled, Ian sat forward and burst into laughter.

"That has tae be the first time ye have ever beaten me."

"It is. Aye, I think we have tae celebrate. Wait there whilst I go find us a bottle o' whisky." Murdoch stood up and hurried out of the room, clutching a candle as he searched for a drink.

Ian, still chuckling, glanced at the game and realized the mess he had made of it. With Murdoch gone, he reopened the letter and delved into Aila's words once more.

"I ken verry well that in declaring my heart tae ye, I am opening myself up tae pain, but I wish tae take this chance. My life hasnae been filled with much hope, and frae what I've seen o' ye, I think ye are looking for a reason tae smile too. Call it a foolish idea o' mine, but there's something in me that says we might be able tae find a way tae smile together. Write back tae me when ye can.

Yours, mair than ye ken,

Aila."

Ian carefully folded the letter and returned it to his pocket, his chest throbbing with the weight of her declaration. Grasping his hair and wincing from the pain, he focused on her words. They emanated sincerity, vulnerability, and candor.

I cannae see a woman heartbroken as she wad be. Nay, it is too cruel . As Ian waited for Murdoch's return, he turned the chessboard around, examining the game from a different perspective. And in that moment, as he shifted the board, an idea presented itself.

What if I was tae take Murdoch's place in these letters? Instead o' turning her doon, what if I wrote tae her in another way entirely?

A smile graced Ian's face as he reset the chess pieces to their starting positions, his mind now fully consumed by a well-formed plan. If he were to assume Murdoch's identity and write to Aila, urging her to keep their correspondence a secret, it would provide an opportunity to truly understand her. By doing so, he could protect her from a broken heart and accomplish what he had been striving for in the past few months.

"Perhaps I can finally uncover a'her secrets."

Since Murdoch was taking an eternity to retrieve the whisky bottle, Ian rose from his seat and made his way to the side of the room. He rummaged through a drawer, finding parchment, an inkwell, and a quill. With Aila's letter fresh in his thoughts, he began crafting his response, but with caution. Ian resolved not to profess any feelings on Murdoch's behalf but instead to foster their secret exchange of letters for now. He wrote slowly, contemplating whether his words would bring a smile to her lush lips when she read his reply.

"My dearest Aila…"